THE FARRIER LASS O' PIPING PEBWORTH.

HUMFREY LEMON, meeting Bered Turnip, before the "Red Deer," doth speak

as follows:

* * * * *

Whom have we here? Well, well, by my troth! 'tis none other than Bered

Turnip, the farrier, as I do live! Come for an alms-drink, comrade.

Would I had as many gold-pieces as we have burnt alnights i' this very

tavern! And is it thus we meet after all these years? It doth seem but

yesterday that we supped under this very roof as juvenals. Dost thou

mind thee o' the night that we gave old Gammer Lick-the-Dish a bath in

his own sack, for that he served us in a foul jerkin? By'r lay'kin,

those were days! Well, well, to meet thee thus! Though, believe it or

not, as thou wilt, I had such a pricking i' my thumbs but an hour gone

that I was of a mind to roar you like any babe with a pin in his

swaddling-bands. Thou wast my beau-peer i' those times; and we are kin

by profession, moreover. How be Mistress Turnip and thy eight lads? Ha!

ha! Dost remember how old Anthony Butter--him who was gardener at

Amhurste Castle, ye mind--dost thou remember in what spite he held thee

because o' those eight little salads o' thine? A always said a married

with an eye to a's posterity; and o' my word a's been cockeyed e'er

since, for's posterity has e'er kept him on the lookout: never chick or

child hath Mistress Butter given him.

Quoth he to me one day, a-setting of 's chin in 's thumb and forefinger

(thou mind'st his solemn ways)--quoth he to me, "Lemon," quoth he,

"would I knew why the Lord doth seem to look with a more bounteous favor

on such as are farriers, than on such as be followers of other trades;

for methinks, what with thee, and Turnip, and Job Long-pate, who bides

in Dancing Marston, England will owe the chief o' her future population

to blacksmiths." I quoth, to humor him, quoth I, "Belike, Master

Butter," quoth I, "the Almighty hath gotten wisdom by experience, and

doth purpose to put no further trust in gardeners." Whereat he waxed so

wrathful, that for the sake o' my breeches I took to my heels. But,

Lord! it doth seem as though a had a spite against th' very children o'

others. Thou mindest my Keren? By'r lay'kin, 'twill not stick i' my old

pate how that thou hast not been in these parts since my Keren could 'a'

walked under a blackberry-bramble without so much as tousling her

tresses. Well, a grew up a likely lass, I can tell thee! Sure thou

mindest why we--my wife and I--did come to call her Keren? Go to! Thou

dost! 'Tis the jest o' th' place to this day. Well, then, if thou dost

not, I'll be at the pains o' telling thee; for methinks 'twas a wise

thought. We did christen her Keren-Happuch; "for," quoth my wife, "when

that we be pleased with her, we can call her Keren--which is as

sweet-sounding a name as a maid can have; and, on the other hand, when

we be wroth with her, we can call her Happuch--which sure would be a

rough name even for thy trotting mare Bellibone." Ha! ha! And thereby,

comrade, hangs another tale, as Master Shakespeare was wont to say. My

wife, thou must know, hath e'er been a loyal admirer o' our gracious

Queen, and it comes to her ears one day as how her Majesty did ride

a-horseback most excellent well. Naught would do but that I must let

Mistress Lemon mount for a ride upon my gray mare Bellibone. Now

Bellibone, though as willing a nag as ever ambled, did think far more

o' getting to her journey's end than o' the manner in which she did

accomplish the journey; and, I will say, a trotted as though a was for

breaking th' stones on th' Queen's highway, instead o' getting o'er 'em.

Well, I did what I could to dissuade Mistress Lemon from her enterprise,

but a was as firm as one o' my surest driven nails in a new shoe. So a

let her go. Couldst thou but 'a' seen her when she was returned an hour

after! Ha! ha! ha! a was for breaking my head with my own pincers.

"Dost thou call that devil's-riding-horse 'Bellibone?'" quoth she, with

what breath there was left to her. "By my troth, I think she hath not

another bone in her whole body besides her backbone!"

But I spake o' Keren. Thou knowest that even as a lass she had a sharp

tongue o' her own--as keen as a holly leaf, by my troth. So be it. 'Twas

one day nigh unto Martlemas that old Butter did undertake to chide her

for conducting herself after the manner o' a lad rather than o' a lass.

Quoth she to him, a-setting of her little black pate to one side, and of

her little brown arms akimbo--quoth she, "Since the Lord hath not made

me a lad," quoth she, "I cannot more than act like one; and so I will

do!"

Quoth he, "Thou hast a sour name, a bitter tongue, and a peppery temper,

jade; and the two last be not gifts o' the Lord."

"And thou," quoth she, "hast a mustard conceit, for right sure am I that

'tis big enough for a goose to roost in! And whether th' Lord hath given

it to thee or not, I'm glad I have 't not," quoth she; for she had heard

it read, in some meeting whither her mother would sometimes take her, of

how the fowls o' the air did lodge i' th' branches o' the mustard-plant.

Well, by'r lay'kin, th' village hath ne'er forgot that to this day, and

that I'll prove thee when we be through drinking!

What hath become o' her? Go to! Sure thou knowest that? Well, well 'tis

a tale to make a play of. I've often thought, had Master Shakespeare

known of 't, how he would 'a' fashioned it into a jolly play. Tell thee

of 't? What! art in earnest? By the mass, then, thou must drink again.

Come, fill up, fill up. What there! a cup o' the amber drink for Master

Turnip!

Let me see: how old was th' lass when thou didst set forth on thy

jauntings? Some two years, methinks. And she was fourteen on the first

day o' March i' that year wherein she did sauce old Butter with some o'

's own wit for gibing at her for a tomboy. O' my word, man, th' old

fellow was not far i' th' wrong. If e'er th' angel o' life did make an

error i' th' distributing o' souls, 'twas on the night Keren was brought

into this world. And a say that with a cause, moreover; for th' same

night, mark you, one Mistress Mouldy, over the way, was brought to bed

o' a man-child. That's neither here nor there. Herein doth lie the

singularity. That child did grow up to knit stockings i' th' door-way

like any wench; Peter Mouldy's th' name, and a plays a part i' th' story

I'm about to relate to thee. Ne'er in all thy travels hast thou e'er

seen so crack-brain a wench as my Keren! Lord! it set thy head to

swimming did she but enter a room. She had no more stability o' motion

than a merry-go-round; and she was that brown, a bun looked pale i' th'

comparison, when she did lift it to her mouth to eat it. A strapping

jade, and strong as any lad o' her age i' th' village. In her seeming

she took neither after her mother nor after me, though she was a comely

wench as wenches go--hair as black as a January night in stormy weather,

and eyes as big and as bright and as yellow (o' my word)--as yellow as

two crown pieces! They looked out from under her thick eyebrows like

sunlight peeping from a heavy cloud. And she was made like a lad for

suppleness. Taller than her mother by head and shoulders, and within a

full inch o' my forelock. By'r lay'kin! how she could sing too! She

would troll thee a ditty i' th' voice o' a six-foot stripling, but for

a' that, as sweet as bells far away on a still noon in summer-tide. And

she was always getting hold o' saucy songs, and putting them to tunes o'

her own invention. A could 'a' had aye the lads i' th' village, had a

wanted 'em; but, Lord! a had one sweetheart one day, and another the

next, till they were one and all for murdering or marrying her. But she

would none o' 'em. 'Twas one summer's day, her mother being gone to th'

village, that she did set about to brew some sack; and as she did stand

by the big pot while it cooled, to see that naught fell into 't, up

comes Master Peter Mouldy with his knitting, and grins at her across

the caldron, after the fashion o' a horse eating briers. She not

noticing him, quoth he,

"Good-morrow, sweet Mistress Lemon."

Saith she, not looking at him,

"Thou liest."

"How, mistress?" saith he, with his mouth as wide as a church door on a

Sunday.

"Why, for calling a lemon sweet," saith she, "when all the world doth

know that it is sour."

Thereat he did fall a-grinning again.

"Sweet, sweet mistress Keren," quoth he, "'tis thee I praise, and not

thy name. And I will wager that thou art not sour, Mistress Keren."

