A HERALD MERCURY.
The distance between this luxuriant garden, all radiant and glowing in
light and color, and the small and darkened inner room of the cottage,
was but a matter of a few yards; yet in that brief space, so alert was
her brain, she had time to reconsider much. And with her, pride or anger
was always of short duration, the sunny cheerfulness of her nature
refusing to harbor such uncongenial guests. Why, she asked herself,
should she take umbrage at the somewhat too open neglect that had just
been shown her? Was it not tending in the very direction she had herself
desired? Had she not begged and prayed him to give Prudence the little
spaniel-gentle? Nay, had she not wilfully gone and buried in the
church-yard the bit of rosemary that he had sent her to keep, putting it
away from her with the chance of it summoning an unknown lover? So now,
she said to herself, she would presently come out again to the poor
affrighted Prudence, and would reassure her, and congratulate her,
moreover, with words of good cheer and comfort for the future.
And then again, in this lightning-like survey of the situation, she was
conscious that she was becomingly dressed--and right glad indeed that
she had chanced to put on the gray velvet cap with the brass beads and
the curling feather; and she knew that the young gentleman would be
courteous and civil, with admiring eyes. Moreover, she had a vague
impression that he was somewhat too much given to speak of Ben Jonson;
and she hoped for some opportunity to let him understand that her father
was one of good estate, and much thought of by every one around, whose
daughter knew what was due to his position, and could conduct herself
not at all as a country wench. And so it was that the next minute found
her in the twilight of the room; and there, truly enough, he was,
standing at the small window.
"Give ye good welcome sir," said she.
"What! fair Mistress Judith?" he said, as he quickly turned round. And
he would have come forward and kissed her hand, perchance, but that a
moment's hesitation prevented him.
"It may be that I have offended you," said he, diffidently.
"In what, good sir?"
She was quite at her ease; the little touch of modest color in her face
could scarcely be attributed to rustic shyness; it was but natural; and
it added to the gentleness of her look.
"Nay, then, sweet lady, 'twas but a lack of courage that I would ask you
to pardon," said he--though he did not seem conscious of heavy guilt, to
judge by the way in which his black and eloquent eyes regarded Judith's
face and the prettinesses of her costume. "There was a promise that I
should communicate with you if I returned to this part of the country;
but I found myself not bold enough to take advantage of your kindness.
However, fortune has been my friend, since again I meet you; 'tis the
luckiest chance; I but asked your good grandmother here for a cup of
water as I passed, and she would have me take a cup of milk instead; and
then she bade me to come in out of the heat for a space--which I was
nothing loath to do, as you may guess; and here have I been taking up
the good lady's time with I know not what of idle gossip----"
"But sit ye down, grandchild," the good dame said; "and you, sir, pray
sit you down. Here, wench," she called to the little maid that was her
sole domestic; "go fill this jug from the best barrel."
And then she herself proceeded to get down from the high wooden rail
some of the pewter trenchers that shone there like a row of white moons
in the dusk; and these she placed on the table, with one or two knives;
and then she began to get forth cakes, a cheese, a ham, some spiced
bread, the half of a cold gooseberry-tart, and what not.
"'Tis not every day we come by a visitor in these quiet parts," said
she--"ay, good sir, and one that is not afraid to speak out his mind.
Nay, nay, grandchild, I tell thee sit thee down; thou art too fine a
madam this morning to meddle wi' kitchen matters. Tell the gentleman I
be rather deaf; but I thank him for his good company. Sit ye down,
sweeting; sooth, you look bravely this morning."
"Have I pleased you at last, grandmother?--'tis a miracle, surely," she
said, with a smile; and then she turned gravely to entertain the old
dame's visitor. "I hope your fortunes have mended, sir," said she.
"In a measure--somewhat; but still I am forced to take heed--"
"Perchance you have still the letter to my father?" she asked.
"Nay, madam, I considered it a prudent thing to destroy it--little as
that was in my heart."
