"We be content," the keepers said,
"We three and you no less,
Then why should we of you be afraid,
As we never did transgress."
ROBIN HOOD BALLAD.
Steadfast was busy weeding the little patch of barley that lay near the
ruins of the old farm house with little Ben basking round him. The great
carefulness as to keeping the ground clear had been taught him by his
father, and was one reason why his fields, though so small, did not
often bear a bad crop. He heard his name called over the hedge, and
looking up saw the Squire, Mr. Elmwood, on horseback.
He came up, respectfully taking off his hat and standing with it in his
hand as was then the custom when thus spoken to. "What is this I hear,
Kenton," said the squire, "that you have been having a prelatist service
on your ground?"
Steadfast was dismayed, but did not speak, till Mr. Elmwood added, "Is
it true?"
"Yes, sir," he answered resolutely.
"Did you know it was against the law to use the Book of Common Prayer?"
"There was no book, sir."
"But you do not deny it was the same superstitious and Popish ceremony
and festival abolished by law."
"No, sir," Stead allowed, though rather by gesture than word.
"Now, look you here, young Kenton, I ask no questions. I do not want
to bring anyone into trouble, and you are a hard-working, honest lad
by what they tell me, who have a brother fighting in the good Cause
and have suffered from the lawless malignants yourself. Was it not
the Prince's troopers that wrought this ruin?" pointing towards the
blackened gable, "and shot down your father? Aye! The more shame you
should hold with them! I wish you no harm I say, nor the blinded folk
who must have abused your simplicity: but I am a justice of the peace,
and I will not have laws broken on my land. If this thing should happen
again, I shall remember that you have no regular or lawful tenure of
this holding, and put you forth from it."
He waited, but a threat always made silent resistance easy to Steadfast,
and there was no answer.
Mr. Elmwood, however, let that pass, for he was not a hard or a
fanatical man, and he knew that to hold such a service was not such an
easy matter that it was likely to be soon repeated. He looked round at
the well-mended fences, the clean ground, and the tokens of intelligent
industry around, and the clean homespun shirt sleeves that spoke of the
notable manager at home. "You are an industrious fellow, my good lad,"
he said, "how long have you had this farm to yourself?"
"Getting on for five years, your honour," said Steadfast.
"And is that your brother?"
"Yes, please your honour," picking Ben up in his arms to prevent the
barley from being pulled up by way of helping him.
"How many of you are there?"
"Five of us, sir, but my eldest brother is in Captain Venn's troop."
"So I heard, and what is this about a child besides?"
"An orphan, sir, I found after the skirmish at the mill stream, who was
left with us till her friends can send after her."
"Well, well. You seem a worthy youth," said Mr. Elmwood, who was
certainly struck and touched by the silent uncomplaining resolution
of the mere stripling who had borne so heavy a burthen. "If you were
heartily one of us, I should be glad to make you woodward, instead of
old Tomkins, and build up yonder house for you, but I cannot do it for
one who is hankering after prelacy, and might use the place for I know
not what plots and conspiracies of the malignants."
Again Steadfast took refuge in a little bow of acknowledgment, but kept
his lips shut, till again the squire demanded, "What do you think of it?
There's a fair offer. What have you to say for yourself?"
He had collected himself and answered, "I thank you, sir. You are very
good. If you made me woodward, I would serve your honour faithfully, and
have no plots or the like there. But, your honour, I was bred up in the
Church and I cannot sell myself."
"Why, you foolish, self-conceited boy, what do you know about it? Is not
what is good enough for better men than you fit to please you?"
To this Stead again made no answer, having said a great deal for him.
"Well," said Mr. Elmwood, angered at last, "if ever I saw a dogged
moon-calf, you are one! However, I let you go scot free this time, in
regard for your brother's good service, and the long family on your
hands, but mind, I shall put in an active woodward instead of old
Tomkins, who has been past his work these ten years, and if ever I hear
of seditious or prelatical doings in yonder gulley again, off you go."
He rode off, leaving Steadfast with temper more determined, but mind
not more at ease. The appointment of a woodward was bad news, for the
copsewood and the game had been left to their fate for the last few
years, and what were the rights of the landlord over them Stead did not
know, so that there might be many causes of trouble, especially if the
said woodward considered him a person to be specially watched. Indeed,
the existence of such a person would make a renewal of what Mr. Elmwood
called the prelatist assembly impossible, and with a good deal of sorrow
he announced the fact on the next market day to Mrs. Lightfoot. He could
not see Dr. Eales, but when next he came in, she gave him a paper on
which was simply marked "Ps. xxxvii, 7." He looked out the reference and
found "Hold thee still in the Lord and abide patiently upon Him." Stead
hoped that Patience and the rest would never know what an offer had been
made to him, but Master Brown, who had recommended him, and who did not
at all like the prospect of a strange woodward, came to expostulate with
him for throwing away such a chance for a mere whim, telling Patience
she was a sensible wench and ought to persuade her brother to see what
was for his own good and the good of all, holding up himself as an
example.
