"Sure, if men's eyes were not blinded by the sin of their nature, they
should perceive the sheer folly of fearing the lesser thing, and yet
daring the greater. 'Feared of the laughter of fools, that is but as
the crackling of thorns under the pot: and not 'feared of the wrath of
Him that liveth for ever and ever--which is able, when He hath killed,
to destroy body and soul in Hell. Oh the folly and blindness of human
nature!"
SELWICK HALL, MARCH YE VII.
Was ever any creature so good as this dear Aunt _Joyce_ of ours? This
morrow, when all were gone on their occasions saving her and _Father_,
and _Nell_ and me, up cometh she to _Father_, that was sat with a book
of his hand, and saith--
"_Aubrey_!"
_Father_ laid down his book, and looked up on her.
"Thou wert so good as to tell us three mornings gone," saith she, "that
thine income was three hundred pound by the year. Right interesting it
were, for I never knew the figure aforetime."
"Well?" saith _Father_, laughing.
"But I hope," continueth she, "thou didst not forget (what thou didst
know aforetime) that mine is two thousand."
"My dear _Joyce_!" saith _Father_, and held forth his hand. "My true
sister! I will not pretend to lack knowledge of thy meaning. Thou
wouldst have me draw on thee for help to pay _Walter's_ debts--"
"Nay, not so," saith she, "for I would pay them all out. Look thou, to
do the same at once should inconvenience me but a trifle, and to do it
at twice, nothing at all."
"But, dear _Joyce_, I cannot," quoth he. "Nay, not for thy sake--I know
thou wouldst little allow such a plea--but for _Walter's_ own. To do
thus should be something to ease myself, at the cost of a precious
lesson that might last him his whole life."
"I take thy meaning," saith she, "yet I cannot sleep at ease if I do not
somewhat. Give me leave to help a little, if no more. Might not that
be done, yet leave _Wat_ his lesson?"
"Well, dear heart, this I promise thee," saith _Father_, "that in case
we go a-begging, we will come first to the _Manor House_ at _Minster
Lovel_."
"After which you shall get no farther," saith Aunt _Joyce_. "But I want
more than that, _Aubrey_. I would not of my good will tarry to help
till thou and _Lettice_ be gone a-begging. I can give the maids a
gown-piece by now and then, of course, and so ease my mind enough to get
an half-hour's nap: but what am I to do for a night's rest?"
_Father_ laughed. "Come, a word in thine ear," saith he.
Aunt _Joyce_ bent her head down, but then pursed up her lips as though
she were but half satisfied at last.
"Will that not serve?" saith _Father_, smiling on her.
"Ay, so far as it goeth," she made answer: "yet it is but an if,
_Aubrey_?"
"Life is a chain of ifs, dear _Joyce_," saith he.
"Truth," saith she, and stood a moment as if meditating. "Well," saith
she at last, "`half a loaf is better than no bread at all,' so I reckon
I must be content with what I have. But if I send thee an whole flock
of sheep one day, and to _Lettice_ the next an hundred ells of velvet,
prithee be not astonied."
_Father_ laughed, and said nought of that sort should ever astonish him,
for he knew Aunt _Joyce_ by far too well.
SELWICK HALL, MARCH YE IX.
We were sat this morrow all in the little chamber at work, and I
somewhat marvelled what was ado with _Mother_, for smiles kept ever and
anon flitting across her face, as though she were mighty diverted with
the flax she was spinning: and I guessed her thoughts should be
occupying somewhat that was of mirthful sort. At last saith Aunt
_Joyce_:--
"_Lettice_, what is thy mind a-laughing at? I have kept count, and thou
hast smiled eleven times this half-hour. Come, give us a share, good
fellow."
_Mother_ laughed right out then, and saith--
"Why, _Joyce_, I knew not I was thus observed of a spy. Howbeit, what
made me smile, that shall you know. Who is here to list me?"
All the women of the house were there but _Milisent_; of the men none
save _Ned_.
"Aubrey hath had demand made of him for our _Milly_," saith _Mother_.
"Heave he!" cries _Ned_. "Who wants her?"
"Good lack, lad, hast no eyes in thine head?" quoth Aunt _Joyce_.
"_Robin Lewthwaite_, of course. I can alway tell when young folks be
after that game."
"Eh deary me!" cries Cousin _Bess_. "Why, I ne'er counted one of our
lasses old enough to be wed. How doth time slip by, for sure!"