"I had thought on your next coming to the neighborhood that you would
have taken the chance to make my father's friendship," said she, and not
without some secret disappointment; for she was anxious that this
acquaintance of Ben Jonson's should see the New Place, with all its
tapestries, and carved wood, and silver-gilt bowls; with its large fair
garden, too, and substantial barns and stables. Perhaps she would have
had him carry the tale to London? There were some things (she
considered) quite as fine as the trumpery masques and mummeries of the
court that the London people seemed to talk about. She would have liked
him to see her father at the head of his own table, with her mother's
napery shining, and plenty of good friends round the board, and her
father drinking to the health of Bess Hall out of the silver-topped
tankard that Thomas Combe, and Russell, and Sadler, and Julius Shawe,
and the rest of them, had given him on his last birthday. Or perchance
she would have had him see her father riding through the town of
Stratford with some of these good neighbors (and who the handsomest of
all the company? she would make bold to ask), with this one and that
praising the Evesham roan, and the wagoners as they passed touching
their caps to "worthy Mahster Shacksper." Ben Jonson! Well, she had seen
Ben Jonson. There was not a maid in the town would have looked his way.
Whereas, if there were any secret enchantments going forward on
Hallowmas-eve (and she knew of such, if the ministers did not), and if
the young damsels were called on to form a shape in their brain as they
prayed for the handsome lover that was to be sent them in the future,
she was well aware what type of man they would choose from amongst those
familiar to them; and also it had more than once reached her ears that
the young fellows would jokingly say among themselves that right well it
was that Master Shakespeare was married and in safe-keeping, else they
would never have a chance. In the meanwhile, and with much courtesy,
this young gentleman was endeavoring to explain to her why it was he
dared not go near Stratford town.
"Truly, sweet Mistress Judith," said he, in his suave voice, and with
modestly downcast eyes, "it is a disappointment to me in more regards
than one; perchance I dare not say how much. But in these times one has
to see that one's own misfortunes may not prove harmful to one's
friends; and then again, ever since the French King's murder, they are
becoming harder and harder against any one, however innocent he may be,
that is under suspicion. And whom do they not suspect? The Parliament
have entreated the King to be more careful of his safety; and the
recusants--as they call those that have some regard for the faith they
were brought up in--must not appear within ten miles of the court. Nay,
they are ordered to betake themselves to their own dwellings; and by the
last proclamation all Roman priests, Jesuits, and seminaries are
banished the kingdom. I wonder not your good grandmother should have a
word of pity for them that are harried this way and that for conscience'
sake."
"I say naught, I say naught; 'twere well to keep a still tongue," the
old dame said, being still busy with the table. "But I have heard there
wur more peace and quiet in former days when there wur but one faith in
the land; ay, and good tending of the poor folk by the monks and the
rich houses."
However, the chance reference to the French King had suddenly recalled
to Judith that Prudence was waiting her in the garden; and her
conscience smote her for her neglect; while she was determined that so
favorable an opportunity should not be lost of banishing once and
forever her dear gossip's cruel suspicions. So she rose.
"I crave your pardon, good sir," said she, "if I leave you for a moment
to seek my gossip Prudence Shawe, that was to wait for me in the garden.
I would have you acquainted with each other; but pray you, sir, forbear
to say anything against the Puritan section of the church, for she is
well inclined that way, and she has a heart that is easily wounded."
"And thank you for the caution, fair Mistress Judith," said he; and he
rose, and bowed low, and stood hat in hand until she had left the
apartment.
At first, so blinding was the glare of light and color, she could hardly
see; but presently, when her eyes were less dazzled, she looked
everywhere, and found the garden quite empty. She called; there was no
answer. She went down to the little gate; there was no one in the road.
And so, taking it for granted that Prudence had sought safety in flight,
and was now back in Stratford town, or on the way thither, she returned
into the cottage with a light heart, and well content to hear what news
was abroad.