"How wilt thou find out, either to lose or to win thy wager?" quoth she.

"Thus!" quoth he. And, o' my word, the homespun got his arms about her,

knitting and all (though I would 'a' laid two cows and a lamb they

couldn't 'a' reached about her pretty waist), and smacked her right

heartily full on her red mouth.

Well, comrade, that something would happen I knew full well; but when

she did up with him by the seat o' his breeches and the collar o' his

jerkin, and did souse him head first into the pot o' sack, methought I

would 'a' burst in sunder, like Judas Iscariot (meaning no blasphemy).

And when he was climbed out, spluttering and white with terror, she did

fish out his hat with his big knitting-needles, and did set it upon his

head, and did thrust him outside, and did shut the door in 's face. But

never a word said she from first to last. Then methought in verity I

would 'a' split in twain from top to toe, like the veil o' the temple

(meaning no blasphemy, as I will swear on th' book). And when she caught

sight o' me she too fell a-laughing, and quoth she to me, "I have

spoiled a good brew for thee, father, but 'twas worth the paying for."

And therewith she did out with the worth o' the sack from her purse,

which she always carried in her bosom, after a fashion inherited from

her mother, and counted down the silver into my hand. I took it, for I

ever strove to bring up my children in the ways o' honesty; and certes

she had spoiled the contents o' the caldron by turning it into a

bath-tub for Master Mouldy. Well, 'twas th' talk o' th' village for full

a month; scarce did young Mouldy dare put out his nose from behind the

lattice o' his mother's cottage. But th' other lads seemed to fall more

daft about the lass than aye afore.

Now, my wife's sister had a daughter, called Ruth, and in all things was

she most different from my Keren. A'd a head as yellow as Keren's eyes,

and eyes as brown as Keren's skin, and a skin as white as Keren's teeth;

and a was slim and tender-looking, like a primrose that hath but just

ventured out on a day in early spring. Moreover, she was a timid,

sweet-voiced creature--the kind o' wench that makes even a weak man

feel strong, ye mind, comrade. But a was ne'er o'er-civil to my lass.

Neither did Keren waste much love upon her; she said from th' very start

that th' hussy had a sly tongue; "and a sly tongue," saith she, "doth

ever mate with a false heart," saith she; "and from such a marriage what

offspring can ye look for, unless it be for mischief?" saith she.

They had not much to do the one with the other, however, until the

coming of Robert Hacket to Pebworth. And a was as fine a lad as e'er

caused a lass to don her Sunday kirtle on a Saturday. 'Twas said as how

he had met with Ruth while that she was on a visit to her aunt in

Dancing Marston, and that he had come to Pebworth to wed with her. All

would 'a' been well had not it come to Keren's ears how that Mistress

Ruth said that she would bring Master Hacket to see her cousin Keren,

but that she did not want her sweetheart to be out with her family ere

that he had married into it; meaning neither more nor less than that my

Keren was a shame unto her name by reason o' her romping ways.

"The cat!" quoth Keren, waxing as red as any damask rose for very anger;

"the little, spiteful cat! But I'll cut her claws for her! Do thou bide

and mark me, father. Ay, I'll serve her and her Robert in such wise

they'll go to their graves remembering."

Now, 'twas the very next day that the lads and lasses o' the village did

crown her harvest-queen, and all Bidford was out to see 't. And very

queen she looked, too, borne aloft in a throne made all o' dark red

roses, and her dark curls crowned with a wreath o' corn and o' poppies,

that shined in the sunlight like to gold strewn all with rubies. She

wore a new kirtle of white wool, and her brown throat rose from her

white kerchief like as a frozen wood-dove's dusky breast doth peep from

new-fallen snow.

And Mistress Ruth walked beside her as one o' her maids o' honor. And

they twain did remind me of naught so much as of a lamb trotting by the

side of a forest doe--the one so meek and white, and the other so free

and brown, with great eyes ever moving, and head aloft.

There, moreover, walked Master Hacket. He was as brown as my Keren, and

nearly half as tall again; and he had eyes like pools o' water under a

night heaven, wherein two stars have drowned themselves, as 'twere, and

brows as black and straight as a sweep o' cloud across an evening sky.

Ruth walked at his side, all glittering with her unbound hair, like to a

sunbeam that follows a dark stream. And I saw that they talked together,

and nodded as though agreeing on something, and looked together at my

lass where she sat on her flower-throne with her poppy-crown, and her

lips like poppies. And all at once she turned and saw them, and her lips

parted over her white teeth in a sudden smile, as when a kirtle o' red

silk doth tear over a white petticoat beneath; and she turned away; but

I could see that she laughed in her brown throat, as a bird sings

sometimes for its own hearkening ere trolling for the whole forest. So I

said to myself, "'Ware, 'ware, my little spring lamb; there is trouble

ahead for thee. Thou wilt not win thy Boaz so easily as thou dost think,

my little Ruth."

Now, when they were come to the fields, and the maids seated under some

elm-trees, and all the lads fallen to 't with their sickles, while that

they were reaping the glistening corn my Keren doth leap to her feet,

and she calls out,

"I know not the name o' yonder man, but I do know that I can give him a

lesson in reaping!"

So forthwith up jumps she, and, striding out into the sunlit meadow,

jerks young Hacket's sickle from his hand, and, having turned back the

sleeves o' her smock, stands well upon her shapely legs and begins to

reap.

Now, methought I had ne'er in all my life seen anything more pleasing to

look upon. The wind blew down her thick locks about her, so that she was

wrapped in a mantle worthy any queen; while with every sweep o' her

strong brown arms the tumbling grain did fall like gold about her, so

that she seemed to be trampling upon her treasures after a manner truly

royal. Also a red came into her shadowy cheeks, like as though a scarlet

flower tossed into a clear brown stream should rise slowly upward

beneath the limpid surface and shine a-through. And all at once she

ceased, and came back towards the young man, and returned his sickle

unto him. And she said, smiling,

"Take thou thy blade, for I have not only reaped the grain, but I have

reaped the reward of my bragging as well." And, behold! when I was come

up to them with a drink o' water in a gourd, there was the blood falling

down upon her white kirtle, as though the poppies in her crown had

melted in the sunlight and did stain her garment.

He did cry out, saying, "O' my word, lass, thou art deeply hurt. Let me

but look at it."

She saith unto him (winding her arm about in her long hair), "Nay, 'tis

nothing, and belike if thou look upon it 'twill spoil thy dinner: so

here's to thy health, and my father will bind it for me."

Then, when we were retired again into the shade, and I had torn a strip

off of her kirtle wherewith to stanch the blood, she laughed outright,

and saith,

"By my troth, father! I do verily believe thou thinkest me awkward

without a purpose."

"Purpose!" saith I; for I could not believe my ears. "How dost thou

mean--purpose?"

"That's neither here nor there," saith she, still laughing. "But I'll

lay thee my heifer, father, that Mistress Ruth's sweetheart cometh on

the morrow to inquire after Mistress Ruth's cousin Keren."

Wherewith she did make me a deep courtesy, and did get her back to the

other lasses ere I could reply.

Well, as I live, and must some day die, and do hope when I do die to get

to heaven, I was so taken aback with the hussy's cunning I could do

naught but stand and stare after her for some minutes.

And on the morrow he did come, and on the day after that he came, and

yet a third day and he was under my roof again.

Then saith my wife, after that his third visit was o'er, and speaking to

Keren as she sat spinning i' th' door-way, "Happuch," saith she, "thou

art serving thy cousin Ruth a very jade's trick."

Then, hearing as how she did call her "Happuch," I did prick up my ears,

as 'twere; for I knew there was anger brewing.

"Thou art very free with thy words to-day, mother," quoth the maid,

a-spinning very quickly.

"Not so free as thou art with thy favors to the sweetheart o' another

lass," replied her mother.

"How dost thou know he is the sweetheart o' another lass?" saith Keren.

"If an he be not," quoth her mother, who, though not half so big as her

child, was in nowise less valiant--"if an he be not," quoth she, "'tis

time he were."

"And for why?" saith Keren.

"Thou knowest as well as I do, Happuch," saith my wife; whereat up

started my crack-brain in a fine fury.

