JACK'S MISFORTUNE.
MRS. ALWRIGHT rose up with a firm and somewhat dissatisfied
countenance, as her lady entered with Winifred. Fond as she was of the
child, she was not well pleased that Winifred should have so long a
conference with her lady from which she herself was excluded, and she
had already prepared in her own mind a lecture upon forwardness and
presumption of which she meant to give Winifred the benefit so soon
as they should be alone together. This lecture, however, was destined
never to be delivered.
"Will you come with me, Alwright?" said Lady Peckham. "Winifred, you
may remain here and amuse yourself, if you will, with the pictures in
that great book on the table. Keep the door shut, and inform me if any
one wants me."
The book was well worth looking at, being a Bible illustrated with
wood-cuts by Albert Durer, the father, as he might almost be called,
of wood-engraving. Winifred almost forgot her mighty secret, as she
studied the pictures of Joseph and his brethren, of David and Goliath,
of Samson and the Queen of Sheba, and above all those in the Gospels,
of the shepherds coming with their humble offerings, of the wise men
presenting their gifts, and of Mary and Martha in their house at
Bethany.
Her natural good taste and feeling led her fully to appreciate the
beauty and sentiment of the pictures, while her ignorance prevented
her from seeing the various incongruities of scenery, costume, &c.
For aught she knew, Jerusalem might have been adorned with just such
steeples and gables, and Martha might have kept her dishes in just
such an open carved dresser as that in the picture. She had not nearly
finished the volume, when Mrs. Alwright appeared, her eyes red with
weeping.
She took Winifred by the hand without speaking a word, and led her
through various galleries and up a turnpike stair to her own private
chamber, when, having bolted the door, she caught the child in her
arms, and covered her with kisses, mingled with tears, sobs, and words
of endearment. Winifred was amazed, for Mrs. Alwright had usually
thought it necessary that her pupil, like all young people, should be
kept down to her proper place, and made to understand that if she were
treated with any consideration, it arose solely from the kindness of
her elders and superiors, and not in the least from any merits of her
own. Winifred had never before received from her good old friend any
greater token of approbation than a pat on the head or a few carefully
measured words of praise.
"Oh, my dear lamb! My blessed child!" sobbed Mrs. Alwright. "To think
that you should have done such a thing! That you should have saved
Master Arthur, whom I have carried in my arms when he was a baby, and
taught him his letters with my own hands, my dear—and risking your
precious life abroad in the lonesome fields at midnight, and the dew
and all, enough to give you your death! You shall have two bottles
of the rose cordial to take home with you; and mind you take a glass
whenever you come in, to prevent catching cold.
"But Master Arthur, living in that lonesome place, along with Dame
Sprat! She was always a good woman and kind to the poor, and I never
did justify my Lord Carew in turning her off his land, where she and
hers had lived for hundreds of years, even before my lord's ancestors
came from Normandy, which they did with the Conqueror, my dear! And
all because her husband was for the Protector, which, for the matter
of that, so were some other folks who shall be nameless, though they
turned round quickly enough when the sun shone on the other side of the
hedge. Dame Sprat shall have my duffel gown and my gray cloak to keep
her warm this winter, and I will knit her some woollen stockings with
my own hands.
"But poor dear Master Arthur, how he could be so mad I can't think,
only he was always in mischief from a boy, when he used to steal my
saffron cakes, and was flogged at school for helping to bar out the
master. But to think of him wounded and lying out in the fields all
night! Dear, dear! It is enough to break one's heart!"
All this and much more did Mrs. Alwright pour out with many sobs and
little regard to her stops or her grammar, till Winifred, terrified for
the consequences, reminded her that it would be highly dangerous for
any one to hear Master Arthur's name mentioned, or even to guess that
anything unusual was the matter.
"I know it, my dear, I know it! And you shall see that no one shall
ever guess anything from me. I shall feel better now that I have had my
cry out! But poor dear Master Arthur, that was such a lovely baby, and
my poor dear lady loved him more like a son than a brother—"
"I think I hear some one coming up-stairs!" said Winifred, fearing lest
the cry should commence again.
Mrs. Alwright started up and wiped her eyes vigorously.
"Open the door, Winifred, while I wash my face," said she. "It will be
only Betty, coming to say that our dinner is ready. You are to stay and
dine with me, my dear, and then you shall help me to make the conserve
of hips, and I will send a pot of it to your good mother against winter
comes."
But Betty had more to tell. The herd-boy had come up to say that
Winifred was needed at home, because her brother had fallen from a tree
and hurt himself very badly. Also Betty gave notice that Colonel Kirke
was come to dine and sup with Sir Edward, and Mrs. Alwright was wanted
to attend to the pastry and other additions to the dinner-which the
presence of such an important guest rendered necessary.