"Pray you, sir," said old Mistress Hathaway, "sit in to the table; and
you, grandchild, come your ways. If the fare be poor, the welcome is
hearty. What, then, Judith? Dined already, sayst thou? Body o' me, a
fresh-colored young wench like you should be ready for your dinner at
any time. Well, well, sit thee in, and grace the table; and you shall
sip a cup of claret for the sake of good company."
Master Leofric Hope, on the other hand, was not at all backward in
applying himself to this extemporized meal; on the contrary, he did it
such justice as fairly warmed the old dame's heart. And he drank to her,
moreover, bending low over his cup of ale; but he did not do the like by
Judith--for some reason or another. And all the while he was telling
them of the affairs of the town; as to how there was much talking of the
new river that was to bring water from some ten or twelve miles off, and
how one Middleton was far advanced with the cutting of it, although many
were against it, and would have the project overthrown altogether. Of
these and similar matters he spoke right pleasantly, and the old dame
was greatly interested; but Judith grew to think it strange that so much
should be said about public affairs, and what the people were talking
about, and yet no mention made of her father. And so it came about, when
he went on to tell them of the new ship of war that so many were going
to see at Woolwich, and that the King made so much of, she said:
"Oh, my father knows all about that ship. 'Twas but the other day I
heard him and Master Combe speak of it; and of the King too; and my
father said, 'Poor man, 'tis a far smaller ship than that he will make
his last voyage in.'"
"Said he that of the King?"
She looked up in quick alarm.
"But as he would have said it of me, or of you, or of any one," she
exclaimed. "Nay, my father is well inclined toward the King, though he
be not as much at the court as some, nor caring to make pageants for the
court ladies and their attendants and followers."
If there were any sarcasm in this speech, he did not perceive it; for it
merely led him on to speak of the new masque that Ben Jonson was
preparing for the Prince Henry; and incidentally he mentioned that the
subject was to be Oberon, the Fairy Prince.
"Oberon?" said Judith, opening her eyes. "Why, my father hath writ about
that!"
"Oh, yes, as we all know," said he, courteously; "but there will be a
difference----"
"A difference?" said she. "By my life, yes! There will be a difference.
I wonder that Master Jonson was not better advised."
"Nay, in this matter, good Mistress Judith," said he, "there will be no
comparison. I know 'tis the fashion to compare them----"
"To compare my father and Master Jonson?" she said, as if she had not
heard aright. "Why, what comparison? In what way? Pray you remember,
sir, I have seen Master Ben Jonson. I have seen him, and spoken with
him. And as for my father, I'll be bound there is not his fellow for a
handsome presence and gracious manners in all Warwickshire--no, nor in
London town neither, I'll be sworn!"
"I meant not that, sweet lady," said he, with a smile; and he added,
grimly: "I grant you our Ben looks as if he had been in the wars; he
hath had a tussle with Bacchus on many a merry night, and bears the
scars of these noble combats. No; 'tis the fashion to compare them as
wits----"
"I'd as lief compare them as men, good sir," said she, with a touch of
pride; "and I know right well which should have my choice."
"When it is my good fortune, dear lady," said the young man, "to have
Master William Shakespeare's daughter sitting before me, I need no other
testimony to his grace and bearing, even had I never set eyes on him."
And with that he bowed low; and there was a slight flush on her face
that was none of displeasure; while the old dame said:
"Ay, ay, there be many a wench in Warwickshire worse favored than she.
Pray Heaven it turn not her head! The wench is a good wench, but ill to
manage; and 'twere no marvel if the young men got tired of waiting."
To escape from any further discussion of this subject, Judith proposed
that they should go out and look at her grandmother's roses and pansies,
which was in truth the object of her visit; and she added that if Master
Hope (this was the first time she had named him by his name) were still
desirous of avoiding observation, they could go to the little bower at
the upper hedge-row, which was sufficiently screened from the view of
any passer-by. The old dame was right willing, for she was exceedingly
proud of this garden, that had no other tending than her own; and so she
got her knitting-needles and ball of wool, and preceded them out into
the warm air and the sunlight.
