THE SHEPHERD'S TALE.
"Uncle Thomas," said Jack, "did you ever see a Bible?"
Jack Lucas was lying on the short, elastic grass on the side of Holford
Hill, helping his great-uncle, Thomas Sprat, to watch the large flocks
of Sir John Brydges, the greatest man in these parts. Four or five
weeks of country air and country faire had done much to restore the
roses to his cheeks and the strength to his muscles. He began once more
to feel that life was worth having for the mere sake of living; to feel
a keen enjoyment in climbing the steep hills, in following the sheep in
their devious wanderings over the unenclosed pastures, and recalling to
a sense of its duty any one of them which showed a disposition to stray
too far.
The brown bread and milk, the boiled beef and greens, and ale, which
deaf Margery set before him, had a flavor which he had not found for
many months in the dainty cookery of his cousin Cicely. In those days
the English peasants knew little, in ordinarily good seasons, of
scarcity of food. Foreign travellers record their wonder and admiration
at the "great shins of beef," the quantities of bread and animal
food, consumed by the English yeomen and cottagers, and much of their
superiority in battle was supposed to be owing to this circumstance.
Jack and his uncle suited each other very well. The old man was rather
sparing of his words, but he was a pleased and indulgent listener to
the boy's prattle, and when he did speak, it was always to the purpose.
Sometimes in the evening, or when they were alone on the hillside, Jack
would catechise the shepherd, and draw from him accounts of what he had
seen in his younger days.
For the old man had not always been a shepherd on the hillside. He had
followed his master to foreign wars, and helped to uphold the honor of
England on more than one stricken field. He might have ended his days
in peace and idleness in the knight's hall corner, for Sir John was a
liberal and worthy man, and honored the old retainer of his father; but
Thomas had no fancy for an idle life. He was hale and strong, and quite
able to perform the duties of a shepherd, and he preferred living in
the old cottage where his father and grandfather had lived before him.
Sir John was not one of those who insist on doing people good against
their will or exactly in his own way and no other. He was content to
let the old man please himself. Thus it came to pass that Thomas Sprat,
had a home of his own to share with his great-nephew; and, as I have
said, he made it very pleasant for the lad.
Anne's tale had produced a very different effect upon her brother's
mind from what she had intended. Instead of putting an end to his
curiosity and his mental questionings, she had given them a new
impulse. Again and again, he went over in his mind the story of Agnes
Harland. He recalled the words she had spoken, the account which Anne
had given of the girl's constancy and bravery under trial, and wondered
if it was anything in the words of the mysterious book which had given
her so much courage, and whether that book was really a copy of the
Holy Scripture.
And why should her superiors have been so angry with Agnes for reading
the book, supposing it to be the Bible? Was it true that the word of
God was so dangerous? Was it indeed like a poisonous drug, only to be
touched by a skilful physician, and even then with caution? Or—Jack put
away the thought with horror, but it returned again and again—was it
true that the monks knew themselves condemned by its pages; that their
pretensions to absolute authority over the mind and conscience of men
had no ground or support in Holy Writ, and, therefore, they were afraid
to put the book into the hands of the people? And, if this were true,
how much more was true? What if Luther and the German heretics were
right after all?
Jack's mind was like a seething caldron with these and similar thoughts
and conjectures, and had been so, ever since he had heard the tale of
Agnes Harland. He had never dared heretofore to mention the subject,
and he hardly knew how he had ventured to begin upon it now. But there
had already sprung up a very warm and intimate friendship between
the old man of fourscore, grave, silent, and somewhat severe in his
manners, and the fresh-hearted impulsive schoolboy, with his head full
of the classical learning he had acquired at school, and the tales he
had heard from his father and Cousin Cicely.
Deaf Margery remarked with some little jealousy, that Master Thomas
said more words to Jacky in one day than he had done to her in a month;
forgetting, poor woman, that Master Thomas might as well have tried to
keep up a conversation with one of his own sheep.
Thomas himself was conscious of a new flavor, as it were, given to his
quiet life by the advent of his young kinsman, which repaid him tenfold
for any trouble he had taken in the matter.
On this particular day, Jack and his uncle were alone on the breezy
side of Holford Hill, looking over a beautiful prospect of meadow,
waste and woodland. The old man sat on a flat stone, leaning back
against a great stunted oak tree which grew very conveniently just
behind this his favorite seat, and, with his hands folded before
him, seemed lost in meditation. Jack lay at full length on the thymy
and springing turf, gazing up into the blue sky, and watching now
the rooks, now the great sailing white clouds which passed over it.
Suddenly he spoke out:
"Uncle Thomas, did you ever see a Bible?"
[Illustration: "Uncle Thomas, did you ever see a Bible?"]
The old man started and turned round with a look of surprise, somewhat
as if his own thoughts had found an echo in the boy's words.
