"Whate'er it be that is within his reach,
The filching trick he doth his fingers teach."
Robin Badfellow.
There was often a considerable distance between children and their
parents in the seventeenth century, but Anne Woodford, as the only
child of her widowed mother, was as solace, comfort, and companion;
and on her pillow in early morning the child poured forth in grave
earnest the entire story of the changeling, asking whether he could
not be "taken to good Dr. Ken, or the Dean, or the Bishop to be ex--
ex--what is it, mother? Not whipped with nettles. Oh no! nor burnt
with red hot pokers, but have holy words said so that the right one
may come back."
"My dear child, did you really believe that old nurse's tale?"
"O madam, she _knew_ it. The other old woman saw it! I always
thought fairies and elves were only in tales, but Lucy's nurse knows
it is true. And _he_ is not a bit like other lads, mamma dear. He
is lean and small, and his eyes are of different colours, look two
ways at once, and his mouth goes awry when he speaks, and he laughs
just like--like a fiend. Lucy and I call him Riquet a la Houppe,
because he is just like the picture in Mademoiselle's book, with a
great stubbly bunch of hair sticking out on one side, and though he
walks a little lame, he can hop and skip like a grasshopper, faster
than any of the boys, and leap up a wall in a moment, and grin--oh
most frightfully. Have you ever seen him, mamma?"
"I think so. I saw a poor boy, who seemed to me to have had a
stroke of some sort when he was an infant."
"But, madam, that would not make him so spiteful and malicious!"
"If every one is against him and treats him as a wicked mischievous
elf, it is only too likely to make him bitter and spiteful. Nay,
Anne, if you come back stuffed with old wives' tales, I shall not
allow you to go home with Lucy Archfield."
The threat silenced Anne, who was a grave and rather silent little
person, and when she mentioned it to her friend, the answer was,
"Did you tell your mother? If I had told mine, I should have been
whipped for repeating lying tales."
"Oh then you don't believe it!"
"It must be true, for Madge knew it. But that's the way always if
one lets out that one knows more than they think."
"It is not the way with my mother," stoutly said Anne, drawing up
her dignified little head. And she kept her resolution, for though
a little excited by her first taste of lively youthful
companionship, she was naturally a thoughtful reticent child, with a
character advanced by companionship with her mother as an only
child, through a great sorrow. Thus she was in every respect more
developed than her contemporary Lucy, who regarded her with wonder
as well as affection, and she was the object of the boyish devotion
of Charley, who often defended her from his cousin Sedley's
endeavours to put down what he considered upstart airs in a little
nobody from London. Sedley teased and baited every weak thing in
his way, and Lucy had been his chief butt till Anne Woodford's
unconscious dignity and more cultivated manners excited his utmost
spleen.
Lucy might be incredulous, but she was eager to tell that when her
cousin Sedley Archfield was going back to 'chambers,' down from the
Close gate came the imp on his shoulders in the twilight and twisted
both legs round his neck, holding tight on in spite of plunges,
pinches, and endeavours to scrape him off against the wall, which
were frustrated or retaliated by hair pulling, choking, till just
ere entering the college gateway, where Sedley looked to get his
revenge among his fellows, he found his shoulders free, and heard
"Ho! ho! ho!" from the top of a wall close at hand. All the more
was the young people's faith in the changeling story confirmed, and
child-world was in those days even more impenetrable to their elders
than at present.
Changeling or no, it was certain that Peregrine Oakshott was the
plague of the Close, where his father, an ex-officer of the
Parliamentary army, had unwillingly hired a house for the winter,
for the sake of medical treatment for his wife, a sufferer from a
complication of ailments. Oakwood, his home, was about five miles
from Dr. Woodford's living of Portchester, and as the families would
thus be country neighbours, Mrs. Woodford thought it well to begin
the acquaintance at Winchester. While knocking at the door of the
house on the opposite side of the Close, she was aware of an elfish
visage peering from an upper window. There was the queer mop of
dark hair, the squinting light eyes, the contorted grin crooking the
mouth, the odd sallow face, making her quite glad to get out of
sight of the strange grimaces which grew every moment more hideous.