"I never missed my church and had the parson's good word all along,
and yet you see I am ready to put up with this good man without setting
myself up to know more than my elders and betters! Eh! Hast not a
word to say for thyself? Then I'll tell the squire, who is a good and
friendly gentleman to all the old servants, that you have thought better
of it, and will thankfully take his kindness, and do your best."
"I cannot go against father," said Steadfast.
"And what would he have done, good man, but obey them that have the
rule, and let wiser folk think for thee. But all the young ones are
pig-headed as mules now-a-days, and must think for themselves, one
running off to the Independents, and one to the Quakers and Shakers, and
one to the Fifth Monarchy men, and you, Steadfast Kenton, that I thought
better things of, talking of the Church and offending the squire with
thy prelatic doings, that have been forbidden by Act of Parliament.
What say you to that, my lad? Come, out with it," for Stead had more
difficulty in answering Master Brown, who had been a great authority
throughout his life, than even the Squire himself.
"Parson said there was higher law than Parliament."
"Eh! What, the King? He is a prisoner, bless him, but they will never
let him go till they have bent him to their will, and what will you do
then?"
"Not the King," muttered Steadfast.
"Eh! what! If you have come to pretending to know the law of God better
than your elders, you are like the rest of them, and I have done with
you." And away tramped the steward in great displeasure, while Patience
put her apron over her head and cried bitterly.
She supposed Stead might be right, but what would it not have been to
have the old house built up, and all decent about them as it was in
mother's time, and fit places to sleep in, now that the wenches were
growing bigger?
"But you know, Patty, we are saving for that."
"Aye, and how long will it take? And now this pestilent woodward will be
always finding fault--killing the fowls and ducks, and seizing the swine
and sheep, and very like slaughtering the dogs and getting us turned out
of house and home; for now you have offended the squire, he will believe
anything against us."
"Come, Patty, you know I could not help it. This is sorest of all, you
that have always stood by me and father's wish."
"Yes, yes," sobbed Patience. "I wot you are right, Stead. I'll hold to
you, though I wish--I wish you would think like other folk."
Yet Patience knew in her secret soul that then he would not be her own
Steadfast, and she persuaded him no more, though the discomforts and
deficiencies of their present home tried her more and more as the family
grew older. Stead had contrived a lean-to, with timbers from the old
house, and wattled sides stuffed with moss, where he and little Ben
slept in summer time, and they had bought or made some furniture--a
chair and table, some stools, bedding, and kitchen utensils, and she
toiled to keep things clean, but still it was a mere hovel, with the
door opening out into the glade. Foxes and polecats prowled, owls
hooted, and the big dog outside was a needful defender, even in summer
time, and in winter the cold was piteous, the wet even worse, and they
often lost some of their precious animals--chickens died of cold,
and once three lambs had been carried away in a sudden freshet. Yet
Patience, when she saw Steadfast convinced, made up her mind to stand by
him, and defended him when the younger girls murmured.
Rusha was of a quiet, acquiescent, contented nature, and said little, as
Emlyn declared, "She knew nothing better;" but Emlyn was more and more
weary of the gulley, and as nothing was heard of her friends, and she
was completely one of the home, she struggled more with the dullness
and loneliness. She undertook all errands to the village for the sake of
such change as a chatter with the young folk there afforded her, or for
the chance of seeing the squire's lady or sons and daughters go by; and
she was wild to go on market days to Bristol.
[Illustration: Emlyn at the Market]
In spite of Puritan greyness, soldiers, sailors, gentlemen, ladies, and
even fashions, such as they were, could be seen there, and news picked
up, and Emlyn would fain have persuaded Steadfast that she should be
the most perfect market woman, if he would only let her ride in on the
donkey between the panniers, in a broad hat, with chickens and ducks
dangling round, eggs, butter, and fruit or nuts, and even posies,
according to the season, and sit on the steps of the market-place among
the other market women and girls.
Steadfast would have been the last to declare that her laughing dark
eyes, and smiling lips, and arch countenance would not bring many a
customer, but he knew well that his mother would never have sent his
sister to be thus exposed, and he let her pout, or laughed away her
refusal by telling her that he was bound not to let a butler's daughter
demean herself to be stared at by all the common folk, who would cheapen
her wares.
And when she did coax him to take her to Bristol on any errand she
could invent, to sell her yarns, or buy pins, or even a ribbon, he was
inexorable in leaving her under Mrs. Lightfoot's care, and she had to
submit, even though it sometimes involved saying her catechism to Dr.
Eales. Yet that always ended in the old man's petting her. It was only
from her chatter that the old clergyman ever knew of the proposal that
Stead had rejected for conscience's sake. It vexed the lad so much that
he really could not bear to think of it, and it would come over him now
and then, was it all for nothing? Would the Church ever lift up her head
again? or would Mr. Woodley be always in possession at Elmwood Church,
where everyone seemed to be content with him. The Kentons went thither.
