CHILDE CHARITY
Another evening King Winwealth fell into low spirits, and sent down a
message for Snowflower to come to the highest hall. So the little girl
went up with her grandmother's chair, upon which she laid down her head,
saying: "Chair of my grandmother, tell me a story." The clear voice from
under the cushion said: "Listen to the story of Childe Charity."
Once upon a time, there lived in the west country a little girl who had
neither father nor mother. They both died when she was very young, and
left their daughter to the care of her uncle, who was the richest farmer
in all that country. He had houses and lands, flocks and herds, many
servants to work about his house and fields, a wife who had brought him
a great dowry, and two fair daughters.
All their neighbours, being poor, looked up to the family--insomuch that
they thought themselves great people. The father and mother were as
proud as peacocks. The daughters thought themselves the greatest
beauties in the world, and not one of the family would speak civilly to
anybody they thought low.
Now it happened that though she was their near relation, they had this
opinion of the orphan girl, partly because she had no fortune, and
partly because of her humble, kindly nature. It was said that the more
needy any creature was, the more ready was she to befriend it. So the
people of the west country called her Childe Charity, and if she had any
other name, I never heard it.
Childe Charity was thought very mean in that proud house. Her uncle
would not own her for his niece. Her cousins would not keep her company.
Her aunt sent her to work in the dairy, and to sleep in the back garret,
where they kept all sorts of lumber and dry herbs for the winter.
All the servants learned the same lesson, and Childe Charity had more
work than rest among them. All the day she scoured pails, scrubbed
dishes, and washed crockery ware. But every night she slept in the back
garret as sound as a princess could in her palace.
Her uncle's house was large and white, and stood among green meadows by
a river's side. In front it had a porch covered with a vine; behind, it
had a farmyard and high granaries. Within were two parlours for the
rich, and two kitchens for the poor, which the neighbours thought very
grand; and one day in the harvest season, when this rich farmer's corn
had been all cut down and housed, he invited them to a harvest supper.
The west-country people came in their holiday clothes. Such heaps of
cakes and cheese, such baskets of apples and barrels of ale had never
been at a feast before. They were making merry in kitchen and parlour,
when a poor old woman came to the back door, begging for scraps of food
and a night's lodging. Her clothes were coarse and ragged; her hair was
scanty and grey; her back was bent; her teeth were gone. She had a
squinting eye, a clubbed foot, and crooked fingers. In short, she was
the poorest and ugliest old woman that ever came begging.
The first who saw her was the kitchen maid, and she ordered her to be
gone for an ugly witch. The next was the herd-boy, and he threw her a
bone. But Childe Charity, hearing the noise, came out from her seat at
the foot of the lowest table, and asked the old woman to take her share
of the supper, and sleep that night in her bed in the back garret.
The old woman sat down without a word of thanks. All the people laughed
at Childe Charity for giving her bed and her supper to a beggar. Her
proud cousins said it was just like her mean spirit, but Childe Charity
did not mind them. She scraped the pots for her supper that night, and
slept on a sack among the lumber, while the old woman rested in her warm
bed. And next morning, before the little girl awoke, she was up and
gone, without so much as saying thank you, or good morning.
That day all the servants were sick after the feast, and mostly cross
too--so you may judge how civil they were; when, at supper time, who
should come to the back door but the old woman, again asking for broken
scraps of food and a night's lodging. No one would listen to her or give
her a morsel, till Childe Charity rose from her seat at the foot of the
lowest table, and kindly asked her to take her supper, and sleep in her
bed in the back garret.
Again the old woman sat down without a word. Childe Charity scraped the
pots for her supper, and slept on the sack. In the morning the old woman
was gone; but for six nights after, as sure as the supper was spread,
there was she at the back door, and the little girl always asked her in.
Childe Charity's aunt said she would let her get enough of beggars. Her
cousins made game of what they called her genteel visitor. Sometimes the
old woman said: "Child, why don't you make this bed softer? and why are
your blankets so thin?" but she never gave her a word of thanks, nor
a civil good morning.
[Illustration: THERE CAME IN A COMPANY OF LITTLE LADIES
_See page 84_]
At last, on the ninth night from her first coming, when Childe Charity
was getting used to scrape the pots and sleep on the sack, her knock
came to the door, and there she stood with an ugly ashy-coloured dog, so
stupid-looking and clumsy that no herd-boy would keep him.