"I scarce looked for _Milly_ to go the first," saith Mistress _Martin_.
I reckon she thought _Nell_ should have come afore, for she is six years
elder than _Milly_: and so she might, would she have taken _Nym
Lewthwaite_, for _Father_ and _Mother_ were so rare good as leave her
choose. But I would not have taken _Nym_, so I cannot marvel at
_Helen_.
"You see, _Aunt_," saith _Ned_, answering Aunt _Joyce_, "I am not yet up
to the game."
"And what wilt choose by, when thou art?" saith Aunt _Joyce_, with a
little laugh. "I know a young man that chose his wife for her comely
eyebrows: and an other (save the mark!) by her _French_ hood. Had I had
no better cause than that last, I would have bought me a _French_ hood
as fair, if I had need to send to _Paternoster_ Row [Note 2] for it, and
feasted mine eyen thereon. It should not have talked when I desired
quietness, nor have threaped [scolded] at me when I did aught pleased it
not."
"That speech is rare like a man, _Joyce_," saith my Lady _Stafford_.
"Dear heart, _Dulcie_, dost think I count all women angels, by reason I
am one myself?" quoth Aunt _Joyce_. "I know better, forsooth."
"Methinks, _Aunt_, I shall follow your example," saith _Ned_, winking on
me, that was beside him. "Women be such ill matter, I'll sheer off from
'em."
"Well, lad, thou mayest do a deal worser," saith Aunt _Joyce_: "yet am I
more afeared of _Wat_ than thee."
"Is _Wat_ the more like to wed a _French_ hood?" saith _Ned_.
"I reckon so much," saith she, "or a box of perfume, or some such
rubbish. Eh dear, this world! _Ned_, 'tis a queer place: and the
longer thou livest the queerer shalt thou find it."
"'Tis a very pleasant place, _Aunt_, by your leave," said I.
"Thou art not yet seventeen, _Edith_," saith she: "and thou hast not
seen into all the dusty corners, nor been tangled in the spiders'
webs.--Well, _Lettice_, I reckon _Aubrey_ gave consent?"
"Oh ay," saith _Mother_, "in case _Milisent_ were agreeable."
"And were _Milisent_ agreeable?" asks my Lady _Stafford_.
"I think so much," made answer _Mother_, and smiled.
"None save a blind bat should have asked that," saith Aunt _Joyce_.
"But thou hast worn blinkers, _Dulcie_, ever sith I knew thee. Eh,
lack-a-daisy! but that is fifty year gone, or not far thence."
"Three lacking," quoth my Lady _Stafford_.
"I'll tell you what, we be growing old women!" saith Aunt _Joyce. "Ned_
and _Edith_, ye ungracious loons, what do ye a-laughing?"
"I cry you mercy, _Aunt_, I could not help it," said I, when I might
speak: "you said it as though you had discovered the same but that
instant minute."
"Well, I had," saith she. "And so shall you, afore you come to sixty
years: or if not, woe betide you."
"Dear heart, _Aunt_, there is a long road betwixt sixteen and sixty!"
cried I, yet laughing.
"There is, _Edith_," right grave, Aunt _Joyce_ makes answer. "A long
stretch of road: and may-be steep hills, child, and heavy moss, and
swollen rivers to ford, and snowstorms to breast on the wild moors. Ah,
how little ye young things know! I reckon most folk should count my
life an easy one, beside other: but I would not live it again, an' I
might choose. Wouldst thou, _Dulcie_?"
"Oh dear, no!" cries my Lady _Stafford_.
"And thou, _Grissel_?"
Mistress _Martin_ shook her head.
"And thou, _Lettice_?"
_Mother_ hesitated a little. "Some part, I might," she saith.
"Ay, some part: we could all pick out that," returns Aunt _Joyce_.
"What sayest thou, _Bess_?"
"What, to turn back, and begin all o'er again?" quoth Cousin _Bess_.
"Nay, Mistress _Joyce_, I'm none such a dizard as that. I reckon _Ned_
shall tell you, when a sailor is coming round the corner in sight of
home, 'tis not often he shall desire to sail forth back again."
"Why, we reckon that as ill as may be," saith _Ned_, "not to be able to
make your port, and forced to put to sea again."
"And when the sea hath been stormy," saith Aunt _Joyce_, "and the port
is your own home, and you can see the light gleaming through the
windows?"