It was hardly safe to abstain, for a fine upon absence was still the
law of the land, though seldom enforced; and Dr. Eales who considered
Presbyterianism by far the least unorthodox and most justifiable sect,
had advised Stead not to allow himself or the others altogether to lose
the habit of public worship, but to abstain from Communions which might
be an act of separation from the Church, and which could not be accepted
by her children as genuine. Such was the advice of most of the divines
of the English Church in this time of eclipse; and though Stead, and
still less Patience, did not altogether follow the reasoning, they
obeyed, while aware that they incurred suspicion from the squire by not
coming to "the table."
The new woodward, Peter Pierce, was not one of the villagers as usual,
but had been a soldier in one of the regiments of the Earl of Essex, in
which Mr. Elmwood's eldest son had served.
Instead of succeeding to old Tomkins's lodge in the great wood, he had
a new one built for him, so as to command the opening of Hermit's Gulley
towards the village, and one of the Bristol roads. Could this be for the
sake of watching over anything so insignificant as the Kentons?
The copse on their side of the brook was their own, free to do what they
chose with except cutting down the timber trees, but the further side
was the landlord's, as they had now to remember; and as, when the brook
was at its lowest, their pigs and goats were by no means likely to
recollect; though Steadfast was extremely anxious to give no occasion
for the mistrust and ill-will with which Pierce regarded him, as a
squatter, trespasser, and poacher, almost as a matter of course, and
likewise a prelatist and plotter.
Once he did find a kid on the wrong side, standing on a rock, browsing
a honeysuckle, and was about either to seize it or shoot it, as it went
off in three bounds, when Emlyn darted out, and threw herself between.
It was her darling kid, it should never trespass again, she would--she
would thank him ever more--if he would spare it this once.
And Emlyn as usual had touched the soft place in the heart of even a
woodward. He told her not to cry, and contented himself with growling a
tremendous warning to Steadfast and Patience.
There were several breezes about Growler, who was only too apt to use
his liberty in pursuing rabbits on the wrong side, and whom Peter more
than once condemned; but Emlyn and Ben begged him off, and he was kept
well chained up. At last, however, he won even the woodward's favour by
the slaughter of a terrible wild cat and her brood, after all Peter's
dogs had returned with bleeding faces from the combat.
The woodward had another soft place in his heart. He had a pretty young
wife and a little son. Nanny Pierce was older in years, but far more
childish than Patience, and the life in this gulley seemed to her utter
solitude and desolation, and if Patience had been ten times a poacher
and a prelatist, she could not have helped making friends with the only
creature of her own kind within a mile. And when Patience's experience
with Ben and other older babes at rest in the churchyard, had aided the
poor little helpless woman through a convulsion fit of her baby's before
Goody Grace could arrive, Peter himself owned that "the Kenton wench
was good for somewhat," though he continued to think Steadfast's great
carefulness not to transgress, only a further proof that "he was a deep
one"--all the more because he refused to let anyone but himself have a
search for a vanished polecat in "them holes," which Peter was persuaded
contained some mystery, though Steadfast laid it, and not untruly, on
the health of the young stock he kept penned in the caves, which were
all, he hoped, of which Peter was aware.
All this was harassing, but a greater trouble came in the second winter.
Good Dr. Eales was failing, and the tidings of the King's execution were
a blow that he never recovered. Mrs. Lightfoot had tears in her eyes
when Stead asked after him, week by week, and she could only say that he
was feebler, and spent all his days in prayer--often with tears.
At last came peace. He lay still and calm, and sent a message that young
Kenton should be brought to him for a last farewell.
And as Stead stood sorrowful and awed by his bed side, he bade the
youth never despair or fall away from his hope of the restoration of the
Church.
"Remember," he said, "she is founded on a rock, and the gates of hell
shall never prevail against her. She shall stand forth for evermore as
the moon, which wanes but to wax again; and I have good hope that thou
wilt see it, my son. He that shall endure unto the end, the same shall
be saved."
Then Dr. Eales pointed to a small parcel of books, which he had caused
Mrs. Lightfoot to put together, telling Steadfast that he had selected
them alike for devotion and for edification, and that if he studied
them, he would have no doubt when he might deliver up his trust to a
true priest of the Church.
"And if none should return in my time?" asked Steadfast.
"Have I not told thee never to despair of God's care for His Church? Yet
His time is not as our time, and it may be--that young as thou art--the
days of renewal may not be when thou shalt see them. Should it thus be,
my son, leave the secret with one whom thou canst securely trust. Better
the sacred vessels should lie hidden than that thou shouldst show thy
faith wanting by surrendering them to any, save according to the terms
of thy vow. See, Steadfast, among these books is a lighter one, a
romance of King Arthur, that I loved well in my boyhood, and which may
not only serve thee as fair pastime in the winter nights, but will mind
thee of thine high and holy charge, for it goeth deeper than the mere
outside."
His voice was growing weak. Mrs. Lightfoot gave him a cordial, and Stead
knelt by his bedside, felt his hand on his head, and heard his blessing
for the last time. The next market day, when he called at the good
bakester's stall, she told him in floods of tears that the guest who had
brought a blessing on her house, was gone to his rest.