Wenlock Christison and his son proceeded up Cornhill a short time after
the events which have been described. They were examining the various
signs over the shop doors, in search of that which distinguished Master
Mead's abode.
"Ah! there it is," said Wenlock; "that must be the `Spinning Wheel' he
told us of."
A demure youth with well-brushed hair was standing at the door, in
courteous language inviting passers-by to enter and inspect his master's
goods.
"Is this Master Mead's abode, young man?" inquired Captain Christison.
"Verily, friend, it is," answered the shopman. "If thou wilt enter,
thou wilt find thy money's worth for any goods thou mayst purchase.
Master Mead bringeth good judgment to bear on his purchases, and buys
only such goods as those in which he has confidence. Enter, friend;
enter, I pray thee."
"Thank you," said Christison; "but I wish to see Master Mead himself."
"If thou wilt enter through this door, thou wilt find him in the upper
story with his family," answered the shopman, leading the way; and
Christison and Wenlock proceeded upstairs.
Master Mead cordially welcomed his old friend, introducing him to a
comely matron whom he spoke of as his wife Martha. "And here is my
daughter Mary," he added, pointing to a remarkably pretty and
fair-haired girl, who smiled sweetly, and held out her hand to her
father's guests. She might have been two or three years younger than
Wenlock, though, being well grown, there seemed but little difference in
their ages. While their elders were talking, the young people, after a
few desultory remarks, found themselves drawn into conversation.
"I hear from my father that thou hast been a great traveller already,"
said Mary Mead.
"Yes, indeed," answered Wenlock. "I scarcely remember ever remaining
more than two or three months in one place. When my mother died, my
father left our home in New England, ever after seeking for some spot
where he might settle, but finding none, till at length he determined to
go back to the old country."
"You can have had but little time for obtaining instruction then?" said
Mary, "I thought boys were always sent to school."
"I picked up what I could out of what my father calls the `big book of
life,'" answered Wenlock. "He also gave me such instructions as time
and opportunity would allow, though there are many more things I should
like to learn. I have, however, read not a few books; I can handle a
singlestick as well as many older men, can ride, row, and shoot with
arquebuse or crossbow, and I can write letters on various subjects, as I
will prove to you, Mistress Mary, if you will allow me, when I again
begin my wanderings; for I doubt whether my father will long remain in
this big city. He is constantly complaining that the times are out of
joint; and although we have been in England but a few weeks, he
threatens again speedily to leave it."
"That were a pity," said Mary. "I prefer the green fields, and the
woods, and the gay flowers, and the songs of birds, to the narrow
streets, the dingy houses, and the cries of London; but yet I opine that
happiness comes from within, and that, if the heart is at rest,
contentment may be found under all circumstances."
"You are a philosopher," said Wenlock.
"No," answered Mary quietly, "I am a Quakeress, an you please: and our
principles afford us that peace and contentment which they of the world
know not of."
"I must get you to teach me to be a Quaker, then," said Wenlock. "I
have been listening attentively to your father's discourses to mine, and
even he, who was so much opposed to such ideas, has greatly been
attracted by them; and, to tell you the truth, Mistress Mead, I have
made up my mind that they are the best that I have heard of. There may
be better, but I know not of them."
"Oh, no, no. There can be no better than such as are to be found in the
Book of Life," said Mary. "You must judge of our principles by that,
and that alone. If they are not according to that, they are wrong; but
if they are according to that, there can be none better."
Wenlock, as he talked to the fair young Quakeress, felt himself every
moment becoming more and more a convert to her opinions; and had not his
father been present, he would then and there have undoubtedly confessed
himself a Quaker.
The young people had found their way, somehow or other, to the bow
window at the further end of the room, their elders, meantime, carrying
on a conversation by themselves, not altogether of a different
character. Mead, aided by his wife, was explaining to Christison, more
fully than he had hitherto done, the Quaker doctrines. Could he, a man
of the sword, however, acknowledge fighting to be wrong, and henceforth
and for ever lay aside the weapons he had handled all his life?
"But surely, friend, if thou dost acknowledge that man is formed in
God's image, it must be obvious to thee that to deface His image must be
contrary to His law and will. The world is large, and God intends it to
be peopled; whereas, by wars, the population ceases to increase, and
that happy time when hymns of praise shall ascend from all quarters of
the globe is postponed."
Mistress Mead occasionally made some telling remark to the same effect.