"Dear, dear me," said she, stopping to regard two small shrubs that
stood withered and brown by the side of the path. "There be something
strange in that rosemary, now; in good sooth there be. Try as I may, I
cannot bring them along; the spring frost makes sure to kill them." And
then she went on again.
"Strange, indeed," said the young man to his companion, these two being
somewhat behind, "that a plant that is so fickle and difficult to hold
should be the emblem of constancy."
"I know not what they do elsewhere," said Judith, carelessly pulling a
withered leaf or two to see if they were quite inodorous, "but
hereabouts they often use a bit of rosemary for a charm, and the
summoning of spirits."
He started somewhat, and glanced at her quickly and curiously. But there
was clearly no subtle intention in the speech. She idly threw away the
leaves.
"Have you faith in such charms, Mistress Judith?" said he, still
regarding her.
"In truth I know not," she answered, as if the question were of but
little moment. "There be some who believe in them, and others that
laugh. But strange stories are told; marry, there be some of them that
are not pleasant to hear of a winter's night, when one has to change the
warm chimney-corner for the cold room above. There is my grandmother,
she hath a rare store of them; but they fit not well with the
summer-time and with such a show as this."
"A goodly show, indeed," said he; and by this time they were come to a
small arbor of rude lattice-work mostly smothered in foliage; and there
was a seat within it, and also a tiny table; while in front they were
screened from the gaze of any one going along the road by a straggling
and propped-up wall of peas that were now showing their large white
blossoms plentifully among the green.
"'Tis a quiet spot," said he, when they were seated, and the old dame
had taken to her knitting; "'tis enough to make one pray never to hear
more of the din and turmoil of London."
"I should have thought, sir," said Judith, "you would have feared to go
near London, if there be those that would fain get to know of your
whereabout."
"Truly," said he, "I have no choice. I must run the risk. From time to
time I must seek to see whether the cloud that is hanging over me give
signs of breaking. And surely such must now be the case, when fortune
hath been so kind to me as to place me where I am at this moment--in
such company--with such a quiet around. 'Tis like the work of a
magician; though from time to time I remind me that I should rise and
leave, craving your pardon for intruding on you withal."
"Trouble not yourself, young sir," the old dame said, in her
matter-of-fact way, as she looked up from her knitting; "if the place
content you, 'tis right well; we be in no such hurry in these country
parts; we let the day go by as it lists, and thank God for a sound
night's rest at the end of it."
"And you have a more peaceful and happy life than the London citizens,
I'll be bound," said he, "with all their feasts and gayeties and the
noise of drums and the like."
"We hear but the murmur of such things from a far distance," Judith
said. "Was there not a great to-do on the river when the citizens gave
their welcome to the Prince?"
"Why, there, now," said he, brightening up at this chance of repaying in
some measure the courtesy of his entertainers; "there was as wonderful a
thing as London ever saw. A noble spectacle, truly; for the Companies
would not be outdone; and such bravery of apparel, and such a banqueting
in the afternoon! And perchance you heard of it but through some
news-letter! Shall I tell you what I saw on my own part?"
"If it be not too troublesome to you, good sir."
He was glad enough; for he had noticed, when he was describing such
things, that Judith's eyes grew absent, and he could gaze at them
without fear of causing her to start and blush. Moreover, it was a
pretty face to tell a story to; and the day was so still and shining;
and all around them there was a scent of roses in the air.