"Dear me!" said Mrs. Alwright. "How things do happen all together! I
hope that unlucky boy has broken no bones, but it would be just like
him. I often wonder why boys should be made at all, they are such
plagues. One can do something with girls in the way of needlework
and giving them dolls to play with, but men ought to be made already
grown up, and then they are plagues enough. You must go home at once,
Winifred, without waiting to finish your work, and mind you remember
what I have told you. Your mother will need you, for at such times even
little girls can be of use, if they are not idle and careless, as too
many are. Betty, why do you stand staring and listening there at the
door, instead of getting the fowls ready for the spit? Go about your
work directly, and let me find the chickens neatly dressed when I come
down-stairs. Come into the store-room with me, Winifred, and I will
give you a basket and medicine for the poor woman you spoke of."
Mrs. Alwright's store-room was a model of its kind. The stone floor
was as white as hands could make it, and the wood-work shone with much
rubbing. Every inch of wall was covered with cupboards, shelves, and
drawers, containing piles upon piles of fine linen, much of it of Mrs.
Alwright's own spinning, and jars, pots, and boxes innumerable filled
with all sorts of good things, while hams, sausages, bundles of sweet
herbs, and bunches of onions and garlic dangled from the ceiling. It
was evident to the most unpractised eye that all these good things
were presided over by a vigilant and capable guardian, for nothing
was out of place—everything was labelled, covered, and secured in the
most approved manner, and not a stray crumb was left lying anywhere to
tempt the mice. Mrs. Alwright took down a good-sized basket and began
filling it, taking the opportunity, which, indeed, she seldom lost, of
delivering a little moral lecture for Winifred's benefit.
"You see now, Winifred, the advantage of having a place for everything,
and everything in its place. If I were obliged to hunt all over the
house for a basket, and then look half an hour for every individual
thing I wanted to put into it, it would take me half the day, but now
you see I have everything ready to my hand. These saffron cakes and
these clean napkins and handkerchiefs are for Master Arthur. He used
to be very fond of saffron cakes, poor dear young gentleman! This bit
of bacon and these sausages are for the dame, and also this bottle of
ginger cordial, which will be warming and comforting for her poor old
bones. Now, can you carry any more?"
Winifred lifted the basket, and thought she could.
"Well then, here is the rose cordial for yourself, and a cake of
gingerbread, but mind you must not let Jack have any of that to-day.
And here are two clean shirts for Master Arthur. They are Sir Edward's,
and are old and worn, but they will be better than none. So now go
along, my dear, and may God bless you! Come again as soon as you can.
And, Winifred!" she called after her. "Don't forget to tell your good
mother to send up the green geese as soon as she can get them ready.
She need not dress them. Betty and her niece can see to that."
"Don't you mind Mrs. Alwright, Miss Winifred!" said good-natured Betty,
as Winifred presently passed out by the kitchen door. "Her bark is
worse than her bite, we all know that. I see she has been lecturing
you, but that is all for your good. Young folks must learn. She scolds
me too, but la! I don't mind. I know her ways, and take her the year
round, you will not find many better people than Mrs. Alwright, look
where you will."
"And that is very true, Betty," said Winifred, not at all displeased to
see Betty go off on a wrong scent. "I am sure she is very good to me.
But I must hurry home as fast as I can."
"Aye, and you have a heavy basket to carry—for some poor body, I
warrant me! That is another of her ways. She will rail at my poor
sister for having so many children, and not keeping them cleaner, but
she always ends by giving her something to make over for them, and
maybe a loaf of white bread for a treat. Then there was Madge Wilkin—"
"I really must go, Betty!" said Winifred, cutting short the catalogue
of Mrs. Alwright's good deeds, to which at another time she would
gladly have listened. "Mother will need me, I am sure, and I want to
see poor Jack."
"Aye, go along, there's a dear maid! It is some comfort to have you
about," said Betty, continuing her remarks for the benefit of her own
niece, a girl about Winifred's age, who was cleaning some pots near
by. "Not like some girls, who cannot even scour a saucepan without
blacking themselves from head to foot. Why can't you take pattern by
Miss Winifred, Cicily? You never saw 'her' in such a mess—no, not when
she was no bigger than my thumb!"
Winifred was not destined to reach home without farther interruption.
She was walking very fast down the avenue, with her eyes bent on the
ground, when she was nearly run over by two gentlemen, who were coming
in the opposite direction with their guns and dogs, and followed by
a groom leading their horses. Winifred looked up with a start, and
recognized Sir Edward Peckham. She had never seen the other gentleman
in the richly laced uniform, but she guessed at once that the fierce,
sun-burnt face, bold, wicked-looking eyes, and long mustache belonged
to no other than the dreaded Colonel Kirke, who was feared and hated
almost as much as the chief-justice himself, for his cruelty and
rapacity. Her color rose and her heart beat fast at the sight of
the man whom she associated with so much misery and distress. She
courtesied, and would have passed on, but she was not to escape so
easily.
"Holloa! What little Puritan have we here?" said the soldier, in a
loud, coarse voice, and seizing Winifred by the arm. "Not so fast, my
pretty maid!" he added, as Winifred would have escaped. "What, do you
think I make a breakfast of children every morning, as some folks say,
that you are so afraid of me?"
[Illustration: "Holloa! What little Puritan have we here?" said the
soldier in a loud coarse voice and seizing Winifred by the arm.]