Mrs. Oakshott sat in an arm-chair beside a large fire in a
wainscotted room, with a folding-screen shutting off the window.
Her spinning-wheel was near, but it was only too plain that 'feeble
was the hand, and silly the thread.' She bent her head in its
wadded black velvet hood, but excused herself from rising, as she
was crippled by rheumatic pains. She had evidently once been a
pretty little person, innocent and inane, and her face had become
like that of a withered baby, piteous in its expression of pain and
weariness, but otherwise somewhat vacant. At first, indeed, there
was a look of alarm. Perhaps she expected every visitor to come
with a complaint of her unlucky Peregrine, but when Mrs. Woodford
spoke cheerfully of being her neighbour in the country, she was
evidently relieved and even gratified, prattling in a soft plaintive
tone about her sufferings and the various remedies, ranging from
woodlice rolled into natural pills, and grease off the church bells,
to diamond dust and Goa stones, since, as she said, there was no
cost to which Major Oakshott would not go for her benefit. He had
even procured for her a pound of the Queen's new Chinese herb, and
it certainly was as nauseous as could be wished, when boiled in
milk, but she was told that was not the way it was taken at my Lady
Charnock's. She was quite animated when Mrs. Woodford offered to
show her how to prepare it.
Therewith the master of the house came in, and the aspect of affairs
changed. He was a tall, dark, grave man, plainly though handsomely
dressed, and in a gentlemanly way making it evident that visits to
his wife were not welcome. He said that her health never permitted
her to go abroad, and that his poor house contained nothing that
could please a Court lady. Mrs. Oakshott shrank into herself, and
became shy and silent, and Mrs. Woodford felt constrained to take
leave, courteously conducted to the door by her unwilling host.
She had not taken many steps before she was startled by a sharp
shower from a squirt coming sidelong like a blow on her cheek and
surprising her into a low cry, which was heard by the Major, so that
he hastened out, exclaiming, "Madam, I trust that you are not hurt."
"Oh no, sir! It is nothing--not a stone--only water!" she said,
wiping it with her handkerchief.
"I am grieved and ashamed at the evil pranks of my unhappy son, but
he shall suffer for it."
"Nay, sir, I pray you. It was only childish mischief."
He had not waited to hear her pleadings, and before she was half
across the Close he had overtaken her, dragging the cowering
struggling boy in his powerful grasp.
"Now, Peregrine," he commanded, "let me instantly hear you ask the
lady's pardon for your dastardly trick. Or--!" and his other hand
was raised for a blow.
"I am sure he is sorry," said Mrs. Woodford, making a motion to ward
off the stroke, and as the queer eyes glanced up at her in wondering
inquiry, she laid her hand on the bony shoulder, saying, "I know you
did not mean to hurt me. You are sorry, are you not?"
"Ay," the boy muttered, and she saw a look of surprise on his
father's face.
"There," she said, "he has made his amends, and surely that may
suffice."
"Nay, madam, it would be a weak and ungodly tenderness that would
spare to drive forth the evil spirit which possesses the child by
the use of the rod. I should fail in my duty alike to God and man,"
he added, in reply to a fresh gesture of intercession, "did I not
teach him what it is to insult a lady at mine own door."
Mrs. Woodford could only go away, heartily sorry for the boy. From
that time, however, both she and her little daughter were untouched
by his tricks, though every one else had some complaint. Peas were
shot from unknown recesses at venerable canons, mice darted out
before shrieking ladies, frogs' clammy forms descended on the nape
of their necks, hedgehogs were curled up on their chairs, and though
Peregrine Oakshott was not often caught in the act, no mischief ever
took place that was not attributed to him; and it was popularly
believed in the Close that his father flogged him every morning for
what he was about to do, and his tutor repeated the castigation
every evening for what he had done, besides interludes at each
detection.