"Why, it was about daybreak, as I should think," he said, "that the
citizens began to come forth; and a bright fair morning it was; and all
of them in their best array. And you may be sure that when the Companies
learned that the whole of the citizens were minded to show their love
for the Prince Henry on his coming back from Richmond, they were not
like to be behindhand; and such preparations had been made as you would
scarce believe. Well, then, so active were they in their several ways
that by eight of the clock the Companies were all assembled in their
barges of state to wait the Lord Mayor and Aldermen; and such a sound of
drums and trumpets and fifes was there; and the water covered with the
fleet, and the banks all crowded with them that had come down to see.
Then the Lord Mayor and the Aldermen being arrived, the great procession
set forth in state; and such a booming of cannon there was, and cheering
from the crowd. 'Twas a sight, on my life; for they bore the pageant
with them--that was a huge whale and a dolphin; and on the whale sat a
fair and lovely nymph, Corinea she was called, the Queen of Cornwall;
and she had a coronet of strange sea-shells, and strings of pearls
around her neck and on her wrists; and her dress was of crimson silk, so
that all could make her out from a distance; and she had a silver shield
slung on to her left arm, and in her right hand a silver spear--oh, a
wonderful sight she was; I marvel not the crowd cheered and cheered
again. Then on the other animal--that is, the dolphin--sat one that
represented Amphion--he was the father of music, as you must know; and a
long beard he wore, and he also had a wreath of sea-shells on his head,
and in his hand a harp of gold that shone in the sun. Well, away they
set toward Chelsea; and there they waited for the Prince's approach----"
"And the young Prince himself," Judith said, quickly and eagerly; "he
bears himself well, does he not? He bears himself like a prince? He
would match such a pageant right royally, is't not so?"
"Why, he is the very model and mirror of princehood!--the pink of
chivalry!--nor is there one of them at the court that can match him at
the knightly exercises," said this enthusiastic chronicler, who had his
reward in seeing how interested she was. "Well, when the young Prince
was come to Chelsea, there he paused; and the Queen Corinea addressed
him in a speech of welcome--truly, I could not hear a word of it, there
was such a noise among the multitude; but I was told thereafter that it
presented him with their love and loyal duty; and then they all set
forth toward Whitehall again. By this time 'twas late in the day; and no
man would have believed so many dwelt in the neighborhood of our great
river; and that again was as naught to the crowd assembled when they
were come again to the town. And here--as it must have been arranged
beforehand, doubtless--the fleet of barges separated and formed two long
lines, so as to make a lane for the Prince to pass through, with great
cheering and shouting, so that when they were come to the court steps,
he was at the head of them all. And now it was that the dolphin
approached, and Amphion, that was riding on his back, bid the Prince a
loyal farewell in the name of all the citizens; and at the end of the
speech--which, in truth the people guessed at rather than heard--there
was such a tumult of huzzas, and a firing of cannon, and the drums and
the trumpets sounding, and on every hand you could hear nothing but
'Long live our Prince of Wales, the Royal Henry!'"
"And he bore himself bravely, I'll dare be sworn!" she exclaimed. "I
have heard my father speak of him; he is one that will uphold the honor
of England when he comes to the throne!"
"And there was such a feasting and rejoicing that evening," he
continued, "within doors and without; and many an honest man, I fear me,
transgressed, and laid the train for a sore-distracted head next day.
Then 'twas some two or three evenings after that, if I remember aright,
that we had the great water-fight and the fire-works; but perchance you
heard of these, sweet Mistress Judith?"
"In truth, good sir," she answered, "I heard of these, as of the welcome
you speak of, but in so scant a way as to be worth naught. 'Tis not a
kind of talking that is encouraged at our house; unless, indeed, when
Julius Shawe and Master Combe and some of them come in of an evening to
chat with my father; and then sometimes I contrive to linger, with the
bringing in of a flagon of Rhenish or the like, unless I am chid and
sent forth. I pray you, good sir, if I do not outwear your patience, to
tell us of the water-fight, too."