"A Bible, lad! And what set thee to thinking of a Bible?"
"Oh, I don't know exactly. I should so like to see one. There must be
such fine tales in the Bible," replied Jack, feeling his way, as it
were. "Tales of St. George and St. Patrick and such like."
The old man smiled and shook his head shrewdly. "I am not so sure of
that, my son. I never saw or heard any such. I doubt whether St. George
and St. Patrick are in the Bible at all, though they may be there for
all that."
It was now Jack's turn to start. "Then you have seen a Bible!" he said,
raising himself on his elbow and looking earnestly at the shepherd. And
as Thomas did not answer, he repeated again, "Then you have really seen
a Bible?"
"Ay, lad," replied the shepherd. "I have both seen a Bible, and held it
in my hands, and read it too."
"But where? But how?" asked Jack.
"Raise yourself up and look about you," said the old man. "Do you see
any one near?"
Jack started to his feet and gazed around him in every direction. "I
see nobody," he said at last, "nobody but the falconer from the Hall,
exercising his hawks in the waste half a mile away, and old Margery
bringing water from the Lady-well. Nobody can come upon us here without
being seen."
"Sit down here by me, then, and I will tell you the tale. I cannot
think it will harm you. I had thought to carry the secret to my grave,
since I have no son to whom I may leave it. But I have learned to love
you as my own son, and all I have will be yours when I am gone. It will
not be much; only the old cottage, and what little gold I have saved;
but, if you have the cottage, you must have the secret of the cottage
as well. So sit you down, and you will, and hear the old man's tale."
Jack obeyed, and prepared to listen with breathless attention. The old
man once more glanced warily round him, and then began his narration.
"You asked me, dear boy, if I had ever seen a Bible. Yes, I have both
seen and handled the Word of God in the vulgar tongue. It was not a
printed book such as we have now; it was written by hand on parchment,
and bound in leather with heavy iron clasps, like the enchanter's
book in your legend of Merlin. But it was no enchanter's book. It was
the real, true, living Word of God, done into English by good Master
Wickliffe of Lutterworth."
"It happened first in this wise. I was a young boy of nine or ten years
old, and sharp for my age as any lad in these parts. I had learned to
read from my father, who was a substantial yeoman, and could both read
and write. But there was little to read in those days, only a ballad
now and then or some such folly, which my father did not greatly favor."
"About this time, I began to notice that though I was always sent to
bed with the chickens, yet my father and mother and my elder brother, a
boy of sixteen or thereabouts, sat up much later. I used to lie awake
and listen after a while, and I could hear a low murmur of voices, as
though some one were reading aloud. I dared not ask any questions, for
I stood much in awe of my father and mother, more than is the fashion
in these days," added the old man with a sigh.
"Well!" said Jack, fearful lest the shepherd should fall to moralizing
on the degeneracy of the times, an exercise of mind as common then as
now and quite as reasonable.
"Well," said the shepherd, "as I told you, I listened thus for several
nights, now and then catching a word which roused my curiosity still
more, till at last I could bear it no longer. One night (it was
Easter-even of all the nights in the year), I rose softly from my bed,
and putting on my clothes, I slipped carefully down the stairs, till
I could peep through the door at the bottom. There sat my father and
mother, surrounded by three or four neighbors. You have seen the little
footstool which always stands by my great chair in the chimney corner?"
"Yes," replied Jack, wondering what the stool could have to do with the
matter.
"My father had this stool turned upside down on his lap, and upon it
lay a great book from which he was reading in low, reverent tones,
the story of the raising of Lazarus from the dead. I noticed in one
glance, as children do notice everything, that the door was barred and
the window carefully darkened so that no gleam of light should appear
without, and also that my brother seemed to be on the watch. I stood
still in my hiding-place and listened to that wonderful tale, not
losing one word, till my father came to that place where he that was
dead came forth bound hand and foot with grave-clothes. Then I could no
longer bear the excitement, and I cried out aloud. In another moment,
my mother had drawn me out of my hiding-place, and I stood in the midst
of the company."
"I was terribly frightened. I thought when I saw my father's grave face
that I had done something dreadful; and I fell down on my knees at his
feet and prayed him to pardon me. I shall never forget his look and
tone as he raised me and placed me between his knees. It was seventy
years ago and more, yet I seem to see and hear him now as he kissed
me—a rare thing for him to do—and said to me—"
"'My dear son, I am not angry with you. You have unwittingly intruded
into a great and dangerous secret, a secret which concerns men's lives,
and you must now show that you are able to keep it.'"
"I was none the less frightened for this address. My head was as full
of tales of enchantment as ever yours was, and I could think of nothing
but that my father and his friends were engaged in some unlawful
art, and I glanced fearfully around me, expecting to see I knew not
what frightful appearance. My father seemed to perceive that I was
frightened, for he passed his arm round me and bade me not be afraid."