"Why wilt thou call me that vile name, when thou knowest how it maddens

me?" saith she, hurling her spindle upon the floor, and tightening both

her pretty hands so that they looked like balls o' her own brown yarn.

"For that I am not pleased with thee, Happuch," saith her mother, with

all composure, looking at the linen as she washed it, with her head

cocked to one side.

"There again!" shouted my wildfire, stamping with her foot. "Why didst

thou not call me Beelzebub and have done with 't?"

"For the reason," quoth her mother, calmly, "that neither Beel nor Zebub

is a suiting name for a woman, and, furthermore, that thou art not the

Devil, though thou dost act like him on occasions."

"Wife, wife," put in I, seeing that the girl was like to split with

rage, "speak gentler to Keren."

"To Happuch," saith she.

"Speak gentler to the girl," saith I, hoping to compromise, as 'twere.

"Happuch," saith my wife again.

"Well, well," saith I, still hoping to split the difference, so that I

would have neither my wife nor my daughter upon me, "if thou wouldst

only speak gentler to Keren-Happuch, thou--"

"To Happuch," saith my wife a third time; whereat the lass did bounce

out o' the house without more ado, and spent that night with a friend o'

her own, by name one Mistress Meg Titmouse.

"Wife," saith I unto her later, hoping to draw her into converse

concerning Keren, so that I might reason with her as to her treatment o'

th' lass--"wife," saith I, amiably, and, as I thought, in a manner most

winsome, "wherefore didst thou speak to Keren as thou didst this

morning?"

"I spake to Happuch," saith my wife, "because I did choose so to do. And

as for the why o' that wherefore, though thou shouldst smirk till

doomsday like a dog scratching his ear, ne'er wilt thou get it out o'

me!"

Then saith I, being justly angered, as I think thou wilt admit,

comrade--saith I,

"Thou art welcome to keep thy counsel!" saith I.

And I followed the example set me by my vixen, and did spend more than

half the night at this very tavern.

Well, the next morning, as I did pass out on my way to my forge, whom

should I see in the garden but my Keren and Master Robert Hacket! and if

e'er a woman was possessed o' a devil, 'twas just that lass o' mine

then, comrade. She had caused young Hacket to climb up into a pear-tree,

and while that he was up there she did bear away the ladder by which he

had mounted, and she saith to him,

"Now, Master Robin, I am going to sing thee a song. Wilt thou listen?"

"With all my heart," saith he. So he leaned on his elbow, stretched out

like a young panther along the limb o' th' tree, and looked down on

her. Now, as I live, down went that jade on her knees in the grass, and

she lifts up her two pretty hands to him as though in prayer, and thus

sings she (I knew the song by heart):

"'Listen, Robin, while I woo.

This world's stale with repetition:

I'll not do as others do;

Haste thee, love, to my tuition.

Robin, I'll make love to you,

As men to other maidens do.

"'Oh, what eyes my Robin hath!

April fields own no such blue;

In the luscious aftermath

There's no flower so fair to view.

Robin, Robin, hear me woo.

All my soul's in love with you!

"'Robin, will you marry me?--

Thus upon my knees I sue:

O' my word I'll harry thee

Like as men their sweethearts do.

Robin, as I live I'm true:

Will you wed me, Robin?--Will you?'"

Now, what chanced thereupon I think thou wilt agree with me, comrade, in

saying it did but serve her right. Down falls he like a ripe pomewater

at her side, and takes her about the waist, and sets his mouth to hers

(all in a twink, comrade; thou hadst not time to shape thy mouth for a

whistle ere 'twas all done, or verily my mouth had given forth something

besides whistling), and saith he,

"That will I, lass; an' if thou be not my wife ere that snail-coming new

moon doth thrust out her horns, my name is not Hacket, nor will thine

be!"

Now, comrade, though it doth shame me verily so to speak o' mine own

flesh, I saw by her pretending to push him away that she did mightily

relish his kisses; for, by my troth! had she sought to scuffle with him

'twould 'a' been as snug an encounter as when day and night wrestle for

the last bit o' a June sky.

And she saith to him, feigning to scowl, "How now, thou rapscallion!

dost thou dare?"

"Ay, ay," quoth he, "in verity I do!" quoth he. And in verity a did,

too.

But just as I was consulting with the Lord how to act, He having had

even a greater experience with wayward children than myself (may He

pardon me if I be too free with His holy name!)--just, I say, as I was

asking Him to show me in what wise to proceed, up goes her hand, and she

gives him a sound cuff o' th' ear (young Hacket's ear--not the Lord's;

may He pardon me if so it sounded), and she saith,

"Take that for striving to make a fool out o' an honest girl! I know thy

goings on with Ruth Visor," saith she. "Thou'lt ne'er blind me with thy

pretty speecheries." And a was o'er th' palings and out o' sight like a

wind-blown leaf.

Then did young Hacket come to th' fence and lean upon it with both his

arms, and support his chin with a thumb on either side o't, and saith

he,

"Methinks she'd 'a' made a better warrior than a wife," saith he; "but

when she hath ta'en off the edge o' her warlike spirit in fighting for

her freedom," saith he, "why, then," saith he, "I'll marry her!" So

saith he--every word o't. By my troth, comrade, an I had not had so much

the advantage by having my nippers in my hand, I would 'a' thrashed him

then and there. But, "fair play" being my motto, and having my nippers,

as I saith, I forbore; yea, I forbore, and walked away unseen of him.

And, o' my word, I was much angered with myself for not being more angry

with th' wench.

"For," saith I, out loud, that I might be impressed by the sound as well

as by the knowledge o' th' fact--"for," saith I, a-hammering away on a

shoe for Joe Pebbles's brown nag King Edward (though I had often

reasoned with Joe on account o' th' name, first because o' its

irreverence, second on account o' th' horse not being that kind o' a

horse, as 'twas a mare)--"for," saith I, as I made th' shoe, saith I,

"'tis sure a great wickedness to steal a lass's sweetheart away from

her!" saith I. And so 'twas; but, for all I could do, I could not feel

angered with the hussy.

But that day when she did fetch me my dinner, being finished, I did pull

down th' sleeves o' my shirt, and wiped off my leathern apron, and quoth

I to her,

"Lass, come here and sit upon my knee."

So she comes right willingly, being fond o' me to an extent that did oft

seem to astony the mother that bore her (seeing that _she_ was fond o'

naught save her own way); she comes, and she perches upon my knee (as

sometimes thou shalt see a hawk rest wings on a bull's back), and she

kittles my throat with her long brown fingers, and hugs me about the

neck (the jade! a knew I was for scolding her), and saith she, "Well,

father, here be I." Methinks I can hear her say it now, as soft as any

little toddler come for a kiss. "Here be I," she saith; and with that

she fills all my face with her curls (the jade! a saw that in my eye

which a did not care to face). "Here be I," saith she.

"Ay," saith I, speaking in a gruff voice; "and now that here thou be,"

saith I, "I'll tell thee what I want of thee."

"Thou canst want naught that I will not do," saith she. (The jade! a had

a way with her to 'a' made Bess herself yearn for matrimony.) But I was

stanch; I was stanch, comrade. Saith I,

"Methinks thy mother was right to speak to thee as yesternight she did,"

saith I; "for I saw thee strive to graft a pear-tree with a branch o'

th' tree o' knowledge," saith I.

"Then," saith she, hot as my forge all in a breath, and bouncing from my

knee--"then thou wast an eavesdropper!" saith she.

"Even as the Lord afore me," saith I, not over-pleased at her sauciness.

"And being in some sort thy Creator, and thou having set up for thyself

an Eden in my garden," saith I, "who hath a greater right than I to

watch over thee?" saith I.

Then she not answering me, thus did I continue:

"Why dost thou not take unto thyself an husband," quoth I, "to do both

thyself and thy parents a credit?"

"Show me such an one," saith she, "and I do promise thee to wed him."

"There, then," quoth I, "is Davy Short hose, the poulterer--"

"A bangled-eared buffoon as ever lived!" quoth she; "and a fool into the

bargain."

"So be it," saith I; for I was set upon keeping my temper. "What dost

thou say to Beryamen Piggin, the brewer?"

