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 imagined 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 disposition. It was said that the
more needy and despised any creature was, the more ready was she to
befriend it: on which account 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; and 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 tune, and Childe Charity had more work
than rest among them. All the day she scoured pails, scrubbed dishes,
and washed crockeryware; but every night she slept in the back garret as
sound as a princess could in her palace chamber.
"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, there were two parlours for
the rich, and two kitchens for the poor, which the neighbours thought
wonderfully grand; and one day in the harvest season, when this rich
farmer's corn had been all cut down and housed, he condescended so far
as to invite them to a harvest supper. The west country people came in
their holiday clothes and best behaviour. Such heaps of cakes and
cheese, such baskets of apples and barrels of ale, had never been at
feast before; and they were making merry in kitchen and parlour, when a
poor old woman came to the backdoor, begging for broken victuals 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 over his shoulder; 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 company 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.
[Illustration: The old woman begs at the door.]
"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 backdoor but the old woman, again asking for broken
victuals 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 backdoor, and the little
girl regularly asked her in.
"Childe Charity's aunt said she would let her get enough of beggars. Her
cousins made continual 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. 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 accustomed 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 proud 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
privately 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
crevice of 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
reverence 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?'
"'Ye have done well,' said the dog. 'Now prepare the feast, and see that
all things be in our first fashion: 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 reverence; 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 rose-coloured velvet, and carrying each a crystal lamp.
They also walked with great reverence up to the dog, and the gayest
among them said--
"'Royal prince, we have prepared the tapestry. What will your highness
please that we do next?'
"'Ye have done well,' said the dog. 'Now prepare the robes, and let all
things be in our first fashion: 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 courtesy; 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 great 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 the parlour-maid durst not mention 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 exactly what the maid told her--the
little men with the torches, and the little ladies with the crystal
lamps, come in making great reverence 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;' and 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 from
eagerness 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 the 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 back garret: so when all the house were
asleep he slipped out of bed, and set himself to watch at the crevice 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
made an humble reverence to the ugly dog, the one saying, 'Royal prince,
we have prepared the presents,' and the other, 'Royal prince, we have
prepared the jewels;' and the dog said to them all, 'Ye have done well.
To-morrow come and meet me and the princess with horses and chariots,
and let all things be in our first fashion: 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, for thinking of this strange sight. 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
concluded 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.
"Accordingly, 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 old cow-house; but not a morsel would the dog
taste. On the contrary, he snarled at the master, and would have bitten
him if he had not run away with his mutton.
"'The fairies have strange ways,' said the master to himself; but he
called his daughters privately, bidding 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 proud cousins, hearing this,
put on the richest of their silks and laces, and strutted like peacocks
from kitchen to parlour all day, waiting for the call their father spoke
of, while the little girl scoured and scrubbed in the dairy. 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 backdoor. 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; and no sooner was
the old woman and her dog within the chariot than a marvellous 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, and the little girl sat
astonished, '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 through the moonlight night, 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 direction.
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 velvet to wear, and slept in a chamber
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; and 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 backdoor where she had brought in the ugly old woman. The fairy
chariot drove away, and never came back to that farmhouse after. But
Childe Charity scrubbed and scoured no more, for she grew a great lady,
even in the eyes of her proud cousins."
Here the voice out of the cushion ceased, and one, with a fair face and
a robe of pale green velvet, rose from among the company, and said--
"That's my story."
"Mamma," said Princess Greedalind, "if we had some of those fine
chariots!"
"Yes, my daughter," answered Queen Wantall, "and the gold and jewels
too!" But King Winwealth said--
"Excepting yesterday's story, and the three that went before it, I have
not heard such a tale since my brother Wisewit went from me, and was
lost in the forest. Highjinks, the third of my pages, go and bring this
maiden a crimson velvet hat."
Snowflower took the hat and thanked the king, made her courtesy, and
went down on her grandmother's chair to the housekeeper's parlour. Her
blanket was covered with a patchwork quilt that night; next day she had
roast turkey and meat for dinner. But the feast went on in the palace
hall with the usual spites and envies; the clamour and complaints at the
gate were still heard above all the music; and King Winwealth fell into
his wonted low spirits as soon as the supper was over. As usual, a
message came down from the banquet hall, and the chief-butler told
Snowflower that she and her chair were wanted to tell King Winwealth a
story. So she went up with all the presents on, even to the crimson hat,
made her courtesy to the good company, and had scarcely said, "Chair of
my grandmother, tell me a story," when the voice from under the cushion
said--
"Listen to the story of Sour and Civil."