"I am not afraid of you," said Winifred, standing still and looking her
captor in the face, while her large gray eyes flashed with indignation.
"My brother is sick, and my mother needs me at home. I pray you let me
pass on my way!"
"Your brother is sick, eh? That means he has been out with Monmouth and
got hurt, I suppose! Where does this brother of yours live, mistress? I
must look after him!"
"My brother is only twelve years old, and was hurt in falling from a
tree," replied Winifred, calmly. "He and I live with our grandfather,
at the gray house on the hill yonder."
"What, you are old Master Evans' granddaughter!" said Sir Edward,
kindly. "You are so grown, I did not know you! This maid is a favorite
of Lady Peckham's, Colonel Kirke, and I can vouch for the loyalty of
her whole family. I pray you let her pass on her way, as she desires."
"My lady knows how to choose her favorites, I should say!" returned
Colonel Kirke. "I protest I have not seen a prettier rustic damsel.
Well, give me a kiss for your ransom, my shepherdess, and here is a
gold piece for you all the way from Africa, to make up for the fright I
have given you."
Trembling more with indignation than fear, Winifred submitted to the
kiss, and received the piece of gold, which she inwardly determined to
put into the poor-box the very first time she went to church.
"It looks as though it had blood upon it," she thought, as she went on
her way; "and what an evil-looking man he is! I wonder how Sir Edward
can endure to have him in his house. But they say he is always for
keeping well with whatever party is uppermost. I am glad that Colonel
Kirke did not take notice of my basket. I don't know what I should have
said to account for some of the things in it. Poor Jack! I trust he is
not very much hurt. It is unlucky that he should take just this busy
time for his mishap. I fear I shall not be able to go to Dame Sprat's
at all to-day. They have food enough to last till to-morrow, that is
one comfort."
When Winifred arrived at home, she found both pain and pleasure
awaiting her. The pain was the news that Jack was indeed very much
hurt, having broken his arm and bruised himself severely. He had
climbed the tree to the magpie's nest, secured a pair of the young
ones, and come half way down with his prize, when one of the dry limbs
gave way, and he came to the ground, killing the poor young birds in
his fall.
The vicar, who possessed considerable knowledge of surgery, happened to
be riding by at the time, saw the tumble, and had been the first on the
spot. He carried the poor boy into the house, set his arm, and gave his
mother directions for his treatment, adding a special injunction to let
the patient have no food stronger than gruel or weak broth till he came
again.
This injunction seemed to poor Jack a greater calamity even than his
broken arm. He was very fond of good things. He remembered the nice
jellies and cordials, the beaten-up eggs and roasted fowls, which had
been prepared for Winifred when she was slowly recovering from her
long fever, and he had comforted himself with the thought of all these
dainties for his prospective pain and confinement.
The water-gruel law was a terrible blow, and poor Jack was in very
low spirits indeed. He had the additional discomfort of knowing that
his trouble was all his own fault, for he had been strictly forbidden
to climb the tree, and he had waited till his grandfather was away in
the barley field, and his mother busy in the dairy, before he made the
attempt. As his grandfather said, he was bold in the wrong place and
cowardly in the wrong place. He was not afraid to disobey, and he was
afraid to do a necessary errand.
The good news which met Winifred was the arrival of a letter and a
parcel from her father, whose ship had come into Plymouth, instead of
into Bristol as usual, having been damaged by a gale not far from the
coast. The parcel contained, besides tokens for the rest of the family,
the promised new gown for Winifred, and better still, three new books!
One of these was the "Pilgrim's Progress," then lately published, with
wood-cuts, which, however rude they might appear beside the latest
edition of the Tract Society and the Sunday-School Union, were marvels
of art in the eyes of our young friend. The other books were "A Serious
Call to a Devout and Holy Life," by Mr. William Law, and the "Paradise
Lost" of John Milton.
"These seem but grave books for a young maid like Winifred," wrote
her father; "but I have read the 'Pilgrim's Progress,' and believe
my serious daughter will care more for it than for any fairy tale.
The other books were given me by a very grave and religious gentleman
who went out to India on board our ship; so I doubt not Winifred will
be pleased with them. I have just now heard of the terrible things
which have been happening among you, and I am thankful that none of
our family have been engaged in them, but I doubt I shall hear heavy
tidings of some of our neighbors. I cannot leave the ship just at
present, but I shall come as soon as possible."
Delighted as Winifred was with her new treasures, she had scant time
to examine them. She was wanted everywhere at once—by Jack's bedside,
to tell him tales and sing him to sleep; in the dairy, to churn, while
Priscy carried their lunch to the men in the barley field; then to feed
the fowls, and take especial care of a brood of late chickens; to count
up the ducks and drive home the young turkeys. She had hardly time to
eat her supper, and any visit to Dame Sprat was of course out of the
question; so she carefully locked up the basket lest it should tell
tales, and set about her multifarious tasks with her usual neatness and
dispatch.
As Dame Magdalen said, the child was run off her feet! So that when
bed-time came, she was glad to go to bed without even asking to sit by
the fire and examine her precious new books.