"Why, it were well-nigh enough to make an old salt cry," saith _Ned_.
"Ay," saith Aunt _Joyce_. "Nay--I would not live it again. Yet my life
hath not been an hard one--only a little lonely and trying. _Dulcie_,
here, hath known far sorer sorrows than I. Yet I shall be glad to get
home, and lay by my travelling-gear."
"But thou hast had sorrow, dear _Joyce_," saith my Lady _Stafford_
gently.
"Did any woman ever reach fifty without it?" Aunt _Joyce_ makes answer.
"Ay, I have had my sorrows, like other women--and one sorer than ever
any knew. May-be, _Dulcie_, if the roads were smoother and the rivers
shallower to ford, we should not be so glad when we gat safe home."
"`And so He leadeth them unto the haven where they would be,'" softly
saith Mistress _Martin_.
"Ay, it makes all the difference who leads us when we pass through the
waters," answereth Aunt _Joyce_. "I mind _Anstace_ once saying that.
Most folks (said she) were content to go down, trusting to very shallow
sticks--to the world, that brake under them like a reed; or to the
strength of their own hearts, that had scantly the pith of a rush. But
let us get hold with a good grip of _Christ's_ hand, and then the water
may carry us off our feet if it will. It can never sweep us down the
stream. It must spend all his force on the Rock of our shelter, before
it can reach us. `In the great water-floods they shall not come _nigh_
him.'"
"May the good Lord keep us all!" saith _Mother_, looking tenderly on us.
"Amen!" saith Aunt _Joyce_. "Children, the biting cold and the rough
walking shall be little matter to them that have reached home."
SELWICK HALL, MARCH YE XIII.
"_Walter_," saith _Father_ this even, "I have had a letter from my Lord
of _Oxenford_."
"You have so, Sir?" quoth he. "But not an answer to yours?"
"Ay, an answer to mine, having come down express with the Queen's
Majesty's despatches unto my Lord _Dacre_ of the North."
"But, _Aubrey_, that is quick work!" saith Aunt _Joyce_. "Why, I reckon
it cannot be over nine days sith thine were writ."
"Nor is it, _Joyce_," saith _Father_: "but look thou, I had rare
opportunities, since mine went with certain letters of my Lord _Dilston_
unto Sir _Francis Walsingham_."
"Well, I never heard no such a thing!" crieth she. "To send a letter to
_London_ from _Cumberland_, and have back an answer in nine days!"
"'Tis uncommon rapid, surely," saith _Father_. "Well, _Walter_, my
boy--for thine eyes ask the question, though thy tongue be still--my
Lord of _Oxenford_ hath loosed thee from thine obligations, yet he
speaks very kindlily of thee, as of a servant [Note 3] whom he is right
sorry to lose."
"You told him, _Father_,"--and _Wat_ brake off short.
"I told him, my lad," saith _Father_, laying of his hand upon _Walter's_
shoulder, "that I did desire to have thee to dwell at home a season: and
moreover that I heard divers matters touching the Court ways, which
little liked me."
"Was that all, _Aubrey_?" asks Aunt _Joyce_.
"Touching the cause thereof? Ay."
Then _Walter_ breaks forth, with that sudden, eager way he hath, which
Aunt _Joyce_ saith is from _Mother_.
"_Father_, I have not deserved such kindness from you! But I do desire
to say one thing--that I can see now it is better I were thence, though
it was sore trouble to me at the first: and (God helping me) I will
endeavour myself to deserve better in the future than I have done in the
past."
_Father_ held forth his hand, and _Wat_ put his in it.
"God helping thee, my son," saith he gravely. "I do in very deed trust
the same. Yet not without it, _Walter_!"
Somewhat like an hour thereafter, when Aunt _Joyce_ and I were alone,
she saith all suddenly, without a word of her thoughts aforetime--
"Ay, the lad is his father's son, after all. If he only could learn to
spell _Nay_!"
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. The reader is requested to remember that these sums must be
multiplied by fifteen, to arrive at the equivalents in the present day.
Note 2. Paternoster Row was the Regent Street of Elizabeth's reign.
Note 3. The word servant was much more loosely used in the sixteenth
century than at present. Any lady or gentleman, however well born and
educated, in receipt of a salary from an employer, was termed a servant.
The Queen's Maids of Honour were in service, and their stipends were
termed wages.