In that part of North Wales which borders on England there are many
beautiful grassy hills, often wooded half way up their sides, and lovely
green valleys between them. The hills are not too high or rugged to be
easily climbed in a morning's walk, and it is delightful to rest on
their tops. The air is very fresh; there is a scent of wild thyme
growing among the grass on which you tread, and a wide view over all the
neighbouring country.
A large and pleasant old house, partly overgrown with ivy, near the top
of one of these hills, was the home of Walter and Lucy Lewis. There were
pleasure-grounds and plantations all round the house, and the hill had
many walks and terraces cut in it, where there were beautiful places,
sometimes among trees, sometimes among heath, and ferns, and gay
fox-gloves, and always some new view of the green valley beneath. Mr.
Lewis was the landlord of most of the farms that lay near, and of most
of the white cottages that peeped out every here and there from some
thicket or knoll. He was a kind landlord to all his tenants, and was
especially careful of his cottagers. He never let a cottage that was
badly built, or inconvenient, or made with only one room in it for a
whole family as some cottages are; he always had three rooms at least in
his, besides a wash-house, a place for coals and wood, and a pig-sty;
and with each he always gave enough ground to grow the vegetables for
the family. It was a pleasure to see how clean and comfortable these
cottages were. There was sure to be a side of bacon hanging from the
beams in the kitchen; a good sack of potatoes in a corner; a large
home-made loaf or two of good brown bread, and comfortable furniture.
Whenever sickness or trouble came upon any of Mr. Lewis's tenants they
were sure to find friends in him and Mrs. Lewis, and whenever any good
fortune or happiness came to them they were glad to see these good
friends come to their gates that they might relate it. Mr. Lewis had
built schools for their children, and took great pains about their
education, and he had given a large piece of ground to be free for
games, for keeping May-day, and other pleasures.
Walter and Lucy were allowed to roam about a good deal by themselves,
because every one in the neighbourhood knew them and would take care of
them. Their mama used to tell them, whenever they went far from home
they should look out for the church steeple, for the church stood on the
same hill with their house. With this landmark to prevent their losing
themselves, they used to take long walks together sometimes. One day
they had gone to the top of a low hill that rose next to that on which
their house was, and they came to a hedge. There was a gap in the hedge,
near the ground, and through this Walter said he would go.
"Now look, Lucy," said he, "how cleverly I shall creep through feet
foremost. My feet are through,--now my knees, now--" he disappeared, and
not a word more came.
"Walter! Walter! where are you?" cried little Lucy, peeping through.
"Oh, Walter, where are you gone?" She went on with a faltering voice,
for she saw that the hedge was at the top of a steep bank, and that he
must have slipped down at once to the bottom.
"Lucy," said a voice below, "come down here!"
"I cannot," answered she at first; but after a little encouragement from
Walter who now appeared from among some bushes into which he had rolled,
she cautiously made her way through the gap, and partly sliding, partly
running soon joined him where he stood. Below them was a small lake
which they had often seen in their walks, but never had gone close to,
and which looked very inviting, and Walter determined to go down to it.
Lucy was afraid. She said they had already lost sight of the steeple and
how should they find their way back? But Walter declared that nothing
could be easier than to climb up the bank the way they came down; so,
leading his little sister by the hand and helping her over difficult
places, he soon reached the lake with her.
Here everything was very beautiful. There were a great many bright
flowers, of which they gathered several, and a number of dragon-flies
that flitted over the water with their lacy wings, and their corselets
glancing green, gold, and purple in the sun. Walter and Lucy ran along
the edge of the lake watching the quick movements of the dragon-flies,
till, suddenly stopping, Lucy declared it was growing dark and she
wanted to go home.
"Dark!--Why, how can you say so?" said Walter. "It was only three
o'clock when we came out." But, as he spoke, he looked up and saw that
the sky had become covered with black clouds.
They began directly to clamber up the hill, and reached the top at
last; but when they looked round, everything was strange. No steeple was
in sight, nor did they see any tree or rock that they knew.
"We must have come up the wrong way," said Walter. "But don't be
frightened, Lucy dear; let us get down to the lake again and try to find
the way we came."
Trying to keep her courage up, Lucy took hold of his hand, and they were
soon by the water again. It was easy to them, used as they were to
clambering, to go safely down steep places. When they reached the
borders of the lake they saw some large drops of rain falling into the
water, and immediately afterwards they were startled by a loud clap of
thunder.
"Make haste; let us find the way if we can," said Walter.
"I am so tired I cannot go on," said poor little Lucy, beginning to cry.
The rain now poured down, and a flash of lightning darted across the
hill, followed by a clap of thunder still louder than the first.
"Oh mama, mama!" sobbed Lucy. "What shall I do? I wish we were at home
with you."
"What now?--Dear heart!--what's amiss?" cried a voice behind her.
Both the children turned round, but saw no one. They were standing a
little way from the edge of the lake, and a thicket of bushes was
between them and it. The voice seemed to come from among them. Lucy
clung to Walter in her fear. There was another clap of thunder.
"Come to the door; come in, then," cried the voice. "Heart alive! why do
you stay out in the storm?"
"There must be a cottage near us," said Walter; "come with me."
Lucy tried to hold him back, for she was afraid of this strange voice;
but he gently pulled her forward, and on the other side of the bushes,
close to the edge of the lake, they came to the door of a very small,
miserable looking cottage. He opened the door by the latch and they went
in. It was so dark in there, that at first they saw nothing; but
presently they could distinguish in one corner an old woman lying in a
little narrow bed.
