A DEPUTATION TO SIR MILES.
A FUNERAL, in the days of which we write, was a most portentous
business. Friends and neighbours, and even strangers, came from near
and far, and the kitchen spit was going day and night, to roast the
huge joints for the funeral baked meats.
Among the motley crowd who came to honour his father's memory in this
fashion, Miles had to live for nearly a fortnight, but he took care
that neither his sister nor Cicely should be disturbed in their quiet
retreat, and he had the satisfaction of seeing that, as the days went
on, the frightened look faded out of Cicely's eyes, and she began to be
more like the girl he had first met in that happy home at Greenwich.
Letters had been sent by both of them to Sir Harry and Lady Guildford,
telling them of all that had happened, and begging that Sir Harry would
visit them, if it was possible for him to leave his duties, under the
plea of attending the funeral of a friend.
This plea did serve its purpose; and the day before the interment of
Sir Thomas Paton, Sir Harry Guildford arrived, followed closely by a
train of servants and sumpter mules, bringing wedding presents and
wardrobe for Cicely. Lady Guildford realised the awkward position in
which the young couple were placed, and she rightly thought that a
visit from her father, and gifts from all her friends, would do more
than anything else to set matters right in the eyes of servants and
friends.
So the coming of Sir Harry was hailed with real pleasure by Miles and
Master Clark too. He also brought news from Tyndale, for he had rested
at the "Golden Fleece" on his way through the city, and had been told
all about the great work going on there, on purpose that he might tell
Miles. He had also brought letters for him from Master Tyndale and the
merchant too—such cheerful, hopeful letters, that Miles thought he
would like to throw his cap in the air and shout for joy.
Tyndale was making good progress with his translation of the New
Testament, and the difficulties that had at first beset him were fast
vanishing, thanks to the pains they had both taken in clearing up the
first difficulties as they arose, and when they had the help of the
Cardinal's library at hand.
This was a very real comfort to Miles, for he saw now clearly enough
that his duty lay here in the country among his tenants; but he could
scarcely have settled down to this, if he had thought that he was
wanted by Tyndale for the larger duty of giving with him the New
Testament to the people. So the visit of Sir Harry brought help and
comfort without alloy, except that Miles had to give so much time and
attention to other guests that he could not see as much of his old
friend as he could wish.
But at last the elaborate funeral came to an end, and there were
candles enough burned on the occasion to satisfy even Lady Paton, whose
mind, now that she had been able to take in the fact that her husband
had passed away, seemed to fasten itself upon this item of the funeral.
Of course, the old friends and fellow landlords of Miles' father had
been lavish in their advice as what he ought to do now that he had
succeeded to the old inheritance of the Patons. One and all agreed that
whatever he had been able to save while in the service of the Cardinal
should now be expended to replace the sheep his father had been
compelled to part with, and that all the property should be turned into
grazing land.
"I say this to you, Sir Miles, with all the authority of an old friend,
who knew your father's mind fully in these matters," said one.
Miles listened patiently enough while another old friend expressed his
views in the same way; but at last he said, "You may have heard from my
father that we did not see eye to eye in these matters."
"Aye, aye, we heard all about that pretty little quarrel, but you are
old enough to know better now—to know that the old way of dealing with
the land is not profitable; and being one addicted to the new learning,
which is just now so fashionable, you surely will not keep to the old
way of managing the land."
"I am, as you say, addicted to the new learning, which teaches a man
to think and judge for himself in many matters, but he must judge
righteously. He must follow the law of Christ, and do to his neighbour,
though he be his tenant or his hind, as he would have them do to him.
In the matter of my father's funeral I have carried out what I know
would have been his wish. I have not stinted candles, masses, nor baked
meats. There has been free bed and board for man and beast for whoever
liked to come to honour him; but, having done this, I must be free to
live my life, and deal with my tenants, as God shall guide me. I have
taken a wife, and propose to live here on the land, as my father did
before me, but what riches I shall gather for the sons and daughters
who come after me, God knoweth, for I must seek first the good of those
He hath placed under my hand, and I must be free to do it in the way
He shall show me; but I do not think it will be other than the old way
of growing corn by which yeoman and hind can live as well as their
master," added Sir Miles.
"Do you mean to say you will keep on those lazy, grumbling beggars,
whom your father would fain have turned off the land years ago?" fumed
one of the old men.
