A NARROW ESCAPE.
IT was not till the next afternoon that Winifred found time to visit
Dame Sprat again, and then it was only by giving Jack full possession
of her new book, that she was able to leave him even for an hour. Jack
had usually rather a contempt for Winifred's society, classing her
with the rest of "women folks," who he considered were made only to
wait upon their fathers and brothers. But the poor boy was no braver
about bearing pain than he was about anything else, and he had a great
deal of pain to bear. Nobody could turn and smooth his hot pillow, or
cool his feverish hands and forehead, or put his bed to rights without
hurting him so well as Winnie, not even his mother. And above all,
Winifred had never once said or even looked "I told you so!" or, "Just
good enough for you!" Remarks which he had to bear often enough from
the maids Priscy and Jenny, with whom he was no favorite.
But by the afternoon of the next day, Jack began to feel better. He
was greatly taken by the pictures of Giant Despair and Apollyon in the
"Pilgrim's Progress," and he agreed, if Winnie would leave him the
book, to allow her to go to Dame Sprat's, provided she did not stay too
long.
Winifred was glad to get away upon any terms. She took on her arm the
basket Mrs. Alwright had sent, and set off across the fields, thinking,
as she went, of Christian setting out on his pilgrimage with his burden
on his back, of the little wicket-gate, and of Mr. Worldly Wiseman,
who, she fancied, might have looked a good deal like Sir Edward Peckham.
When she reached the dame's cottage, she was surprised not to see the
good woman sitting by her window, as usual.
"Something must have happened!" she thought, and quickening her steps
she entered without knocking.
A curious scene met her eyes as she opened the door. The poor old dame
was in bed, apparently unable to rise. But everything in the hut was
in its usual order, a saucepan was simmering on the embers, and Mr.
Carew himself, in his shirt sleeves, was in the act of sweeping up the
hearth. He started as Winifred entered, but quickly recovered himself
when he recognized the visitor.
"So it is you, my fearless little guide!" said he, laughing, and
blushing a little. "The dame is ill with rheumatism, and I could do no
less than take care of her. I fear I am but a rough sick-nurse, though
I think I may fairly call myself a tolerable cook. Eh, dame?"
"Indeed, sir, I think you are very skilful in both ways," replied Dame
Sprat, "but I fear you are running a great risk."
"Indeed you are, Mr. Carew!" said Winifred, earnestly. "You are all the
time in danger of being surprised. Think if it had been anybody but me,
who stole upon you so silently just now. You must needs be content to
lie concealed during the day, at least for the present. Colonel Kirke
is still in the neighborhood, though the soldiers are mostly gone. He
dined with Sir Edward at the Hall yesterday, and he is to be with him
for several days. Bethink you, sir, it is not only your own safety, but
that of all your friends, which depends upon your prudence!"
"Even so, my wise little monitor! I know all that as well as you, but
I could not see my good, kind hostess suffering so long as I was able
to help. Now that she is in better hands, I will get me into my lair
again, so soon as you have told me the news from the Hall. Did you give
my sister the watch?"
"Yes, sir, the next morning. She has sent you a message, and Mrs.
Alwright some clothes and other things, which are in the basket. She
has also sent you some sausages and bacon, dame, and some ginger
cordial. And she bade me say she had a gown and cloak for you against
cold weather."
"She is very good!" said Dame Sprat. "Mrs. Alwright was always kind to
the poor, and her mother before her. I knew the family well!"
"And you say Kirke is at the Hall?" said Arthur Carew.
"Yes, and I understand he is to remain some time, for the sake of the
shooting. I saw him and Sir Edward with their guns and dogs, yesterday
morning."
"Aye, my cautious brother-in-law will be friends with whichever party
is uppermost, whatever company he may keep in so doing!" muttered
Arthur. "I have seen the day when he would not have been very fond
of Kirke's society. No chance of any help from him! But what said my
sister?"
"My lady and I talked the matter over," said Winifred, gravely, and
not observing the slight smile exchanged between the dame and Arthur
at the words. "She bade me say that she would gladly have you at the
Hall, but she judges you are safer here for the present than you could
be anywhere else. And, dame," continued Winifred, "my lady prays you to
forget all past cause of unkindness, of which there has been more than
enough, and for her mother's sake, who was always your good friend, to
be kind to Mr. Arthur."
The old dame smiled rather proudly, and a little color mounted to her
withered cheek.