"'Tis I that am more like to outwear your patience, fair Judith," said
he. "I would I had a hundred fights to tell you of. But this one--well,
'twas a goodly pageant; and a vast crowd was come down to the water's
edge to see what was going forward, for most of the business of the day
was over, and both master and 'prentice were free. And very soon we saw
how the story was going; for there was a Turkish pirate, with fierce men
with blackened faces; and they would plunder two English merchantmen and
make slaves of the crews. This was but the beginning of the fight; and
there was great firing of guns and manoeuvring of the vessels; and the
merchantmen were like to fare badly, not being trained to arms like the
pirate. In sooth they were sore bestead; but presently up came two ships
of war to rescue; and then the coil began in good earnest, I warrant
you; for there was boarding and charging and clambering over the
bulwarks--ay, and many a man on both sides knocked into the sea; until
in the end they had killed or secured all the pirates, and then there
was naught to do but to blow up the pirate ship into the air, with a
noise like thunder, and scarce a rag or spar of him remaining. 'Twas a
right good ending, I take it, in the minds of the worthy citizens;
doubtless they hoped that every Turkish rogue would be served the like.
And then it was that the blowing up of the pirate ship was a kind of
signal for the beginning of the fire-works; and it had grown to dusk
now, so that the blazes of red light and blue light and the whizzing of
the squibs and what not seemed to fill all the air. 'Twas a rare climax
to the destruction of the Turks; and the people cheered and cheered
again when 'twas well done; and then at the end came a great discharge
of guns and squibs and showers of stars, that one would have thought the
whole world was on fire. Sure I am that the waters of the Thames never
saw such a sight before. And the people went home right well content,
and I doubt not drank to the confusion of all pirates, as well as to the
health of the young Prince, that is to preserve the realm to us in years
to come."
They talked for some time thereafter about that and other matters, and
about his own condition and occupations at the farm; and then he rose,
and there was a smile on his face.
"You know, fair Mistress Judith," said he, "that a wise man is careful
not to out-stay his welcome, lest it be not offered to him again; and
your good grandmother has afforded me so pleasant an hour's gossip and
good company that I would fain look forward to some other chance of the
same in the future."
"Must you go, good sir?" said Judith, also rising. "I trust we have not
over-taxed your patience. We country folk are hungry listeners."
"To have been awarded so much of your time, sweet Mistress Judith," said
he, bowing very low, "is an honor I am not likely to forget."
And then he addressed the old dame, who had missed something of this.
"Give ye good thanks for your kindness, good Mistress Hathaway," said
he.
"Good fortune attend ye, sir," said the old dame, contentedly, and
without ceasing from her knitting.
Judith was standing there, with her eyes cast down.
"Sweet lady, by your leave," said he, and he took her hand and raised it
and just touched her fingers with his lips. Then he bowed low again, and
withdrew.
"Fare you well, good sir," Judith had said at the same moment, but
without any word as to a future meeting. Then she returned into the
little arbor and sat down.
"Is't not like a meteor, grandmother, shooting across the sky?" said
she, merrily. "Beshrew me, but the day has grown dark since he left!
Didst ever hear of such a gallymawfrey of dolphins and whales, and
prince's barges, and the roaring of cannon, and fire-works? Sure 'tis
well we live in the country quiet, our ears would be riven in twain
else. And you, grandmother, that was ever preaching about prudent
behavior, to be harboring one that may be an outlaw--a recusant;
perchance he hath drawn his sword in the King's presence----"
"What know you of the young gentleman, Judith?" the old dame said,
sharply.
"Marry, not a jot beyond what he hath doubtless told to yourself, good
grandmother. But see you any harm in him? Have you suspicion of him?
Would you have me think--as Prudence would fain believe--that there is
witchcraft about him?"
"Truly I see no harm in the young gentleman," the old grandmother was
constrained to say. "And he be fair-spoken, and modest withal. But look
you to this, wench, should you chance to meet him again while he bideth
here in this neighborhood--I trow 'twere better you did not--but should
that chance, see you keep a still tongue in your head about Church and
King and Parliament. Let others meddle who choose; 'tis none of your
affairs: do you hear me, child? These be parlous times, as the talk is;
they do well that keep the by-ways, and let my lord's coaches go whither
they list."