"I do not wonder that they have grumbled when their rent has been
raised, so that they have well-nigh starved, sometimes, because they
could give so little to the land to raise a good crop," said Miles,
indignantly. For he had heard all about this charge of laziness, which
had its root in his father's mistaken policy, and prevented the tenants
from getting a fair crop from the land.
He tried to explain this, but they bade him cut short all his vexations
about tenants and cottages, by clearing the land and keeping sheep to
supply the markets of Flanders with wool.
"I am not going to sell my sheep," said Miles, "nor my wool either next
year, but I am going to send for a steady craftsman from Ghent, who
can teach my people to use it for themselves; and then there will be
employment for men, and women too, in the winter. If it will make the
men of Flanders rich, as it does, to buy our wool, and weave it, and
send it back as cloth, why should we not learn to do it for ourselves,
and so do away with something of the bitter poverty with which all
are now afflicted. It was taught and practised here in England in the
time of Wickliffe, I have read, and if our people would take to it
again we might rightly and truly be called 'Merry England' once more.
Now, however, the merriment is only for the King and his Court, while
the rest of the people sigh and languish for want of work and want of
bread; and no man's life is safe if he stirs from his own hearthstone
by reason of the crowds of beggars and robbers that we make by our
laws, and our unjust dealing with the land."
Of course such a speech as this could not fail to make a sensation, and
the news that Miles had mentioned the name of Wickliffe was carried to
the monastery by a monk who was one of the party.
He did not know much about the matter himself, but he had heard that
somebody of that name was an enemy of the Church, and so it would
be wise for the brethren to keep their eyes open to the doings of
this young man. At present they could find no fault with him. He had
provided a funeral for his father which they fully approved. There were
to be plenty of masses, and plenty of candles, and as the monastery
supplied both, there would be a nice little sum added to their coffers
over the business.
The monk was not disposed to grumble if Miles did give up the growing
of sheep for the growing of corn. With a populous village of well-to-do
peasants, the Church could reap a much richer harvest than from the
enlarged green meadows, with a silent alehouse, and the mud-hovels of
the village dropping to pieces from decay; so that in his design to
bring back the tenants to the land, Miles was not like to meet with any
opposition from the Church. It was only when her rights and privileges
were threatened that the Church bestirred herself; and so if they had
received any news at the monastery about Cicely, they were careful to
keep it to themselves, and the coming of Sir Harry Guildford placed the
young couple out of the way of idle questioning which might have arisen
if it had been known that they were not married when they first arrived.
But although the Church was neutral in its opinion of Miles, and
old friends offended, the news was carried by one and another until
it reached the ears of the beggars in the woods, and among these it
aroused varying feelings. Those who were rogues and vagabonds from
choice, or who, from having lived this life so long did not care for
steady work, mocked and jeered at the idea of men going back when once
they had been turned off the land. Then there were others out of whom
all the manhood had been beaten by the cruel and degrading treatment
they had received, and these seemed to care very little for anything
now. But there were a few young men who had vivid recollections of
a happy home and steady work, who had not yet been flogged at the
cart-tail, or branded as slaves, and two or three of these resolved to
tie their rags together as decently as they could, and go to see Miles
as soon as his funeral guests should depart.
So as soon as Miles had a little time to give to his wife and her
father, he was fetched in some alarm by his steward, to meet this
ragged band of dirty unkempt men, who nevertheless seemed to know how
to behave themselves with courtesy and decorum.
After a few words of explanation, Miles learned that these were for the
most part the sons of those tenants who had been turned off the land.
When he heard this, he said to the steward, "take them to the barn
where the tables are set, and give them a good meal of what is left of
the funeral baked meats!" Then turning to the men he said, "You are
hungry and weary, eat first, and then I will see you and learn what you
want, and how I can help you!"
"God bless you, Master Miles, and may the holy Mother have you in her
keeping," fervently ejaculated one of the most gaunt and hungry looking
of the band, and they gladly followed to the barn.
The servants eyed the ragged crew suspiciously, but they had abundance
of meat and bread still in the larder, and so the men ate their fill,
and washed down the meal with ale that was not too strong for weakly
stomachs. Having eaten and drunk, the men asked if they might wash
and roll themselves in the straw by way of drying before they again
presented themselves before Sir Miles.