"Good evening, my little girl!" she said, when Childe Charity opened the
door. "I will not have your supper and bed to-night. I am going on a
long journey to see a friend. But here is a dog of mine, whom nobody in
all the west country will keep for me. He is a little cross, and not
very handsome; but I leave him to your care till the shortest day in all
the year. Then you and I will count for his keeping."
When the old woman had said the last word, she set off with such speed
that Childe Charity lost sight of her in a minute. The ugly dog began to
fawn upon her, but he snarled at everybody else. The servants said he
was a disgrace to the house. The cousins wanted him drowned, and it was
with great trouble that Childe Charity got leave to keep him in an old
ruined cow-house.
Ugly and cross as the dog was, he fawned on her, and the old woman had
left him to her care. So the little girl gave him part of all her meals;
and when the hard frost came, took him to her own back garret, because
the cow-house was damp and cold in the long nights. The dog lay quietly
on some straw in a corner. Childe Charity slept soundly, but every
morning the servants would say to her:
"What great light and fine talking was that in your back garret?"
"There was no light but the moon shining in through the shutterless
window, and no talk that I heard," said Childe Charity; and she thought
they must have been dreaming.
But night after night, when any of them awoke in the dark and silent
hour that comes before the morning, they saw a light brighter and
clearer than the Christmas fire, and heard voices like those of lords
and ladies in the back garret.
Partly from fear, and partly from laziness, none of the servants would
rise to see what might be there; till at length, when the winter nights
were at the longest, the little parlour maid, who did least work and got
most favour, because she gathered news for her mistress, crept out of
bed when all the rest were sleeping, and set herself to watch at a small
hole in the door.
She saw the dog lying quietly in the corner, Childe Charity sleeping
soundly in her bed, and the moon shining through the shutterless window.
But an hour before daybreak there came a glare of lights, and a sound of
far-off bugles. The window opened, and in marched a troop of little men
clothed in crimson and gold, and bearing every man a torch, till the
room looked bright as day.
They marched up with great respect to the dog, where he lay on the
straw, and the most richly clothed among them said: "Royal Prince, we
have prepared the banquet hall. What will your Highness please that we
do next?"
"You have done well," said the dog. "Now prepare the feast, and see that
all things are in the best order; for the Princess and I mean to bring a
stranger who never feasted in our halls before."
"Your Highness's commands shall be obeyed," said the little man, making
another bow; and he and his company passed out of the window. By and by
there was another glare of lights, and a sound like far-off flutes. The
window opened, and there came in a company of little ladies clad in
velvet, and carrying each a crystal lamp.
They also walked up to the dog, and the gayest one said: "Royal Prince,
we have prepared the carpets and curtains. What will your Highness
please that we do next?"
"You have done well," said the dog. "Now prepare the robes, and let all
things be of the best; for the Princess and I will bring with us a
stranger who never feasted in our halls before."
"Your Highness's commands shall be obeyed," said the little lady, making
a low curtsy; and she and her company passed out through the window,
which closed quietly behind them.
The dog stretched himself out upon the straw, the little girl turned in
her sleep, and the moon shone in on the back garret. The parlour maid
was so much amazed, and so eager to tell this story to her mistress,
that she could not close her eyes that night, and was up before
cock-crow. But when she told it, her mistress called her a silly wench
to have such foolish dreams, and scolded her so that she did not dare to
speak about what she had seen to the servants.
Nevertheless Childe Charity's aunt thought there might be something in
it worth knowing. So next night, when all the house were asleep, she
crept out of bed, and set herself to watch at the back garret door.
There she saw just what the maid told her--the little men with the
torches, and the little ladies with the crystal lamps, come in to the
dog, and the same words pass, only he said to the one, "Now prepare the
presents," and to the other, "Prepare the jewels." When they were gone,
the dog stretched himself on the straw, Childe Charity turned in her
sleep, and the moon shone in on the back garret.
The mistress could not close her eyes any more than the maid, so eager
was she to tell the story. She woke up Childe Charity's rich uncle
before cock-crow. But when he heard it, he laughed at her for a foolish
woman, and advised her not to repeat the like before her neighbours,
lest they should think she had lost her senses.