"A say if ever a piggin was in sore need o' a new link, 'tis that one,"

saith she. "And, what's more, I'll not serve for 't," saith she.

"How, then, of Nanfan Speckle, the tanner?"

"A's as pied as a's name," quoth she, "both soul and body."

"There be Jezreel Spittlewig, the joiner."

"Methinks," quoth she, "if a'd do a little joining to a's own shackling

body, a might hold together long enough to go through the marriage

ceremony," saith she. "Howbeit, I'm not a-sure of 't."

"Well, then, Jack Stirthepot, the chair-mender."

"A'd have to stir th' pot with a witch ere a brewed a wedding with me,"

quoth she.

"What sayest to Reuben Puff, the tinker?"

"If I say so much as a word to any one o' em," cried she, snatching up

the pail wherein she had brought my victuals, "may thy first grandchild

be born without a tongue!" saith she. And out she went.

Then quoth I to myself, quoth I, "Lemon," quoth I, "the jade's in love

with th' crack--no more, no less." And I said further, said I,

"Bodykins!" said I, a-shoeing of King Edward with all my might, "by cock

and pye!" said I, "an a wants him let a have him. 'Tis more than his

dessert, I'll warrant," so quoth I. "And as for Dame Visor's hussy, let

her learn to bridle her tongue," quoth I. And 'twas just here that wench

Keren did creep up and take me about the neck, as I was a-filing of King

Edward's hoof.

"Father," saith she, "I cry thee pardon if I have sauced thee; but dost

not mind the rhyme thou art so fond of?--

"'Shoe the horse, and shoe the mare,

But let the little colt go bare.'

Seek not to chide me, father, and ne'er will my heels bring hurt to

any."

Then off was she again ere I had spat forth my mouthful o' nails to

answer her.

But that evening as I came home, about the going down o' th' sun, I did

hear voices i' th' kitchen, and, looking in at th' window, behold, there

was that hussy Ruth a-plucking of Keren by th' kirtle, and Keren

a-holding of a pan o' milk above her head, as though she had half a mind

to souse her cousin in 't.

And saith she, "Get to thy feet, wench. This is neither a church, nor am

I th' Lord."

But th' girl (who seemed to be in trouble o' some sort) fell a-sobbing,

and saith she,

"Cousin, cousin, I know I have used thee ill, but all my joy is in him.

If thou takest him from me, better didst thou take my life, for he is

more to me than life."

Then quoth my lass, "Shame on thee to say it o' any man, worthy or

unworthy!"

"Oh, shame enough have I, cousin!" quoth the poor wench--"shame to 'a'

lost him, and shame that I should plead with another to give him back to

me!"

"Go to!" saith Keren; "go to! I have not got him to give him back to

thee."

"Thou hast!" saith Ruth; "thou hast!--he is thine, soul and body--soul

and body! And thou dost not care; and I care--oh, I care so that I know

not how to word it!"

(Every word that passed between 'em is as clear in my mind as though

'twere but yesterday it all happened.)

"I say shame on thee to say so," saith my lass again.

But the wench still hung about her, and would not let go, and she saith,

"Oh, cousin, cousin, cousin, doth it not show thee in what straits I am,

that I come to thee for succor? Rather had I died, one week agone, than

ask thee for thy hand though I were drowning. And sure 'tis less than

thy hand for which I ask thee now, sith it be for a man who is less to

thee than the littlest finger on that hand, but who is more to me than

the heart in my wretched body! And a had vowed to wed me; and 'twas next

month we were to be wed; and all so happy--my father and my mother so

pleased, and his folks do like me well; and my wedding-gown all sewn and

lain away, and the ribbons for my shoes, and some kickshaws for th' new

house; and all we so glad, and all going so smooth, and we twain so

loving; for, oh, he did love me the once! he did love me the once! And

now--now--now--" And here did she fall a-weeping in such wise that never

another word could she say. And she sate down on the kitchen floor, and

hid all her pretty head (for pretty 'twas, though I liked her not)--hid

it all in the skirt o' her kirtle.

Then stood my lass quite still, and her face like the milk in her pan,

and she looks down on th' hussy, as a horse might look down on a kitten

which it hath unwitting trampled on, and she saith,

"I would I knew whether or no thou speakest the truth!"

Then saith the wench, a-reaching up her clasped hands to heaven--saith

she, "May God forever curse me an I do not!"

"Take not God's name in vain," saith my lass, sharply, and went and set

down her pan o' milk on the cupboard. And again she stands, slowly

wiping her hands on her apron, and looking down at th' girl, who hath

once more covered all her face in her petticoat; and by-and-by she saith

to her,

"What is 't thou wouldst have me do?"

"Give me back my Robin! give me back my Robin!" saith the maid.

"Thou art welcome to him for me," saith Keren.

Then fell the maid a-weeping more bitterly than ever, and she huddled

herself on the hard floor, like a young bird that hath fallen out o' its

nest, and sobbed piteously. And presently gets she to her feet without a

word, still a-hiding of her face in her kirtle, and turns to go,

a-feeling her way with one o' her little hands. But when she hath

reached th' door, and hath got one foot on the threshold, up strides

that lass o' mine, and, taking her by the arm, swings her back into th'

room; and she makes her sit down on a settle and take down her kirtle

from her face. And while she is snooding up her ruffled locks, she saith

unto her,

"Thou art a little fool to cry so; dost hear? What! at it again? Well,

well, God patience me! What's a body to do with such a little ninny?

There! dry your eyes. Ye shall have your Robin, never fear. God-a-mercy!

at what art blubbering now?" But down slipped Ruth on her knees, and

caught Keren about hers, and she saith unto her,

"Heaven bless thee! thou art a good woman! May Heaven forgive me for all

such words as e'er I have said against thee! Bless thee! bless thee!"

"Bodykins!" saith my lass (having learned some round oaths from me, I do

grieve to say)--"bodykins!" saith she, "wilt a-hear th' lass? I say

scamper, scamper; my father'll be coming home to sup erelong, and I

would not he found thee thus. Away with thee! and fret no more: dost

hear? If I hear that thou hast moped any further from this hour on, I'll

not answer either for my doings or for those o' others: dost hear? Now

scamper!" And scamper a did, like a hare with th' hounds upon 't.

So full was I o' praising my lass on her good 'havior that I had got me

from th' lattice and was half in at the door ere I saw what had

befallen.

There was my madcap comrade, down on her knees afore the settle, wi'

both hands gripped in her thick locks, and her head bent forward on th'

wooden seat; and she made no sound, neither uttered she any word, but a

shook like water when a heavy weight rolls past. And a drew long breaths

ever and anon, like one that hath been half drowned and is coming back

to life. And I knew then, I knew then, comrade. I had thought a loved

th' boy; and I knew then. So I got me out, without making any clatter,

and I sat me down on a bench outside th' kitchen door to think 't over;

and, by cock and pye, man, ne'er a thought could I think for th' tears

in my eyes. Th' poor lass! th' poor lass! It fetches th' salt into my

een now to think on 't. Well, well, what's past is past, and God himself

cannot undo 't; and what's coming's coming, and God wunnot hinder it an

he could; so there's an end on 't. Fill up, man, fill up! What there, I

say! Joel, I say! A quart o' sack for Master Turnip.

Well, when I had thought it well o'er, I did determine to say naught to

th' lass whatsoever; neither did I; but meseems I was bound to o'erhear

heart-breaking words atween somebody, for th' very next day, as I was

henting th' style as leads into th' lane (thou knowest the lane I mean,

comrade: 't lies atween Cowslip Meadow and th' pool i' th'

hollow--Sweethearts' Way, they call 't)--well, as I was getting o'er th'

style--as I had just got me o'er by one leg, after this fashion, ye

mind; as though this chair here were th' style, and yonder chimney-place

th' lane--Sweethearts' Way, ye mind--well, as I was half over, and

Mumble, th' turnspit pup, half under, as 'twere, I heard voices--voices,

comrade--one o' them th' voice o' that lass o' mine, and t'other th'

voice o' young Hacket.

"Here be a coil," say I. "What's to do?"