Perhaps frequent usage had toughened his skin, or he had become
expert in wriggling from the full force of the blow, or else, as
many believed, the elfish nature was impervious; for he was as ready
as ever for a trick the moment he was released, like, as his brother
said, the dog Keeper, who, with a slaughtered chick hung round his
neck in penance, rushed murderously upon the rest of the brood.
Yet Mrs. Woodford, on her way through the Cathedral nave, was aware
of something leaning against one of the great columns, crouching
together so that the dark head, supported on the arms, rested
against the pillar which fluted the pier. The organ was pealing
softly and plaintively, and the little gray coat seemed to heave as
with a sob. She stood, impelled to offer to take him with her into
the choir, but a verger, spying him, began rating him in a tone fit
for expelling a dog, "Come, master, none of your pranks here! Be
not you ashamed of yourself to be lying in wait for godly folk on
their way to prayers? If I catch you here again the Dean shall hear
of it, and you shall smart for it."
Mrs. Woodford began, "He was only hearkening to the music," but she
caught such a look of malignity cast upon the verger as perfectly
appalled her, and in another moment the boy had dashed, head over
heels, out at the nearest door.
The next report that reached her related how a cloud of lime had
suddenly descended from a broken arch of the cloister on the solemn
verger, on his way to escort the Dean to the Minster, powdering his
wig, whitening his black gown from collar to hem, and not a little
endangering his eyesight.
The culprit eluded all pursuit on this occasion; but Mrs. Woodford
soon after was told that the Major had caught Peregrine listening at
the little south door of the choir, had collared him, and flogged
him worse than ever, for being seduced by the sounds of the popish
and idolatrous worship, and had told all his sons that the like
chastisement awaited them if they presumed to cross the threshold of
the steeple house.
Nevertheless the Senior Prefect of the college boys, when about to
come out of the Cathedral on Sunday morning, found his gown pinned
with a skewer so fast to the seat that he was only set free at the
expense of a rent. Public opinion decided that the deed had been
done by the imp of Oakshott, and accordingly the whole of the
Wykeham scholars set on him with hue and cry the first time they saw
him outside the Close, and hunted him as far as St. Cross, where he
suddenly and utterly vanished from their sight.
Mrs. Woodford agreed with Anne that it was a very strange story.
For how could he have been in the Cathedral at service time when it
was well known that Major Oakshott had all his family together at
his own form of worship in his house? Anne, who had been in hopes
that her mother would be thus convinced of his supernatural powers,
looked disappointed, but she had afterwards to confess that Charles
Archfield had found out that it was his cousin Sedley Archfield who
had played the audacious trick, in revenge for a well-merited
tunding from the Prefect.
"And then saddled it on young Oakshott?" asked her mother.
"Charley says one such matter more or less makes no odds to the Whig
ape; but I cannot endure Sedley Archfield, mamma."
"If he lets another lad bear the blame of his malice he cannot
indeed be a good lad."
"So Charley and Lucy say," returned Anne. "We shall be glad to be
away from Winchester, for while Peregrine Oakshott torments slyly,
Sedley Archfield loves to frighten us openly, and to hurt us to see
how much we can bear, and if Charley tries to stand up for us,
Sedley calls him a puny wench, and a milksop, and knocks him down.
But, dear madam, pray do not tell what I have said to her ladyship,
for there is no knowing what Sedley would do to us."
"My little maid has not known before what boys can be!"
"No; but indeed Charles Archfield is quite different, almost as if
he had been bred in London. He is a very gentleman. He never is
rude to any girl, and he is courteous and gentle and kind. He
gathered walnuts for us yesterday, and cracked all mine, and I am to
make him a purse with two of the shells."