"'This book,' said he, laying his hand on the volume, 'this book, my
son, is no other than the Word of God, done into English by that good
priest, Master Wickliffe of Lutterworth, in the days of my father, thy
grandfather, for whom thou art named. My father held this book as his
most precious treasure, albeit he suffered both persecution and loss
of goods for its sake; and when he died, he bequeathed it to me. If I
were known to possess it, the book would be taken and destroyed, and
not only thy father and mother, but these neighbors, might be burned at
the stake. So you see, my child, into what a perilous secret you have
intruded yourself.'"
"'But, father,' I ventured to ask timidly, 'are you sure that this is
really and truly the Word of God?'"
"'Yes, my son,' he replied, 'I am well assured of it.'"
"'How then?' I asked. 'I thought that only heretics were burned, and
how should a man be accounted a heretic for reading the Word, of God?'"
"My father and his friends smiled, and one of them said, 'Truly, my
dear lad, that is a question which has been asked by older heads than
yours.'"
"'Tis indeed a grave question, and I will strive to explain the matter
to you another day. Meantime, my son, attend to me. As I tell you, the
lives of your father and mother depend upon your discretion. If you
speak of what you have found out to any one, you may expect to see us
burned alive at the stake. Do you know what that means?'"
"I did know, only too well. Only a year before, I had played the truant
to see some great sight, I knew not what, which had drawn together a
crowd of people over there on the border of the waste. I had slipped
between them till I reached the front rank, and I had never forgotten
the sight which met my eyes—the body of an aged woman consuming in the
flames. The sight and the smell had haunted my dreams at times ever
since."
"'I never will betray you, dear father; never,' I cried passionately.
'I will never breathe one word, if only you will let me hear God's
Word.'"
"From that time, I was a regular attendant at the evening readings, nor
would I have missed them for any reward which could have been promised
me. My mother could repeat whole chapters of the Scripture, especially
of the New Testament, and she caused me to learn them also; for she
said—"
"'You may not always have the book. It may be destroyed, or you may
have to leave home, but what is stored in your memory no man can take
from you.'"
"Accordingly, she caused me to learn by heart large part of the sayings
of our Lord, with the account of his miracles."
"Did our Lord work miracles like the holy image at Glastonbury, or like
those we read of in the lives of the saints?" asked Jack. "Was he seen
gliding along over the treetops, or kneeling a little way up in the air
at his devotions, like St. Catherine; or did he live a whole week on
five orange seeds, like St. Rose; or—"
"Nay, our Lord's miracles were very different from most of those
related in the lives of the saints," replied the shepherd. "They were
mostly performed to heal the sick, or to help those who were in some
strait for want of food, or the like. But at last, the time came when
I must go forth to seek my own living. My father was not rich, and had
suffered, like almost every one else, by the long civil wars. So I was
sent to keep sheep on the Stonehill farm, across the waste yonder, and
quite on the other side of the parish. I did not come home for a year,
and then it was upon a mournful occasion. My father had been arrested
and thrown into jail for a heretic, and though my good master, Sir John
Brydges, interceded for him, he could not save him. My brother was
obliged to flee for his life, and what became of him I cannot say. I
never saw or heard of him again."
"I was permitted to see my father and receive his blessing, but only
in presence of witnesses. His enemies would gladly have pushed matters
to extremity, and have turned my mother and me out into the world to
wander as beggars, if indeed they had left us that resource, but again
Sir John stood our friend. May God bless him for it, and give him
his portion among the saints! He was a man of weight and power, and
he used his power well. The cottage where my father and grandfather
lived was assured to my mother for her life, and I was taken into the
good knight's service, he thinking, I suppose, that I should be safer
attending upon him."
"I followed his fortunes faithfully for more than forty years, and I
supported his head when he died. His son, the present knight, has ever
been kind to me. He would have given me a home in his own hall had I
desired it, but I was ever a lover of solitude, and found more pleasure
in following the sheep on the hillside than in sitting among the
servants in the great hall. Besides, I have always cherished a secret
hope that I might find my father's great book hidden somewhere about
the old cottage."
"Then it was not destroyed?" said Jack.
"Not that I know of. It was never found. My father, fearing for its
safety, had bestowed it in some new hiding-place the day that he was
arrested, and he had no time to tell my mother where he had placed it."
"Then it may be in being now," said Jack. "Oh, uncle, if we could but
find it!"
"Would to God I might!" replied the old man, looking upward and
clasping his hands. "I would depart in peace, could I but once more
hold the Word of God in my hands. And, son Jack—for dear you are to me
as my own son—I know not if it may not be a fond fancy, but by times
something tells me that I shall see it again before I die."