Now the pup seemed to be filled with the spirit o' th' Lord all on a

sudden, after th' fashion o' th' talking jackass i' th' Scriptures; for

if a didna talk a did th' next thing to 't--a tried to. And after

pulling at my heels like as though a fiend had got him, a scuttles into

th' thicket, for no cause, as I could see, but to give me th' benefit

o' example. So in goes I after him. Scarce was I settled, with a

bramble down th' back o' my neck, and some honey-bees at work too nigh

to my legs for my peace o' mind, when they come, and both a-chattering

at th' same time like two magpies with slit tongues.

"Thou didst!" quoth he. "That did I not!" quoth she. "Thou didst, and I

can prove 't on thee!" quoth he, louder than afore. "I tell thee I did

not, and thou canst sooner prove that Bidford Mill turns the Avon than

that I did!" quoth she. "Wilt thou stand there and tell me i' th' eyes

that thou hast so oft looked love into," quoth he, like a man choked

with spleen--"I say, wilt thou, Keren Lemon, stand there and face me,

Robert Hacket, and say thou hast ne'er given me reason to believe that

thou didst love me?" quoth he. "No more cause than I've given to twenty

better than thee!" quoth she. "Shame on thee to say 't, thou bold-faced

jig!" saith he; "shame on thee, I say! and so will say all honest folk

when I tell 'em o' 't." "An thou tell it, the more fool thou," saith

she; and a draws up her red lips into a circle as though a'd had a

drawstring in 'em, and a stands and looks at him as a used to stand and

look at her dam when she chid her for a romp. Then all on a sudden, with

such a nimbleness as took away my breath and drove all thoughts o'

brambles and honey-bees clean out o' my pate, he jumps aside o' her, and

gets her about th' middle, as he did that day under th' pear-tree, and

quoth he, "Lass," quoth he, "dunnot break my heart! dunnot break th'

heart that loves ye more than a' that's in the earth, or th' heavens

above, or th' waters below! Say ye love me, and ha' done with 't."

Then gives she up herself to him for one beat o' her own breaking heart,

the poor madcap, and she leans on him with all her pretty self, as

though begging him to take her against her own will, and then a cry

breaks from her, half human, and half like th' cry o' a hurt beast, and

she saith,

"Shame on ye, shame on ye, to forsake th' lass ye ha' sworn to wed! Get

thee back to her straightway, or ne'er look me i' th' face again!" And

she leaps back from him, and points with her arm--as stiff and steady as

th' tail o' a sportsman's dog--towards th' village, and she saith again,

"Get thee back to her; get thee back to Ruth Visor, and wed with her ere

this month be out o' the year!"

Then lifts he his sullen head, and looks at her from under his brows

like a smitten blood-hound. And he saith back o' his clamped teeth, like

as 'twere a dog gnarling in his throat, "curse ye for a false jade!"

saith he; "Curse ye for as black-hearted a jade as e'er set an honest

man on th' road to hell!" And he turned, and cleared th' style with one

hand on 't, and went his ways.

And th' lass stood and looked after him as still as though she were

turned into a pillar o' summat, after th' manner o' th' woman i' th'

holy book, and both her hands grasping her breast. But anon there comes

a trouble o'er her face, like as when a little wind doth run across a

gray pool at eventide, and her lips begin to tremble, like as though

some red flower a-growing on th' bank was shaken by 't, and her eyes all

full o' woe, like th' eyes o' some dumb thing as cannot word its sorrow;

and all at once she falls upon her knees, and thence upon her forehead

on the ground, and afterwards to her whole length, with her strong hands

grasping th' flowers and grass on either side o' her, and tearing them

up with th' crackling noise that a horse makes when 't grazes. But no

sound escapes her, whether a sigh or a groan. Well, well, comrade, I cry

thee patience if I do stumble here a bit: I cannot think on 't now

without a tightness i' my throat, any more than a man can think o' th'

day his first child was born to him without his heart leaping hot in 's

throat like the flame to th' bellows. Well, well! Fill up, I say; fill

up. Remember th' old days, when thou wast more ale-washed than th'

bottle itself. Where be I i' th' narrative? Yea, yea, 'tis there--'tis

there; I mind me o't now.

No sound 'scaped her, but presently she lifts herself up upon her knees

again, with such heaviness as a horse overburdened doth get him to his

feet, and she holds out both her arms i' th' direction where th' lad

hath vanished, wi' th' grass and flowers yet fast in her clinched hands;

and she saith twice, i' th' voice o' a woman in travail,

"Never will he know, never will he know," she saith; and then, "Oh,

God!" she saith, a-lifting her hands again to her breast. "Summat's

broke here," she saith, full meek, like a body that's looked a many time

on pain--"summat's broke, summat's broke," o'er and o'er again, as

though she would use herself to th' sound, as 'twere. Then all at once

did a deep cry break from her. "God, O God," she saith, "show me how to

bear 't! My God, my God, show me how to bear 't." And she got to her

feet, and sped down th' lane like one blind, running first into th'

hawthorn bushes o' this side, then into th' quickset hedge o' th' other,

and tearing out her loosened tresses on th' low-hanging branches o' th'

pear-trees, so that I traced her by her hair i' th' twigs, like as thou

wouldst trace any poor lost lamb by its wool on the brambles. Now, it

did almost break my own heart to say naught to her concerning all o't,

but I knew that 'twould but grieve without comforting her; and rather

would I 'a' had my old heart split in twain than bring one more ache

into her true breast. So naught say I. Never a word, comrade, from then

till now have I e'er said to her about that time.

Well, for all 's fine talk, Master Hacket went no more to hell than do

any other men that marry--an' less than some, seeing as how a did not

marry a scold, which (God forgive me, or her, or both o' us) I have

done. Yea, comrade, I will commemorate this our first meeting in eight

years by confessing to thee that my wife (in thy ear, comrade)--that my

wife was a scold. Sometimes I do verily think as how women like Mistress

Lemon be sent unto men to keep 'em from pondering too heavily concerning

the absence o' marriage in heaven. By cock and pye, man, as I live, I do

honestly believe that I would rather be a bachelor in hell, than the

husband o' Mistress Lemon in heaven!

But to come back to th' lass. And, now that I think o' th' lass,

comrade, I am not so sure that a scolding wife is not well paid for by a

duteous daughter. Nay, I am sure o't. Methinks I would 'a' been wed

twice, and each time to a shrew, could I but 'a' had my Keren o' one o'

'em. Ay, even so, even so.

Well, as I said--or as I meant to say--Master Hacket wedded th' Visor

hussy within two weeks o' th' day whereon he and my Keren had 't so

fierce i' Sweethearts' Way. And therein are two meanings: they fell out,

as is the way with sweethearts, and they fell out i' th' lane so called.

Well, well, let me crack a quart o' sack with thee, comrade, and a joke

at th' same time.

A married Ruth Visor, and they went to Lunnon Town. And on th' night o'

their wedding, as I sat by the fireside i' th' kitchen a-mending my

tools (for 'twas on a Saturday night), and Keren abed, and Mistress

Lemon a-peeling o' leather-jackets to make th' Sunday pie,

"Wife," saith I to her (a-mending my tools, as I ha' said), "wife,"

quoth I, "would 'twere our lass were wed to-day!"

"For why?" saith she. No more, no less.

"For why?" saith I. "For the why I think a lass is happier wed to th'

man she loves," saith I.

"'Tis not so I've found it," quoth she, a-peeling of an apple so that

thou couldst 'a' put his whole coat back and not 'a' known 't had e'er

come off.

Then quoth I, a-chuckling in my throat at having so snared her, "Right

glad am I to find out that thou lovest me!" quoth I.

"If thou'st found out that," quoth she, "thou'rt greater than Columbus,"

quoth she, "for thou'st discovered something that never was," quoth she.

"Bodykins, woman!" saith I, a-losing of my temper--"then for what didst

thou marry me?"

"For a fool," quoth she. "And I will say as I ha' got the full o' my

bargain," quoth she.

Whereat so wroth was I that I said naught, knowing that if I did open my

lips or move my hand 'twould be to curse her with th' one and cuff her

with t'other.

By-and-by saith she, "And where, by'r lay'kin, wilt thou find a man good

enough in thy eyes for th' lass?" saith she.