Mrs. Woodford smiled, but there was a short thrill of anxiety in her
motherly heart as her glance brought up a deeper colour into Anne's
cheeks. There was a reserve to bring that glow, for the child knew
that if she durst say that Charles called her his little sweetheart
and wife, and that the walnut-shell purse would be kept as a token,
she should be laughed at as a silly child, perhaps forbidden to make
it, or else her uncle might hear and make a joke of it. It was not
exactly disingenuousness, but rather the first dawn of maidenly
reserve and modesty that reddened her cheek in a manner her mother
did not fail to observe.
Yet it was with more amusement than misgiving, for children played
at courtship like other games in mimicry of being grown up, and a
baronet's only son was in point of fact almost as much out of the
reach of a sea captain's daughter and clergyman's niece as a prince
of the blood royal; and Master Archfield would probably be
contracted long before he could choose for himself, for his family
were not likely to take into account that if Captain Woodford had
not been too severely wounded to come forward after the battle of
Southwold Bay he would have been knighted. On the strength of which
Anne, as her companions sometimes said, gave herself in consequence
more airs than Mistress Lucy ever did.
Sedley, a poor cousin, a destitute cavalier's orphan, who had been
placed on the foundation at Winchester College in hopes that he
might be provided for in the Church, would have been far more on her
level, and indeed Lady Archfield, a notable matchmaker, had already
hinted how suitable such a thing would be. However, the present
school character of Master Sedley, as well as her own observations,
by no means inclined Mrs. Woodford towards the boy, large limbed and
comely faced, but with a bullying, scowling air that did not augur
well for his wife or his parish.
Whether it were this lad's threats, or more likely, the fact that
all the Close was on the alert, Peregrine's exploits were less
frequent there, and began to extend to the outskirts of the city.
There were some fine yew trees on the southern borders, towards the
chalk down, with massive dark foliage upon stout ruddy branches,
among which Peregrine, armed with a fishing-rod, line, and hook, sat
perched, angling for what might be caught from unconscious
passengers along a path which led beneath.
From a market-woman's basket he abstracted thus a fowl! His "Ho!
ho! ho!" startled her into looking up, and seeing it apparently
resuscitated, and hovering aloft. Full of dismay, she hurried
shrieking away to tell the story of the bewitched chick at the
market-cross among her gossips.
His next capture was a chop from a butcher boy's tray, but this
involved more peril, for with a fierce oath that he would be
revenged on the Whiggish imp, the lad darted at the tree, in vain,
however, for Peregrine had dropped down on the other side, and crept
unseen to another bush, where he lay perdu, under the thick green
branches, rod and all, while the youth, swearing and growling, was
shaking his former refuge.
As soon as the coast was clear he went back to his post, and
presently was aware of three gentlemen advancing over the down,
pointing, measuring, and surveying. One was small and slight, as
simply dressed as a gentleman of the period could be; another was
clad in a gay coat with a good deal of fluttering ribbon and rich
lace; the third, a tall well-made man, had a plain walking suit,
surmounted by a flowing periwig and plumed beaver. Coming close
beneath Peregrine's tree, and standing with their backs to it, they
eagerly conversed. "Such a cascade will drown the honours of the
Versailles fountains, if only the water can be raised to such a
height. Are you sure of it, Wren?"
"As certain as hydraulics can make me, sir," and the lesser man
began drawing lines with his stick in the dust of the path in
demonstration.
The opportunity was irresistible, and the hook from above deftly
caught the band of the feathered hat of the taller man, slowly and
steadily drawing it up, entirely unperceived by the owner, on whose
wig it had rested, and who was bending over the dust-traced diagram
in absorbed attention. Peregrine deferred his hobgoblin laughter,
for success emboldened him farther. Detaching the hat from his
hook, and depositing it safely in a fork of the tree, he next
cautiously let down his line, and contrived to get a strong hold of
one of the black locks on the top of the wig, just as the wearer was
observing, "Oliver's Battery, eh? A cupola with a light to be seen
out at sea? Our sailors will make another St. Christopher of you!