"Well, friend Mead, I have listened to all you have advanced," said
Christison at length, "and I cannot, as an honest man, fail to
acknowledge that you are in the main right. When next I come, I will
hear what further arguments you have to adduce; but the truth is, when I
determined to return to England, it was with the purpose of taking
service in the English army, or in that of some foreign Protestant
State, in which I hoped also to obtain employment for my son; whereas,
if I turn Quaker, I must, I see, from what you tell me, give up all such
ideas, and then how to obtain employment for him or myself I know not.
I have no wish to be idle, and as `a rolling stone gains no moss,' I
have laid by but little of this world's wealth for a rainy day, or for
my old age."
"Verily, thou must indeed give up all ideas of fighting and
blood-shedding," answered Mead. "Yet I see not that thou needst starve.
There is no lack of honest employments, if a man will but seek them.
`Thou canst not serve two masters.' Our God is a God of peace. The
devil is the god of war; and devilish work is fighting, as I can answer
from experience, and so canst thou, old comrade."
Christison sighed. "Well, well, friend," he said, "I feel you are
right, and I will think over the matter. And now it is time that I
should bid thee farewell. I have a visit to pay to a friend who lives
some way on the other side of Temple Bar, and it will be late before we
can get back to our lodgings."
Mead did not attempt to detain his friend. The young people started
when Wenlock was summoned. They were sorry the visit had so soon come
to an end.
"We shall see you again," said Mary, frankly putting out her hand, "and
then I will speak to you more of these matters."
Wenlock of course promised that he would very soon come again.
Christison and his son took their way along Cheapside, past old Saint
Paul's, and proceeded down Ludgate Hill.
"You seemed pleased with young Mistress Mead, Wenlock," said his father.
"Indeed I was," answered Wenlock. "Though so quiet in manner, she has
plenty to say. I never felt more inclined to talk in my life. I have
promised to pay another visit as soon as I can, and when we go away, to
write to her and give her an account of our adventures."
"You seem to have made progress in her good graces, Wenlock," said his
father; and as he was a man of the world, it might possibly have
occurred to him that when his son should desire a helpmate, fair
Mistress Mary might prove a very suitable person. That perfect
confidence existed between father and son which induced Wenlock to speak
his mind on all occasions and on all subjects. They at length reached
their destination, and the old soldier found his friend Lawrence
Hargrave at home. In their conversation, which was chiefly on matters
political, Wenlock took but little interest, his thoughts indeed being
just then occupied chiefly by Mary Mead. He was glad, therefore, when
his father announced his intention of returning home. They walked on
rapidly, for the night was cold. It was dark also, for the sky was
overcast. As they were going along Fleet Street, they heard the sound
of horses' hoofs approaching at a somewhat rapid rate. They drew on one
side, when a faint cry of "Help! help!" reached their ears.
"Come on, Wenlock," shouted the captain, rushing on. Directly before
them they saw the outlines of two horses and several persons apparently
struggling on the ground. The sounds of "Help! help!" again reached
their ears.
"Here is help to whoever is in the right," cried Christison, drawing his
sword.
"I am in the right; the others wish to kill me," said the same voice.
"No, no; he is a prisoner escaping from justice," growled a man in a
rough voice.
"It is false! Help! I am the Duke--"
At that moment, a blow was heard, and the speaker was felled to the
ground.
"I take the weakest side," cried Christison, attacking the other men,
who now, drawing their swords, attempted to defend themselves. The old
officer, a dextrous swordsman, disarmed the first, sending his weapon
flying to the other side of the street. The next he attacked, giving
him a severe wound on the arm. Young Wenlock, who, according to the
fashion of the times, also wore a sword, joined in the fray, and made so
furious an onset on the third fellow, who was at that moment about to
run his weapon into the body of the prostrate man, that he compelled him
to draw back. Placing himself across the body, he kept the fellow at
bay, till another wound which his father bestowed on his antagonist made
him retreat; when, the sound of carriage-wheels being heard in the
distance, the three fellows, leaping on their horses, took to flight,
leaving Christison and Wenlock masters of the field; the fallen man,
only slightly stunned, had been slowly recovering; and when Christison
stooped down to help him up, he was able, without much difficulty, to
rise to his feet.
"Thanks, my friends, whoever you are," he said. "I observed the brave
way in which you attacked my dastardly assailants; and I observed also
the gallant manner in which this young gentleman defended me, when one
of them would have run me through the body. To him I feel, indeed, that
I am indebted for my life."