"Not on earth," quoth I. "Neither in this land nor that other across the

sea," quoth I.

"Ay, ay," quoth she. "Very like thou wouldst have th' wench to wed with

an angel," quoth she; "to have all thy grandchildren roosting on a gold

bar, and their dad a-teaching of 'em how to use their wings," quoth she.

"Or with one o' th' red men i' th' new country, to have them piebald red

and white, like a cock-horse at Banbury Cross," quoth she. And with that

up she gets, and flings the apple-parings into th' fire, and gets her to

bed without more ado. Whereupon day doth again find me i' this very

tavern.

Well, well, a year had passed, and things were jogging very peaceful

like, and Keren settled down as quiet as a plough-broken mare, when one

day as I sit i' th' kitchen, while th' lass mends my apron, there comes

a fumbling at th' latch like as though a child made shift to open it.

Then quoth I, "Belike 'tis little Marjory Pebble, or one o' the Mouldy

lads over th' way;" for the babes all loved Keren, and, now that she was

waxed so quiet, th' lads left her more to herself, and she would sit on

th' bench by the cottage door and make little kickshaws by th'

hour--elder-wood whistles, and dolls o' forked radishes, and what not.

So quoth I, "Belike 'tis little Marjory Pebble," quoth I, and th' lass

having her lap full o' my apron, I went and opened th' door. And there,

comrade, a-kneeling in th' grass outside, with her head all hid in her

kirtle, as she had kneeled two years agone on t'other side o' that very

door, was Mistress Ruth Hacket; and she was a-sobbing as though her

heart would break. And while I stand staring, ere I could find a word

to my tongue, comes that lass o' mine and pushes me aside like as though

I had been little Marjory Pebble--ha! ha! And down goes she on her knees

beside th' lass, and gets an arm about her, and presses down her head,

all hid as 'tis in her kirtle, against her breast, and she saith to her,

"What troubles thee? Tell Keren, honey. So so! What troubles thee? Tell

Keren."

And from beneath her kirtle th' poor jade sobs out, "He's gone! he's

gone! he's gone! They've taken him to work on th' big seas--and our

child not yet born--and me so ailing; and, oh! I want to die! I want to

die!"

Then saith that lass o' mine, saith she, "Father, do thou fetch some o'

th' birch wine out o' th' cupboard and bring it to me in a cup;" and to

the girl she saith, "Come, then; come, then," like as though she had

been coaxing some little spring lambkin to follow her unto its dam; and

she half pulls and half carries th' wench into th' house, and seats her

on a low stool i' th' chimney-corner, and kneels down aside of her. And

when I be come with th' drink, she takes the cup out o' my hand, and

makes th' wench drink 't, holding it to her lips with one hand, while

with the other she cossets her hair and cheek. And, by-and-by, seeing

myself forgotten, I do withdraw into the room beyond, and wait till I be

called, that th' lasses may have 't out together.

Now, Ruth's folks were aye so poor that scarce could they keep clothes

on their backs and food i' their bellies; and it hath some time occurred

to me how that the Lord might 'a' given such as could not provide for

themselves a coat o' wool or o' hair that would 'a' covered their

bodies, after the manner of a sheep or goat--the righteous being clad i'

th' first fashion, and the wicked after th' last.

Well, well, I must on. I see thou art waxing restless, comrade. Not so?

Well, drink, drink, then, that I may feel thou art well occupied while

that my old tongue wags.

So poor, then, were Ruth's folks that I said to myself, said I, "What i'

th' name o' pity," so saith I--"what i' th' name o' pity is to become o'

the poor lass?" But I had scarce asked myself th' question when my lass

answers it for me.

"Father," saith she, a-coming and standing afore me, with the empty cup

turning on her long fingers--"father," saith she, keeping those

gold-colored eyes o' hers on mine (methinks they were coined o' th' same

wedge as her heart o' gold)--"father," saith she, just so, "considering

all things," saith she, "I'm going to keep th' lass in my room till her

child be born," so saith she.

Then saith I, pulling her down into my arms, "Lass," saith I, "verily do

I believe that not only is every hair o' thy sweet head numbered, but

that each one is blessed with a separate blessing!" And what with my

love for her, and my admiring of her goodness, and my pride in her, and

what with her pity for the poor girl in th' other room, we did shed

enough tears between us to ha' o'erflowed th' empty cup in her hands.

So she held me about th' neck with both arms, and like to ha' run me mad

with kissing th' back o' my neck (for I was e'er one o' your ticklish

sort). I stood it bravely, however, seeing how she loved me, and kissed

her too whensoever I could get a chance for th' tightness o' her

hugging. And so we settled it. But Mistress Lemon was yet to be

consulted.

Ready enough was I to shift that job on my lass's broad shoulders

(seeing as how a reputation for courage with his wife is ne'er believed

o' a man, at any rate, and as how th' wench had a way o' managing her

mother which sure none could 'a' had that were not of her own flesh).

And that night, when her mother was returned from a round o' gossiping,

th' lass tells her all (having i' th' mean time put Ruth to bed atween

her own sheets). Well, ne'er saw I my wife in such a rage.

"What!" saith she, "thou hast ta'en it on thyself to offer my bread and

meat to a good-for-naught hussy as ne'er had a civil word for any o' us!

Thou hast given her bed-room under my roof without so much as 'by your

leave!' Thou godless hussy, thou! Where be th' jade? I say, where be

she? Where be she?"

"Where thou shalt not come at her in thy present humor, mother," saith

the lass, standing with one arm reached out across the door-way, like as

though in verity she had been the mother and her dam a naughty child.

"How? Dost word me? dost word me?" saith my wife. "How? dost take any

stray cat to kitten in my house an' then word me too?"--so saith she.

Then saith th' lass, "Well can I understand," saith she, "how, if thou

canst speak i' this fashion o' thy sister's child, thou canst also speak

to thy own as sure no mother e'er spoke ere this." Then, changing all

suddenly her tone, and dropping down her arm from the door, "Go an thou

like," saith she, "to abuse the poor creature who hath come to ask thy

help in time o' trouble; but just so surely as thou dost turn her out o'

door to lie i' th' straw like any common callet, just so sure do I

follow her, to fare as she fares, and all the village shall know what

thou hast done."

Then for some minutes did they twain stand and gaze upon one another,

and at last down flumps my wife into a chair, as though she would break

it in pieces for very rage; but being waxed sulky, and her own wrath

cowed, as 'twere, by her daughter's more righteous wrath, she saith

nothing more of 't, good or bad.

In three weeks' time th' child is born, and as sound and as pretty a

babe as e'er I clapt eyes on, and Keren a-dangling of him as natural as

though she herself had been a mother, time and again.

"What say'st thou now, lass?" quoth she. "Wilt trust Keren after this?"

"Is he sound, verily?" saith the poor little dame, looking shyly upon

him.

"Never a spot so big as the splash on a guinea-flower!" saith Keren.

"And ears like sea-shells."

So, after a-kissing of them both, and th' top o' th' babe's head (as

'twas permitted me to do), I steals out and leaves them together.