Ha! what's this'"
For feeling as if a branch were touching the structure on his head,
he had stepped forward, thus favouring Peregrine's manoeuvres so
that the wig dangled in the air, suddenly disclosing the bare skull
of a very dark man, with such marked features that it needed not the
gentlemen's outcry to show the boy who was the victim of his
mischief.
"What imp is there?" cried the King, spying up into the tree, while
his attendant drew his sword, "How now?" as Peregrine half climbed,
half tumbled down, bringing hat and wig with him, and, whether by
design or accident, fell at his feet. "Will nothing content you but
royal game?" he continued laughing, as Sir Christopher Wren helped
him to resume his wig. "Why, what a shrimp it is! a mere goblin
sprite! What's thy name, master wag?"
"Peregrine Oakshott, so please you," the boy answered, raising
himself with a face scared indeed, but retaining its queer
impishness. "Sir, I never guessed--"
"Young rogue! have you our licence to waylay our loyal subjects?"
demanded the King, with an affected fierceness. "Know you not 'tis
rank treason to discrown our sacred Majesty, far more to dishevel or
destroy our locks? Why! I might behead you on the spot." To his
great amazement the boy, with an eager face and clasped hands,
exclaimed, "O sir! Oh, please your Majesty, do so."
"Do so!" exclaimed the King astounded. "Didst hear what I said?"
"Yes, sir! You said it was a beheading matter, and I'm willing,
sir."
"Of all the petitions that ever were made to me, this is the
strangest!" exclaimed Charles. "An urchin like this weary of life!
What next? So," with a wink to his companions, "Peregrine Oakshott,
we condemn thee for high treason against our most sacred Majesty's
beaver and periwig, and sentence thee to die by having thine head
severed from thy body. Kneel down, open thy collar, bare thy neck.
Ay, so, lay thy neck across that bough. Killigrew, do thy duty."
To the general surprise, the boy complied with all these directions,
never flinching nor showing sign of fear, except that his lips were
set and his cheek whitened. As he knelt, with closed eyes, the flat
cold blade descended on his neck, the tension relaxed, and he sank!
"Hold!" cried the King. "It is gone too far! He has surely not
carried out the jest by dying on our hands."
"No, no, sir," said Wren, after a moment's alarm, "he has only
swooned. Has any one here a flask of wine to revive him?"
Several gentlemen had come up, and as Peregrine stirred, some wine
was held to his lips, and he presently asked in a faint voice, "Is
this fairyland?"
"Not yet, my lad," said Charles, "whatever it may be when Wren's
work is done."
The boy opened his eyes, and as he beheld the same face, and the too
familiar sky and trees, he sighed heavily, and said, "Then it is all
the same! O sir, would you but have cut off my head in good
earnest, I might be at home again!"
"Home! what means the elf?"
"An elf! That is what they say I am--changed in the cradle," said
Peregrine, incited to confidence by the good-natured eyes, "and I
thought if I were close on death mine own people might take me home,
and bring back the right one."
"He really believes it!" exclaimed Charles much diverted. "Tell me,
good Master Elf, who is thy father, I mean not my brother Oberon,
but him of the right one, as thou sayst."
"Mr. Robert Oakshott of Oakwood, sir," said Peregrine.
"A sturdy squire of the country party," said the King. "I am much
minded to secure the lad for an elfin page," he added aside to
Killigrew. "There's a fund of excellent humour and drollery in
those queer eyes of his! So, Sir Hobgoblin, if you are proof
against cold steel, I know not what is to be done with you. Get you
back, and devise some other mode of finding your way home to
fairyland."
Peregrine said not a word of his adventure, so that the surprise of
his family was the greater when overtures were made through Sir
Christopher Wren for his appointment as a royal page.
"I would as soon send my son at once to be a page to Beelzebub,"
returned Major Oakshott.
And though Sir Christopher did not return the answer exactly in
those terms, he would not say that the Puritan Major did not judge
rightly.