"Dear heart!" she exclaimed, as they stood together by her bed; "why,
it's the little lady and gentleman from the house."
"Are you not old Mary Jones?" said Walter.
"Yes, indeed, sure I am," she replied. "Sit down, poor little dears. I
would help you to take off your wet clothes, but I cannot move with the
rheumatics."
She talked very kindly to them, and told them which corner to sit down
in, where the rain could not come through. She had nothing to give them,
she said, till her daughter and her grandson came in from work.
The two children sat down, and forgot their own little troubles
entirely, so much greater did poor Mary Jones's appear. How miserable it
seemed to them, she must be lying there alone all day long, with no one
to help her, in this dark, damp cottage. Walter said something to her
which shewed he was thinking so.
"It is a poor place," she replied. "We have no kind landlord to take
care of our cottages, as your good papa does. Ours seldom comes into the
country."
"But how long have you been so ill?" said Walter. "I remember seeing you
in church in your red cloak a few months ago."
"Yes, sure you did." said she. "But I am afraid I shall never go to
church again. I have been ill and not able to get up this three months."
"Poor Mary Jones!" sighed little Lucy.
All this time the rain poured down, and the thunder rolled; but it
became more distant, and gradually the storm ceased. At the first gleam
of sunshine the children began to think of going home, for they knew
their mama must be uneasy about them; but they felt as if it was cruel
to leave the old woman all alone, though they could do her no good.
Meanwhile she tried to make them understand which way they ought to go;
but it seemed difficult to make it out.
While they stood waiting and hesitating what to do, footsteps were heard
outside, and Mary Jones's daughter and grandson came in, wet through,
for they had walked home through the pelting rain.
"Ah! here's little Davy now, can take you the right way," said Mary.
They could not bear to take him out, but he made nothing of it; he said
he should soon be home again; so they set off with true feelings of
gratitude to these kind people, and glad to see that Mary Jones would
soon have some tea and be attended to; for her daughter began to prepare
things directly.
They were surprised to find how short a distance it was to get home, now
they knew the way. They were soon there; but they found that their mama
had been very uneasy about them, and she told them they must not wander
so far away any more. They had begged of Davy to wait for a little
while; and when they told their mama all about poor Mary Jones, and how
kindly Davy had led them home in his wet clothes, she ordered him a
good hot supper, and gave him a nice thick warm jacket to put on instead
of his wet one; and she put up in a basket a piece of meat and bread,
and some tea and sugar, to take to his grandmother.
Still, though all this was a great pleasure to Walter and Lucy, they
thought very much about poor old Mary. When little Lucy lay down in her
warm bed she sighed, and looked very sad, and when her mama came to give
her a kiss, the last thing before she went to sleep, she said, "I wish
poor Mary Jones's cottage was warm and dry." Walter dreamed that the
lake overflowed, and the water came into the cottage; but just as it
grew so deep that it would have drowned the old woman in her bed he
started up and awoke. Next morning they could not help thinking of her
when it was time for her daughter and Davy to go out to work and leave
her, and they determined to ask their mama to let them go and see her
when they had done their lessons.
When they went with this request to their mama she told them that their
papa had already gone to Mary Jones's cottage, and that she would take
them to meet him on his return. They soon saw him coming over the hill
when they went out, and ran to meet him; and he told them he had
proposed to let Mary have one of his cottages that was now empty,
rent-free for the first year; and that she had gratefully accepted this
offer. Her daughter, Peggy Davids, Davy's mother, was a good worker in
the fields, he said, and Davy had got a place at one of the farmers
near, that he was to go to next week; so he expected they would be able
to live very comfortably, if they were placed in a cottage that was fit
for people to live in, instead of their wretched damp one with only one
dark room, and not a morsel of garden.
The children were quite delighted to hear all this; and Mrs. Lewis said
she knew old Mary Jones used to make something herself, by knitting the
soft Welsh wool into socks and stockings; she remembered buying some of
her. Mr. Lewis said she had told him so, and that, if she could get the
use of her hands again, she could get her work back.
They went to see the cottage. It was a nice little place, standing high
and dry on a hill side, with its garden in front, and white and clean
inside and out. Mary Jones, Peggy Davids, and Davy were established in
it before a week was over. Mrs. Lewis gave them several little things to
help them to furnish it; and, as Davy's wages soon began to come in, and
his mother had constant work, they bought more things, and it looked as
bright and comfortable as the old place had looked dismal.
But the greatest change was in Mary Jones herself. She had not been
three days in her new abode when she declared the pain had all gone out
of her joints, and that she was able to sleep instead of lying awake all
night. In a week she could turn on her side and use her hands; and a few
days afterwards Walter and Lucy went to see her, and found her sitting
by the fire knitting.
It was about a month after this time, on a fine Sunday morning in
autumn, that Mr. and Mrs. Lewis, with a young lady who was on a visit to
them, and Walter and Lucy, were going to church, and noticed among the
people going along the path before them an old woman in a bright red
cloak and black bonnet, leaning on a younger woman with a nice warm
shawl on, and a little boy cleanly dressed.
"Mama," said Walter, "I do believe that is old Mary Jones, with Davy and
his mother."
"And we shall see her in the old place again," said Lucy.
"It really is Mary Jones," answered their mama.
"I am so glad!" said Walter. "This is a happy Sunday morning."
[Illustration: THE VILLAGE FAIR.]