"Grandmother," said Judith, gravely, "I know there be many things in
which I cannot please you, but this sin that you would lay to my
charge--nay, dear grandam, when have you caught me talking about Church
and King and Parliament? Truly I wish them well; but I am content if
they go their own way."
The old dame glanced at her, to see what this demure tone of speech
meant.
"Thou?" she said, in a sort of grumble. "Thy brain be filled with other
gear, I reckon. 'Tis a bit of ribbon that hath hold of thee; or the
report as to which of the lads shot best at the match; or perchance 'tis
the purchase of some penny ballads, that you may put the pictures on
your chamber wall, as if you were a farm wench just come in from the
milking pail."
"Heaven have pity on me, good grandmother," said she, with much
penitence, and she looked down at her costume, "but I can find no way of
pleasing you. You scold me for being but a farm wench; and truly this
petticoat, though it be pretty enough, methinks might have been made of
a costlier stuff; and my cap--good grandmother, look at my cap--"
She took it off, and smoothed the gray velvet of it, and arranged the
beads and the feather.
"--is the cap also too much of the fashion of a farm wench? or have I
gone amiss the other way, and become too like a city dame? Would that I
knew how to please you, grandam!"
"Go thy ways, child; get thee home!" the old woman said, but only half
angrily. "Thy foolish head hath been turned by hearing of those court
gambols. Get you to your needle; be your mother's napery all so well
mended that you can spend the whole day in idleness?"
"Nay, but you are in the right there, good grandmother," said Judith,
drawing closer to her, and taking her thin and wrinkled hand in her own
warm, white, soft ones. "But not to the needle--not to the needle, good
grandam; I have other eggs on the spit. Did not I tell you of the
Portugal receipts that Prudence got for me?--in good sooth I did; well,
the dishes were made; and next day at dinner my father was right well
pleased. 'Tis little heed he pays to such matters; and we scarce thought
of asking him how he liked the fare, when all at once he said: 'Good
mother, you must give my thanks to Jane cook; 'twill cheer her in her
work; nay, I owe them.' Then says my mother: 'But these two dishes were
not prepared by the cook, good husband; 'twas one of the maids.' 'One of
the maids?' he says. 'Well, which one of the maids? Truly, 'tis
something rare to be found in a country house.' And then there was a
laughing amongst all of them; and he fixes his eyes on me. 'What?' he
says, 'that saucy wench? Is she striving to win her a husband at last?'
And so you see, good grandmother, I must waste no more time here, for
Prudence hath one or two more of these receipts; and I must try them to
see whether my father approves or not."
And so she kissed the old dame, and bade her farewell, refusing at the
same time to have the escort of the small maid across the meadows to the
town.
All the temporary annoyance of the morning was now over and forgotten;
she was wholly pleased to have had this interview, and to have heard
minutely of all the great doings in London. She walked quickly; a
careless gladness shone in her face; and she was lightly singing to
herself, as she went along the well-beaten path through the fields,
"Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,
Men were deceivers ever."
But it was not in the nature of any complaint against the inconstancy of
man that this rhyme had come into her head. Quite other thoughts came as
well. At one moment she was saying to herself:
"Why, now, have I no spaniel-gentle with me to keep me company?"
And then the next minute she was saying with a sort of laugh:
"God help me, I fear I am none of the spaniel-gentle kind!"
But there was no deep smiting of conscience even when she confessed so
much. Her face was radiant and content; she looked at the cattle, or the
trees, or the children, as it chanced, as if she knew them all, and
knew that they were friendly toward her; and then again the idle air
would come into her brain:
Then sigh not so, but let them go,
And be you blithe and bonny,
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into hey, nonny, nonny!