Well, ne'er saw thou a child grow as did that child. Meseemed he

sprouted like corn after a rain; and in five months a was waxed so

strong a could stand on 's feet a-holding to his mother's kirtle. But,

strange to say or not, as thou wilt have 't, he did seem to love Keren

more than he did th' mother that bore him, a-crying for her did she but

so much as turn her back, and not sleeping unless that she would croon

his lullabies to him. Mayhap it was because her strong arms and round

bosom made a more cosey nest for him than did th' breast and arms o' his

little dam; but so was 't, and nearly all o' her time did th' lass give

to him. Neither did it seem to rouse aught o' jealousy in Ruth's heart:

she was too busy a-looking for th' return o' 's father to bother her

pretty pate o'ermuch concerning him. And she would sit and talk o'

Robin, and o' Robin's goodness, and o' Robin's sweet ways and words and

doings, until I thought sometimes my poor lass's heart would just break

within her, if 't had not been broken already these two years. And one

day, as she kneels beside th' cradle--Ruth having gone to see her folks

for th' day--I come in unknown to her, and stand to watch th' pretty

sight. There kneels she, and Ruth's red shawl o'er her head to please

th' child (Keren ne'er had any bright colors o' her own those

days)--there kneels she, I say, beside the cradle, and kittles him with

her nimble fingers, and digs him i' th' ribs after a fashion that would

sure 'a' run me crazy (though it hath ne'er yet been proven what a young

babe cannot endure at the hands o' women), and punches and pokes and

worries him, for all th' world like a kitten worrying a flower. And he,

lying on his back, kicks with both feet at her face, and winds all his

hands in her long hair, and laughs, and bubbles, and makes merry, after

the fashion o' a spring stream among many stones. And by-and-by a change

falls o'er her, and she waxes very solemn, and sits down on th' floor by

th' edge o' th' cradle, with one arm upon 't and her head on her hand,

and she looks at the babe. In vain doth he clutch at her hair and at her

kerchief, and reach, with pretty broken murmurings, as of water through

crowding roots, after his little bare toes: never so much as a motion

makes she towards him. But at last up gets she to her knees, and takes

him fiercely into her strong hands, and holds him off at arm's-length,

looking at him; and she saith in a deep voice (such as I had not heard

her use for two years), saith she, "For that thou art not mine," saith

she, "I hate thee; but--" and here came a change o'er all her face and

voice and manner, like as when April doth suddenly wake in the midst o'

a wintry day in springtide--"but," saith she, "for that thou art his, I

love thee!" And she took him to her bosom, and bowed down her head over

him so that he was hidden all in her long hair; but the bright shawl

covered it, so that, what with her stooping and the hiding of her

tresses, a body coming in suddenly at the door might 'a' easily mistaken

her for Ruth.

It was thus with th' man who at that moment strode past me and caught up

child and woman into his embrace. "I have come back to thee," he

said--"I have come back to thee. Look up, wife! Ruth, look up!" But when

she did look up, and he saw her face as white as morning, and her hair

as black as night, and her tall figure like to a young elm-tree--ay,

when she looked up, ne'er saw I a man not dead seem so like death. He

drops down his arms from about them, as though smitten from behind by a

sword, and he staggers and leans against th' table, and lets fall his

head upon his breast, staring straight in front o' him. But she stands

looking upon him. And I got me out with all speed; so ne'er knew I more

o' what passed between 'em, saving that he did take away Ruth with him

th' next day, and she as happy as a bird whose mate hath come back to 't

with the springtide. But a knew how that my lass had taken his wife into

her bed, and nursed her through her sickness night and day, after the

hard words he had spoken unto her and the ill names he had called her.

And that was all I cared to know. He had set th' iron in my lass's

heart, and now 'twas in his own; and for th' rust, it did but hurt him

more. Ay, ay, comrade, thou knowest what I do mean.

Well, the winter passed, and spring came on again, and 'twas in the May

o' that year that I did break my hammer-arm. God above us only knows

what would 'a' befallen us had 't not been for my Keren. Wilt believe

't? (but then I think thou'lt believe a'most anything o' that lass o'

mine now--eh, comrade?)--th' lass did set to work, and in two weeks'

time a was as good a farrier as was e'er her daddy afore her. Bodykins,

man! thou shouldst 'a' seen her at it: clad from throat to feet she was

in a leathern apron, looking as like mine own as though th' mare's skin

whereof mine was fashioned had, as 'twere, foaled a smaller one for th'

lass--ha! ha!--and her sleeves rolled up from her brown arms, and th'

cords a-standing out on them like th' veins in a horse's shoulder. And

so would she stand, and work th' bellows at th' forge, until, what with

th' red light from the fire on her face, and on her hair, and on her

bare arms, I was minded o' th' angel that walked i' the fiery furnace

with th' men in holy writ. And when a pounded away at a shoe, and her

young arm going like a flail--chink, chank--chink, chank--and th' white

spatters o' hot iron flying this way and that from th' anvil, meseemed

'twas as though Dame Venus (for thou knowest how in th' masque twelve

year gone this Yuletide 'twas shown as how a great dame called Venus did

wed wi' a farrier called Vulcan--I wot thou rememberest?)--as though

Dame Venus had taken away her hammer from her goodman Vulcan to do 's

work for him. By my troth, 'twas a sight to make a picture of--that

'twas, comrade.

Well, ne'er saw I such trouble as that arm gave me (and 't has ne'er

been strong since). First 'twould not knit, and then when 't did 'twas

all wrong, and had to be broken and set o'er again. But th' lass ne'er

gave out once. Late and early, fair weather or foul, a was at th' forge;

and a came to be known for as good a smith as there was in all

Warwickshire. But, for that none had e'er heard tell o' a woman at such

work, or for some other reason, they did come to call her, moreover,

"The Farrier Lass o' Piping Pebworth."

One day, as we sat i' th' door o' th' shop, a-resting, and talking

together--after a way we had with us even when she was a little

lass--there rides up a young gallant, all dressed out in velvet and

galloon, and a feather in 's hat, and long curls hanging about his

shoulders. Oh ay, a was bonny enough to look upon. So a draws rein at

th' door. And saith he,

"Art thou th' Farrier Lass o' Piping Pebworth?" saith he.

Saith she, arising to her feet, and standing with crossed arms like any

man--saith she,

"Folks call me so," saith she. "But my name is Keren Lemon."

"A sour name for so sweet a lass," saith th' gallant.

"Would thou hadst sweetened that old jest with some new wit!" quoth she.

"Thou art sharp o' tongue," saith he.

"I shoe horses with my arms, not with my tongue," saith she.

"As I live, a witty jade!" quoth he. "Thou dost much amuse me, maiden."

"My wit was not fashioned any more for thy amusement than for the

shoeing o' thy horse," quoth she. "So, if thou dost not purpose to have

him shod, ride on!" saith she.

Then saith he, to himself, as 'twere, "Verily," saith he, "they should

call thee the _harrier_ lass, for thou hast run down and found my

manners when that old hounds have failed." And to her he saith, "I do

purpose to have my horse shod, maiden; and I cry thee pardon for having

given thee offence."

"It is easier to give offence than pardon," saith she. "Howbeit, thou

art pardoned. Say no more." Whereupon she sets to work and, taking th'

horse's foot atween her knees, falls to filing his hoof in such wise

that I could not 'a' done better in her place, though the Queen should

ask me to sup afterwards at St. James's. But the stranger could not hold

his tongue; and when he saw her working th' bellows, and a-making of th'

shoe, and th' way she swung th' great hammer, "By my troth," saith he,

"I would I could paint thee as Sally Mander to give to th' Queen," saith

he.

Then saith my lass, "I know not of any wench called Sally Mander," saith

she, a-burning of th' horse's hoof with th' hot shoe; "but if she

consorts familiarly with such as be above her," so saith she, "methinks

'tis as well for both o' us that I know her not," saith she--every word

o't just as I tell thee.

Then saith the gallant, clapping hand to thigh, so that it made such a

sound as when a young child is trounced, "By my troth," saith he, "an

thy brows be not worthy o' a coronet, ne'er saw I any that merited to

wear one. What wouldst thou if thou wert a lady, lass?"

She saith, a-rolling up of her sleeves a little tighter, and looking up

at him as he sate again upon his horse, "Meanest thou if I were the wife

o' a lord?" saith she.

"Even so," saith he, laughing. "Verily thou hast come at my meaning with

a commendable quickness. Well, and if thou wert the wife o' a lord, what

wouldst thou do?"

Then saith she, speaking very slowly, and crossing of her arms again

upon her breast--saith she,

"I would bring up such sons as were born to me to behave worthily o'

their station in life, and not to forget their manhood by speaking with

insolence unto such honest maids as had never offered them affront."

Whereupon she did up with her kit o' tools, and pass by me into th'

forge; and th' man rode on with a reddened visage.

But it befell only two days later that a came again to th' forge, his

horse having cast another shoe.

And again th' lass sets all to right for him, he keeping a civil tongue

in 's head this time; and o' that we thought naught one way or th'

other. But when a comes a third time, and yet a fourth and a fifth and a

sixth, "Father," saith th' lass--"father," saith she, "this must be

stopt," saith she.

"Ay, verily," saith I. "But how wilt do 't?" saith I.