To this the servants gave a rather grudging assent, but Miles
was pleased to see in this a sign that the men had not lost all
self-respect, and he did not fail to accord to them a hearty welcome,
and even thanked them for coming to ask as to the truth of the reports
they had heard.
"I will tell you plainly that those who have lived on this land for
generations I should like to come back. But there are difficulties in
the way of doing this all at once. The houses have fallen into decay,
many of them have disappeared, and only a few stones remain of what was
once a comfortable dwelling. Now when they are put up, I would like
them to be more substantially built, and not mere mud-hovels. You are
strong hearty men if you were well fed. Would you be willing to learn
how to do this work, if I could find somebody to teach you, and pay you
a fair wage while you were learning?"
To see the gleaming eager eyes of the half-starved men as they listened
to this proposal, was enough to convince Miles of the sincerity of his
visitors; and so, after some further talk, it was arranged that they
should all sleep in the straw at the upper end of the barn that night,
and Miles would write a letter for them to carry to Rankin the next
day. In this Miles told the farmer something of what he intended to
do, and asked him to give the men some employment, if possible, about
the building, that they might learn something of the art of laying and
compacting the stones and beams of timber, that they might know how to
fashion a house out of these materials, instead of mud and straw, and
thatch of turf, which was what most of them were built of.
Having assented to this proposal, the men then asked Miles what was to
be done when they had learned to build better houses.
"I will employ you to put up substantial barns and farm-houses, where
mud cottages stood before," answered Miles, quite expecting to see a
smile of gratification brighten the gaunt faces.
But a look of sullen obstinacy gradually stole over the countenance of
each, and one of them slowly muttered, "What served our fathers is good
enough for us. We want no houses of timber and stone; we be Englishmen,
and like our own fashions."
This was a fling at Miles, because they knew by report that he had
lived some time in London, and thought it would be as well to let their
future master know at once that they were not going to have any London
ways forced upon them.
It was the first encounter with the crass ignorance and prejudice that
arrayed itself against all change, even though it might be for the
bettering of the lot of those who complained of it.
Miles, full of his Utopian dream, tried to explain to these young men
the advantage of having a house firmly and compactly built, how the
peasants would suffer less from cold and ague if the water did not drip
off the walls on to the beds. It was a sufficient argument that the
little hovels—that were not much more than magnified bee-hives—were
good enough for their fathers, and ought to be good enough for them;
and if they might only repair some of the cottages in the village, and
bring the old people to live there, they would be thankful and content.
So the matter had to be settled in that way for the present, and Miles
hastened to his sister's rooms to tell her and his wife what he had
done.
"You do not want them to be content with the old mud cottages," said
Cicely with a smile, for she began to understand her husband better
than his sister could.
"Is it not right and just that the poor should be content with things
as they are," asked Margery rather severely.
"Nay, they should not be content to be unjustly treated; and for the
sake of the master who is unjust, they should do all that in them lies
to make that master see and remedy the injustice. Perhaps it is too
much to expect that those who have been glad to hide in a cave for
shelter, should now aspire to a well-built house; and I shall have
to bear with the mud-hovels for the present, until they can learn to
appreciate better things."
"What is to come of it all?" asked Margery.
"I have promised to give these five work in putting the deserted
cottages in order; and when they are ready, the old folks, and women,
and children are to come back to the village. While they are working
they must live in the barn, and have the scraps from the kitchen that
would go to the dogs. It is an experiment, I know," he added, when Sir
Harry held up his hands, "but I am beginning to find out that it is
easier to commit a wrong than to set it right again. My father thought
to make a great fortune in wool before he died, but he has left me such
a store of worry and trouble that Cicely and I are not likely to be at
a loss for employment for heart and hands for many a year to come."
"And what better fortune could we have left us than that?" asked young
Lady Paton. "I am not clever, you know, but I have always been busy
either about the Court or at home; and now we can be busy thinking out
the best way of helping these poor tenants."
"If they will let you help them," said her husband slyly. "I begin
to think that the landlords are not quite masters of the situation,
however much they may seem so. I have learned a lesson to-day from
those stupid stolid fellows that I am not likely to forget; and I am
afraid the Utopia will not be set up even in this little corner of the
kingdom for some years to come at least."