The mistress could say no more, and the day passed. But that night the
master thought he would like to see what went on in the garret. So when
all the house were asleep he slipped out of bed, and set himself to
watch at the hole in the door. The same thing happened again that the
maid and the mistress saw. The little men in crimson with their torches,
and the little ladies in rose-coloured velvet with their lamps, came in
at the window and bowed low to the dog, the one saying, "Royal Prince,
we have prepared the presents," and the other, "Royal Prince, we have
prepared the jewels."
The dog said to them all: "You have done well. To-morrow, come and meet
me and the Princess with horses and chariots, and let all things be done
in the best way. For we will bring a stranger from this house who has
never travelled with us, nor feasted in our halls before."
The little men and the little ladies said: "Your Highness's commands
shall be obeyed."
When they had gone out through the window, the ugly dog stretched
himself out on the straw, Childe Charity turned in her sleep, and the
moon shone in on the back garret.
The master could not close his eyes any more than the maid or the
mistress. He remembered to have heard his grandfather say, that
somewhere near his meadows there lay a path leading to the fairies'
country, and the haymakers used to see it shining through the grey
summer morning, as the fairy bands went home.
Nobody had heard or seen the like for many years; but the master thought
that the doings in his back garret must be a fairy business, and the
ugly dog a person of great account. His chief wonder was, however, what
visitor the fairies intended to take from his house; and after thinking
the matter over, he was sure it must be one of his daughters--they were
so handsome, and had such fine clothes.
So Childe Charity's rich uncle made it his first business that morning
to get ready a breakfast of roast mutton for the ugly dog, and carry it
to him in the cow-house. But not a morsel would the dog taste.
"The fairies have strange ways," said the master to himself. But he
called his daughters and bade them dress themselves in their best, for
he could not say which of them might be called into great company before
nightfall. Childe Charity's cousins, hearing this, put on the richest of
their silks and laces, and strutted like peacocks from kitchen to
parlour all day.
They were in very bad humour when night fell, and nobody had come. But
just as the family were sitting down to supper the ugly dog began to
bark, and the old woman's knock was heard at the back door.
Childe Charity opened it, and was going to offer her bed and supper as
usual, when the old woman said: "This is the shortest day in all the
year, and I am going home to hold a feast after my travels. I see you
have taken good care of my dog, and now if you will come with me to my
house, he and I will do our best to entertain you. Here is our company."
As the old woman spoke there was a sound of far-off flutes and bugles,
then a glare of lights. And a great company, clad so grandly that they
shone with gold and jewels, came in open chariots, covered with gilding
and drawn by snow-white horses. The first and finest of the chariots was
empty. The old woman led Childe Charity to it by the hand, and the ugly
dog jumped in before her.
The proud cousins, in all their finery, had by this time come to the
door, but nobody wanted them. No sooner was the old woman and her dog
within the chariot than a wonderful change passed over them, for the
ugly old woman turned at once to a beautiful young princess, with long
yellow curls and a robe of green and gold; while the ugly dog at her
side started up a fair young prince, with nut-brown hair and a robe of
purple and silver.
"We are," said they, as the chariots drove on, "a prince and princess of
Fairyland, and there was a wager between us whether or not there were
good people still to be found in these false and greedy times. One said
'Yes', and the other said 'No'."
"And I have lost," said the Prince, "and must pay the feast and
presents."
Childe Charity never heard any more of that story. Some of the farmer's
household, who were looking after them, said the chariots had gone one
way across the meadows, some said they had gone another, and till this
day they cannot agree upon the way they went.
But Childe Charity went with that noble company into a country such as
she had never seen--for primroses covered all the ground, and the light
was always like that of a summer evening. They took her to a royal
palace, where there was nothing but feasting and dancing for seven days.
She had robes of pale green and velvet to wear, and slept in a room
inlaid with ivory.
When the feast was done, the Prince and Princess gave her such heaps of
gold and jewels that she could not carry them; but they gave her a
chariot to go home in, drawn by six white horses. On the seventh night,
which happened to be Christmas time, when the farmer's family had
settled in their own minds that she would never come back, and were
sitting down to supper, they heard the sound of her coachman's bugle,
and saw her alight with all the jewels and gold at the very back door
where she had brought in the ugly old woman.
The fairy chariot drove away, and never again came back to that
farmhouse after. But Childe Charity scoured and scrubbed no more, for
she grew a great lady, even in the eyes of her proud cousins.