"My lady has no reason to fear!" she replied. "I have no cause of
quarrel with her. I would serve her with all my heart, were it only
for the sake of that gracious and godly youth Colonel Winthrop, my
husband's friend. Neither have I aught against Master Arthur, seeing he
was but a babe in arms at the time of my misfortunes. But were my Lord
Carew himself to seek shelter with me from his enemies, he should be
welcome to all this poor hut affords, for the sake not of old times or
ties, but of Him who purchased forgiveness for me with His own blood,
even our Lord Jesus Christ."
Arthur Carew reverently bowed his head. "You are indeed a true
Christian, my good old friend," said he. "If ever I come to my own,
this matter shall be righted for you, even if it costs me the half of
my inheritance."
"Ah! My dear young gentleman," cried the dame, kindly, "I trust and
pray that you may indeed be brought back to your father's house in
peace, but, my dears, long before that time, I shall have entered upon
a far greater inheritance, even that which is incorruptible, undefiled,
and which fadeth not away. But, Master Arthur, when you do come to your
own, as something tells me you will, remember me, and for my sake,
meddle not with the consciences of men. If they are wrong in their
belief, it is to God they must give account; and if right, persecution
will not alter them, while it will prove a millstone round your neck
and those of your descendants. The sins of the fathers are visited upon
the children!"
"Yes, methinks I have reason to believe that!" said Arthur, with some
bitterness. "My father made six families homeless for conscience' sake,
and now his eldest son is a poor lunatic, and the younger a homeless,
outlawed wanderer; while his daughter—but I will say nothing of her.
She has never been a free agent. How does my sister, Winifred?"
Winifred did not answer for the moment. She was looking out of the
window, from which she presently turned, with a face ashy pale, but
with her usual quiet manner.
"I fear all is lost!" said she. "Sir Edward and Colonel Kirke are
coming across the waste with their dogs and guns. I can see the
colonel's mustache. What shall we do?"
"I must go!" said Arthur Carew, hastily looking for his doublet, which
he had thrown aside during the process of his cookery. "I will not
be found here to bring ruin upon you all. Farewell, dame! Farewell,
Winifred, and may God bless you!"
"Stay!" said Dame Sprat, raising herself and speaking in a tone of
authority. "You go to certain death! Winifred, how near are they?"
"They are by the great black thorn tree," said Winifred, peeping out.
"They seem to be looking at something in the water."
"Aye, the snare with which I took the great pike which is now stewing
in the saucepan," said Arthur. "I doubt the fish will prove a dear
bargain."
"There is yet time, and the delay is all in our favor!" said the old
woman. "Get you at once into the shed, Master Arthur. Climb over the
fagots, and lie down behind them, close to the wall, pulling them over
you. Take with you the clothes and the wine my lady sent, lest they
tell tales. Now, Winifred, close the door. Leave the basket where
it is, and the sausages also. Trust me to account for them if any
questions are asked. Now that you have made all tidy, take the book,
and sit down as if reading to me. It may be that they will pass on
without calling, but should they come, we are ready for them. Now, my
child, let us look to the Strong for strength."
The dame's prayer was in few words, but it brought back the courage to
Winifred's heart and the color to her cheeks. She took the Bible and
sat down by the bedside, from which she could watch the approach of the
sportsmen. They hesitated for a moment, and then turned toward the door
of the hut, which they entered without knocking. Dame Sprat slightly
raised herself in bed.
"You are welcome to my poor house, with your friend, Sir Edward
Peckham!" she said, with, as Winifred thought, the air of a queen. "Can
I do aught to serve you? Winifred, set the chair and stool for the
gentlemen."
"Do not disturb yourself, my good dame," said Sir Edward, kindly; for,
though a pompous man in general, he was always gracious and polite,
especially to his inferiors in rank. "A drink of fair water is all we
require."
"The water is none of the best, but such as it is you are heartily
welcome," replied Dame Sprat. "Winifred, bring a jug of fresh water,
and mix with it some of the ginger cordial you brought me, to take off
the earthy taste."
"What! My little Puritan again, I protest!" exclaimed Colonel Kirke.
"What brings you here, my fairy?"
"I came to see and wait upon Dame Sprat," replied Winifred.
"And you seem to have performed your office well!" said the colonel.
"Your cooking smells very savory," he continued, lifting the cover of
the saucepan without ceremony. "Pray, did your mother send this fine
fish with all the rest?"
"No," replied the dame. "That was given me by a stranger who had been
fishing in the stream not far-away. I have more than once received such
treats from the sportsmen and fowlers, who now and then call, as you
have done, for a drink of water or some directions concerning the way.
The fish is at your service, gentlemen, if you please to eat."