"I'll do 't, never fear," saith she.

And a did, comrade. Ha! ha! I'd trust that wench to make Satan keep to

heel like any well-broke puppy. 'Twas in this way. The next time th'

gallant comes riding up (that being th' seventh time in all, ye

mind)--well, the next time up comes riding he, and he saith to her,

saith he, "I have come to ask thy service yet again, damsel," saith he;

"but Merrylegs hath cast another shoe."

Then saith th' lass--ha! ha!--every word as I tell thee, comrade--saith

she, "Methinks, my lord, if my work hold no better than that--methinks,"

saith she, "'twere as well thou went for th' shoeing o' thy horse to

Timothy Makeshift, as lives in Marigold Lane," saith she. "For if it

come to th' ears o' others how that I will shoe a horse one day, and th'

next how that he will cast th' shoe--if it so be known," saith she, "no

more custom will I get to keep my father and mother in their old age."

Then doth he leap down from his horse, and he doffs his hat as though

my lass had been any fine lady; and quoth he,

"Well and justly hast thou spoken; and I do stand confessed of my fault.

But, maiden, thou wast not born unto th' life thou leadest; and here in

thy presence I do ask thy father to bestow upon me thy hand. I am Sir

Dagonet Balfour, of Balfour Hall; and if thou art willing I will make

thee my lady."

Now, I was struck dumb as though my tongue had jumped forth o' my mouth,

and never a blessed thing could I do saving stare, comrade. But that

lass o' mine--that lass o' mine, comrade--she stands and looks at him,

and never so much as a glint o' red in her face. And saith she, "My

lord," saith she, "if that thou meanest what thou hast said, thou hast

forgotten thine estate and not remembered mine. Since God hath not made

me a lady, methinks it is not in the power o' one o' His creatures so to

do. But I do thank thee for seeking to honor me, and wish thee joy when

thou shalt take in wedlock some highborn maiden."

Then saith he, "An I wed not thee, ne'er will I be wed. What! dost thou

think I can look on in patience and see a woman such as thou following

the trade of a farrier?"

Then saith she, "If Jesus Christ followed th' trade o' a carpenter,"

saith she, "sure," saith she, "Keren Lemon can follow th' trade o' a

farrier," saith she--every blessed word as I tell thee, comrade. And no

more would she have to do with him, but got her into th' forge and left

him standing there.

Well, thou might 'a' thought that was th' end o't. Not a bit--not a bit,

comrade. Th' knight would be a-riding up at all times and in all

weather, and somehow 't gets out i' th' village (though not through my

lass, I warrant ye) as how he doth in verity seek to espouse my Keren.

Well, o' all th' tirrits and to-do's as e'er you heard on!

Methought when Mistress Lemon found out that th' girl had refused th'

gallant's offer th' house would be a tighter fit for us three than its

shell for an unhatched chick. 'Twas worry, worry, worry, from morn till

night, and from night till morn it was worry, worry, worry, till I

scarce knew whether 'twould be better to murder my wife and hang for 't,

or leave her alone and live with her.

"Th' hussy!" quoth she--"th' ungrateful hussy! a ought to be tossed in a

blanket," quoth she, "and thou along with her, thou jack-pudding, thou

ravelling!" quoth she.

"If I be a jack-pudding," saith I, "I ha' more descendants than most

such," saith I.

"Yea," quoth she, "verily," quoth she; "and all nine o' th' lads be

jacks," saith she, "and th' wench as very a pudding as e'er fell to

pieces for want o' being held together," saith she. "Out on ye both!

I'm done with ye!"

"For that, God be praised!" saith I, and left ere she could answer.

But one day as I sate i' th' kitchen, a-cosseting o' my lame arm as

though 't had been a babe, I hear a sound o' wheels and a clatter o'

horses' hoofs; and, lo! there be a chariot pulled up afore the door,

with four gray horses a-making play with their trappings, and a

coachman, all wig and gilding, a-sitting on th' box. And ere a could

move, out steps a fine dame, with her hair all in hillocks, as 'twere,

and a paling o' lace round about her head, like as 't had been a

flower-garden, and a farthingale to 'a' covered th' big malt-pot with as

little to-do as a hen covers an egg. And up comes she to th' door, and

her tire-woman a-holding of her robes, and two footmen going before, and

in she comes--like as though Riches and Death had a' th' same right to

enter a poor man's house without knocking. And saith she to me, saith

she, a-filling up o' the room with her finery, like a cuckoo ruffling

out its feathers in another bird's nest, saith she,

"Be this th' cottage o' Humfrey Lemon th' farrier?" saith she.

"It be so; and I be he," saith I.

"And be thou th' father o' th' wench they call th' Farrier Lass o'

Piping Pebworth?" saith she.

"I be, an' proud o't," say I, a-beginning to think that she might 'a'

knocked at th' door, for all her greatness.

"Where's th' lass?" saith she, as she might 'a' said "Where's my glove?"

Then saith I, "Madam," saith I, "most like she's gone about her

business," saith I.

"My good man," saith she, after a fashion that did cause me to feel

aught but good--"my good man," saith she, "dost thou know to whom thou

speakest?"

"Verily," saith I, "thou art ahead o' me there, madam."

"Boor," saith she, "I am the Lady o' Balfour Hall."

"An' so could my lass 'a' been, had she willed it," saith I; but ere I

could further forget myself, in comes Keren by another door, and she

saith,

"Father, do thou go out, and leave me to speak with this lady." Then to

th' dame she saith, "Your ladyship," saith she, "I am Keren Lemon, that

be called th' Farrier Lass. What wouldst thou with me?"

Then I got me out o' th' room, but not out o' hearing distance; and this

is what followed:

"I have heard," saith th' dame, "these reports concerning my son Sir

Dagonet and thee, and, to my sorrow, I find upon inquiry," saith she,

"that they be true. Moreover, though it doth shame me to the dust to

confess it, I have had an interview with my son Sir Dagonet," so saith

she--every word o't as I tell thee--"and he is determined in his

purpose o' ruining his life and th' happiness o' his mother. Therefore I

have come to thee, to ask that thou persistest in the course which thou

hast begun," saith she. "And here," saith she, "is gold to hold thy

tongue concerning my visit unto thee." And therewith she did count down

ten broad gold pieces upon th' kitchen table. "I must also ask thee,"

then continued she, ere my lass could answer her, "to allow me to remain

under thy roof until my carriage be returned from th' other end o' the

village, where it hath been sent with my tire-woman to purchase some

ribbon to tie my parrot to 's perch."

Never a word saith my lass, but she goes to th' door and opens it, and

lifting up her voice, she halloos to a little ragged urchin who is at

some spot on th' other side o' th' street; and he being come as fast as

his little shanks would bring him, she bids him enter, and taking him up

in her arms, she lifts him up so that a can reach th' gold on th'

table, and saith she,

"Thou'rt not o'er-clean to touch, my good little mouse," saith she, "but

thou'rt cleaner than that stuff thou seest. There, lad, that's for thee,

if an thou'lt run to th' other end o' th' village and bid them return at

once with my lady Balfour's carriage," so saith she. Then, th' lad

having stuffed all 's doublet with th' gold, she sets him on 's feet,

and off a scuttles on th' best-paid errand e'er chanced since th' world

began. And my lass, having courtesied to the thunder-stricken dame, gets

her outside (where I go nigh to smothering her with kisses), and leaves

her ladyship in possession o' th' kitchen.

Well, comrade, right sure am I that thou dost think that was the end on

't. Not a bit. Sir Dagonet did himself come to th' cottage th' very next

day to see th' lass, and they had many words together, and at last he

did accuse her o' false pride and proud humility. And saith he,

"Wouldst thou make misery for the man who loves thee best of all the

world, merely to satisfy a notion o' thine own? Greatness and goodness,"

saith he, "dwell in the heads and hearts o' mankind, not in their birth

or purses. I do ask thee, with all respect, to be my wife, and I am

prepared to face th' anger o' my mother and o' th' Queen. Ay," saith he,

his face gone red as a girl's, and comes nigh to her--"ay, maiden,"

saith he, "I am even ready to seek th' new country with thee as my wife,

and to leave title and lands and Queen and mother behind me."