"Wed!" makes answer _Mynheer_, "the _Mennonites_ wed? Why, 'tis the
biggest of all their sins, the wedding."
"There'll not be many of them, I reckon," saith Aunt _Joyce_.
"More than you should think," saith he. "There be to join them every
year."
"Well, I'll not join them this bout," quoth she.
"Now, wherein doth that differ from the old monks?" saith _Father_, as
in meditation. "Be we setting up monasteries for _Protestants_
already?"
_Mynheer_ shrugged up his shoulders. "They say, the _Mennonites_," he
made answer, "that all pleasing of self is contrary unto God's Word. I
must do nothing that pleases me. Are there two dishes for my dinner? I
like this, I like not that. Good! I take that I love not. Elsewise, I
please me. A Christian man must not please himself--he must please God.
And (they say) he cannot please both."
"Ah, therein lieth the fallacy," saith _Father_. "All pleasing of self
counter unto God, no doubt, is forbidden in Holy Scripture. But surely
I am not bid to avoid doing God's commandments, if He command a thing I
like?"
"Why, at that rate," quoth Aunt _Joyce_, "one should never search God's
Word, nor pray unto Him,--except such as did not love it. Methinks
these _Mennonites_ stand o' their heads, with their heels in air."
"Ah, but they say it is God's command that thou shalt not please
thyself," saith _Mynheer_. "Therefore, that which pleases thee cannot
be His will. You see?"
"They do but run the old monks' notions to ground," quoth _Father_.
"They go a bit further--that is all. I take it that whensoever my will
is contrary unto God's, my will must go down. But when my will runneth
alongside of His, surely I am at liberty to take as much pleasure in
doing His will as I may? `Ye have been called unto liberty,' saith
_Paul_: `only, let not your liberty be an occasion to the flesh, but in
love serve one another.'"
"And if serving one another be pleasant unto thee, then give o'er,"
quoth Aunt _Joyce_. "Good lack, this world doth hold some fools!"
"Pure truth, _Joyce_," saith _Father_. "Yet, for that of monks, in good
sooth I do look to see them back, only under other guise. Monachism is
human nature: and human nature will out. If he make not way at one
door, trust him to creep forth of an other."
"But, _Aubrey_, the Church is reformed. There is no room for monks and
nuns, and such rubbish," saith Aunt _Joyce_.
"The Church is reformed,--ay," saith he: "but human nature is not. That
shall not be until we see the King in His beauty,--whether by our going
to Him in death, or by His coming to us in the clouds of heaven."
"Dear heart, man!--be not alway on the watch for black clouds," quoth
she. "As well turn _Mennonite_ at once."
"Well, `sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,'" _Father_ makes
answer: "and so far thou art right, _Joyce_. Yet it is well we should
remember, at times, that we be not yet in Heaven."
"`At times!'" quoth Aunt _Joyce_, with a laugh. "What a blessed life
must be thine, if those that be about thee suffer thee to forget the
same save `at times'! I never made that blunder yet, I can tell thee."
And so she and I away, and left all laughing.
SELWICK HALL, OCTOBER YE XXII.
This afternoon come _Hal_ and _Anstace_, with their childre. _Milly_
soon carried off the childre, for she is a very child herself, and can
lake [play] with childre a deal better than I: and _Hal_ went (said he)
to seek _Father_, with whom I found him an hour later in the great
chamber, and both right deep in public matter, whereof I do love to hear
them talk at times, but _Milly_ and _Edith_ be no wise compatient [the
lost adjective of compassion] therewith. _Anstace_ came with me to our
chamber, and said she had list for a good chat.
"Whereof be we to chat?" said I, something laughing.
"Oh, there is plenty," saith she. "We shall not be done with the
childre this hour."
"Thou wilt not, _Anstace_," said I, "for in very deed all mothers do
love rarely to talk over their childre, and I need not save thee. But I
am no great talker, as thou well wist."
"That do I," saith she: "for of all young maids ever I saw, thou hast
the least list [inclination] to discourse. But, _Nell_, I want to know
somewhat of thee. What ails thee at _Nym Lewthwaite_?"
"Why, nothing at all," I made answer: "save that I do right heartily
desire him to leave me be."
"Good sooth, but I thought it a rare chance for thee," quoth she: "and I
was fair astonied when _Edith_ told me thou wouldst have none ado with
him. But thou must mind thy shooting, _Nell_: if thou pitchest all
thine arrows over high, thou wilt catch nought."
"I want to pitch no arrows," said I.
"Well, but I do desire thee to conceive," saith she, "that too much
niceness is not good for a young maid. 'Tis all very well to go
a-picking and a-choosing ere thou art twenty: but trust me, _Nell_, by
the time thou comest to thirty, thou shouldst be thankful to take any
man that will have thee."
"Nay!" said I, "that shall I not."
"Eh, but thou wilt," quoth she, "yea, if it were _Nym Lewthwaite_."
"I won't!" said I.
_Anstace_ fell a-laughing. "Then thou wilt have to go without!" saith
she.
"Well," said I, "that could I do, may-be, nor break my heart o'er it
neither. But to take any that should have me,--_Anstace_, I would as
soon sell me for a slave."
"Come, _Nell_!--where didst pick up such notions?" quoth she.
"Verily, I might answer thee, of the Queen's Majesty," said I: "and if I
be not in good company enough, search thou for better. Only, for pity's
sake, Sister _Anstace_, do let me a-be."
"Eh, I'll let thee be," saith she, and wagged her head and laughed.
"But in good sooth, _Nell_, thou art a right queer body. And if it
should please the Queen's Highness to wed with _Mounseer_ [Note 1], as
'tis thought of many it shall, then thou wilt be out of her company, and
I shall be in. What shalt thou do then for company?"
"Marry, I can content me with Aunt _Joyce_ and Cousin _Bess_," quoth I,
"and none so bad neither."
So at after that we gat to other discourse, and after a while, when
_Milly_ came in with the childre, we all went down into the great
chamber, where _Father_, and _Hal_, and _Mynheer_, were yet at their
weighty debates. Cousin _Bess_ was sat in the window, a-sewing on some
flannel: and Aunt _Joyce_, in the same window, but the other corner, was
busied with tapestry-work, being a cushion that she is fashioning for a
_Christmas_ gift for some dame that is her friend at _Minster Lovel_.
'Tis well-nigh done; and when it shall be finished, it shall go hence by
old _Postlethwaite_ the carrier; for six weeks is not too much betwixt
here and _Minster Lovel_.