"No, no, dame, I will not rob you of your supper, but you are lucky
in having such a neat handmaiden—a 'neat-handed Phyllis,' as that
pestilent old roundhead, John Milton, says. I could find it in my heart
to take her away from you. What say you, my fairy, will you go with me
to London to see the king and dress in silks and satins?"
"No!" replied Winifred, as she poured out the water. "I am but a simple
country maid, and I have no desire to be anything else."
"The gentleman is but jesting with you, child!" said Sir Edward, not
very well pleased with the soldier's tone toward his wife's favorite,
since any person or thing in the remotest degree connected with himself
became sacred in his eyes. "Colonel Kirke, will it please you to drink?"
"Well, here's a health to you and your attendant sprite, dame!" said
the colonel. "What makes the dog so uneasy?"
One of Sir Edward's dogs had been snuffing about the hut ever since
they entered, smelling here and there, and whining eagerly. Winifred's
heart sank fathoms deep as she saw him scratching at the door of the
shed, and heard the soldier's question. She thought all was indeed
lost, but the old woman answered in her usual quiet tone:
"Doubtless he smells the cat, which hath her kittens. May I ask you,
gentleman, as a favor, not to let the creature be disturbed? She is
almost my only companion, and even the love of a dumb beast is some
solace, as I sit here alone all day."
"Truly, I should think so!" said Kirke. "Have no fear, dame! Your
cat shall not be troubled, though I think a dog would be the better
companion."
The dame smiled. "A dog could not provide for himself as my poor
Tabby does, and in poverty such as mine, even the food of a dog is of
consequence."
"Where have I seen you before, dame?" asked the soldier, abruptly.
"Your face, voice, and manner are all familiar to me, and yet I cannot
recall the time or place where I have known you."
"Yes, you have been under my roof and eaten at my table in other
days," replied Dame Sprat. "When you were a young lad, staying with
your mother's brother in Devonshire, you and your young cousins used
often to come to my house to eat junkets and raspberries with clotted
cream. I well remember the fall from the great pear-tree, by which
you got that scar on your cheek, and your encounter with my husband's
long-horned bull."
"Aye, when you came in with your broomstick, and drove the animal
away. Truly I had the worst of that encounter, and but for your timely
help, had hardly been here to tell the tale. But why did you not make
yourself known to me, dame, since you remembered me so well?"
"I am but a poor woman now, living upon charity, and you are a great
gentleman!" said the dame, with a touch of the gentle pride she
sometimes showed. "Things are greatly changed since I was at the head
of my own house and you were a young boy, not much above my own rank."
The fierce soldier of fortune sighed. "Yes, dame, they are indeed, and
not for the better, perhaps, with either of us. However, it is a world
of changes, and we must even take it as it comes. But tell me, dame,
have you seen any of the escaped rebels lurking here in the waste? It
seems a likely place enough to afford them shelter. Sir Edward, suppose
we bring out the blood-hound, and see what he can find for us? It would
afford us good sport—better than tramping through the moss after wild
ducks."
"You are indeed changed from the innocent and kind-hearted lad
I once knew you, since you can talk so lightly of hunting your
fellow-creatures with hounds, like beasts of the chase!" said Dame
Sprat, sadly and severely. "Surely enough of blood hath already been
shed in this unhappy cause. Remember, Colonel Kirke, that though
man and the world change, there is One who changeth not—One who has
solemnly and sternly declared that 'Whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man
shall his blood be shed!' And that 'With what measure ye mete, it shall
be measured to you again.' To Him you must one day render a strict
account, and neither rank nor riches, nor the favor of kings, will
weigh one atom with Him, to whom even kings themselves must answer for
the deeds done in the body!"
"'When He maketh inquisition for blood, He remembereth the poor!'" said
Winifred, in a low voice, and speaking more to herself than to any one
else.
"What, you too, my fairy? Nay, then I must indeed stand reproved! Sir
Edward, do you allow female preachers upon your lands? Methinks the
vicar should resent such an encroachment upon his office."
"We allow old women to say what they please, so long as they do not
forget the respect due to their betters. Winifred, you are too forward
with your words! Your lady would be much displeased."
"Oh she did but discharge her conscience or her mind, which comes to
much the same thing," said Kirke, laughing. "It would be hard indeed
to refuse women the use of their tongues, since they have no other
weapons. And so, my fair Saint Winifred, you will not come to London
with me, for all the fine things?"
"No, sir!" replied Winifred. "London is no place for such as I am. Amy
Crofoot went to London, and I have heard she came to no good."
"Well, you are a wise maid, and I will tease you no more. But tell me,
child, why are you so afraid of me? You trembled and changed color when
I spoke to you first in the park, as though you expected no less than
to be ordered to execution, and I think you are little better now. Why
should you fear me?"
"Because I have heard such tales of you," replied Winifred, modestly
but firmly. "I mean no offence," she added, seeing his brow darken,
"but since you are pleased to ask me, I must needs speak the truth."
"You should have known, Winifred, that even were he so inclined,
Colonel Kirke would never have dreamed of offering injury to any member
of 'my' family," said Sir Edward, with more than usual stateliness;
"and such I may well call you, since my lady is pleased to distinguish
you by her favor, though you do not at present dwell under my roof."
Winifred made her lowest reverence, in acknowledgment of Sir Edward's
words. "I thank you humbly, Sir Edward," said she. "I do not fear
Colonel Kirke so much now, for I see he can be kind when it pleases
him."
"Aye, and how do you know that, sweetheart?" said Kirke.
"Because you would not let the dog hunt and worry Dame Sprat's cat, and
because you do not seem angry at her plain speaking," replied Winifred.
The soldier's brow smoothed itself, and a smile stole over his face,
which seemed for the moment to make another man of him.
"It is but a small matter to change your mind upon," said he. "I should
indeed be a brute to make such a return to an old friend for her
hospitality. But, Winifred, do you not know that these people of whom
you have heard were the king's enemies, and deserved to be punished?"
"I know that the Duke of Monmouth was the king's enemy, and that the
people were wrong in following him," replied Winifred. "But I think,
with all submission, that the way for the king to turn them into his
friends would be to treat them kindly, and show mercy toward them."
"You are but a child, and do not understand these matters," said
Colonel Kirke.
"I know that, and therefore I would rather be excused from speaking of
them."
"Colonel Kirke, it is full time we were going, if you mean to be at
home by midnight," said Sir Edward, impatiently. "Your supper will be
spoiled by waiting, and my lady will be uneasy at our delay."
"I am at your service," said Colonel Kirke, rising. "Farewell, dame,
and thank you for your courtesy. I will leave you a brace of wild ducks
for your fair cookmaid to exercise her skill upon, and here is a broad
piece or two to repay your hospitality, and for the sake of old times.
Nay, I pray you refuse not my gift. It will be at least one item to my
credit in the account you spoke of."
"I need no payment, and you are heartily welcome to all you have had,"
replied Dame Sprat. "But I will not refuse your gift, which is pleasing
to me as a token of kindness for an old acquaintance, and will furnish
me with many needed comforts. I am often in want, and indeed should
starve but for the kindness of Dame Evans and her daughter. Sir Edward,
present my humble duty to your excellent lady. Farewell, gentlemen,
both—may God bless you!"
"That is a stately old dame!" said Kirke, after they had left the
cottage, followed by the dogs, one of which, however, showed no
disposition to go. "With what an air she delivered her blessing,
as she bade us farewell! Methinks an archbishop could hardly have
done it better. She was well to pass in the world when I knew her in
Devonshire. How has she become so poor? Her husband was accounted a
rich man, and one that knew how to keep what he had."
"He was a chaplain in Cromwell's army," replied Sir Edward, "and Lord
Carew, upon whose land they lived, turned the family adrift after the
old man's death. She would hardly have found a harbor upon my estate,
but this hut and the small bit of arable land on which it stands belong
to Master Evans, one of our substantial yeomen, and a loyal man both to
church and state. Indeed, one can hardly grudge the poor old creature
her miserable shelter, though I dare swear she is as rank a puritan
and republican at heart as ever her husband was. She is, as you see,
somewhat of a preacher herself, but otherwise harmless enough."
"It would be hardly fair to complain of her preaching, since she gave
us of the best she had at the same time. It is amazing, however, the
constancy these roundheads show. I make no doubt this infirm old
creature would go to the stake with the same dignified composure with
which she welcomed us to her fireside, and sing psalms till the smoke
stopped her breath. I am glad I was able to afford her some help, for
she was kind to me when I had but few friends, and I believe saved my
life in that same battle with the long-horned bull. There, your dog is
uneasy again!"
"Yes, he cannot give up the old woman's cat! 'Tis a dog which once
belonged to my wife's young brother, who died abroad, and he hath never
been properly broken in. Come to heel, sirrah, or I shall find means to
teach you!"
The dog obeyed, but unwillingly, and the two sportsmen hastened on
their way.