"Dorothy Denny, art thou never going to set that kettle on?"
"Oh, deary me! a body never has a bit of peace!"
"That's true enough of me, but it's right false of thee. Thou's nought
but peace all day long, for thou never puts thyself out. I dare be
bounden, if the Queen's Grace and all her noble company were to sup in
this kitchen at five o' the clock, I should come in and find never a
kettle nor a pan on at the three-quarter past. If thy uncle wasn't a
sloth, and thine aunt a snail, I'm not hostess of the King's Head at
Colchester, thou'rt no more worth thy salt--nay, salt, forsooth! thou'rt
not worth the water. Salt's one and fourpence the raser, and that's a
deal too much to give for thee. Now set me the kettle on, and then teem
out that rubbish in the yard, and run to the nests to see if the hens
have laid: don't be all day and night about it! Run, Doll!--Eh deary
me! I might as well have said, Crawl. There she goes with the lead on
her heels! If these maids ben't enough to drive an honest woman crazy,
my name's not Philippa Wade."
And Mistress Wade began to put things tidy in the kitchen with a
promptitude and celerity which Dorothy Denny certainly did not seem
likely to imitate. She swept up the hearth, set a chair before the
table, fresh sanded the floor and arranged the forms in rows, before
Dorothy reappeared, carefully carrying something in her apron.
"Why, thou doesn't mean to say thou'st done already?" inquired her
mistress sarcastically. "Thou'st been all across the yard while I've
done no more than sand the floor and side things for the gathering.
What's that in thine apron? one of the Queen's Majesty's jewels?"
"It's an _egg_, Mistress."
"An egg! an _egg_?" demanded Mrs Wade, with a burst of hearty laughter;
for she laughed, as she did everything else, with all her might. "Is
that all thou'st got by thy journey? Marry, but I would have tarried
another day, and fetched two! Poor Father Pulleyne! so he's but to have
one _egg_ to his supper? If them hens have laid no more, I'm a
Dutchwoman! See thou, take this duster, and dust the table and forms,
and I'll go and search for eggs. If ever a mortal woman--"
Mistress Wade was in the yard before she got further, and Dorothy was
left to imagine the end of the sentence. Before that leisurely young
woman had finished dusting the first form, the landlady reappeared with
an apronful of eggs.
"I marvel whither thou wentest for thy _egg_, Doll. Here be eighteen
thou leftest for me to gather. It's no good to bid thee be 'shamed, for
thou dost not know how, I should in thy place, I'll warrant thee.
Verily, I do marvel whatever the world's a-coming to!"
Before Mrs Wade had done more than empty her apron carefully of the
eggs, a soft rap came on the door; and she called out,--
"Come within!"
"Please, I can't reach," said a little voice.
"Open the door, Doll," said Mrs Wade; and in came three children--a
girl of nine, a boy of six, and a baby in the arms of the former.
"Well, what are you after? Come for skim milk! I've none this even."
"No, please. Please, we're come to the preaching."
"_You're_ come to the preaching? Why, you're only as big as mice, the
lot of you. Whence come you?"
"Please, we've come from Thorpe."
"You've come from Thorpe! you poor little bits of things! All that
way!" cried Mrs Wade, whose heart was as large as her tongue was ready.
"Why, I do believe you're Cicely Johnson. You are so grown I didn't
know you at first--and yet you're no bigger than a mouse, as I told you.
Have you had any supper?"
"No, Mistress. Please, we don't have supper, only now and then. We
shall do very well, indeed, if we may stay for the preaching."
"You'll sit down there, and eat some bread and milk, before you're an
hour older. Poor little white-faced mortals as ever I did see! But
you've never carried that child all the way from Thorpe?--Doll didst
ever see such children?"
"They're proper peaked, Mistress," said Dorothy. [See note 1.]
"Oh no!" answered the truth-loving Cissy. "I only carried her from the
Gate. Neighbour Ursula, she bare her all the way."
"Thou'rt an honest lass," said Mrs Wade, patting Cissy on the head.
"There, eat that."
And she put a large slice of bread into the hand of both Will and Cissy,
setting a goodly bowl of milk on the table between them.
"That's good!" commented Will, attacking the milk-bowl immediately.
Cissy held him back, and looked up into Mrs Wade's kindly and capacious
face.
"But please we haven't got any money," she said anxiously.
"Marry come up! to think I'd take money from such bits of things as you!
I want no money, child. The good Lord, He pays such bills as yours.
And what set you coming to the preaching? Did your father bid you?"
[See Note 2.]
"Father likes us to come," said Cissy, when her thanks had been properly
expressed; "but he didn't bid us--not to-night. Mother, she said we
must always come if we could. I'm feared Baby won't understand much:
but Will and me, we'll try."
"I should think not!" replied Mrs Wade, laughing. "Why, if you and
Will can understand aught that'll be as much as need be looked for. How
much know you about it?"
"Please, we know about the Lord Jesus," said Cissy, putting her hands
together, as if she were going to say her prayers. "We know that He
died on the cross for us, so that we should not be punished for our
sins, and He sends the Holy Ghost to make us good, and the Bible, which
is God's Word, and we mustn't let anybody take it away from us."
"Well, if you know that much in your little hearts, you'll do," said the
landlady. "There's many a poor heathen doesn't know half as much as
that. Ay, child, you shall 'bide for the preaching if you want, but
you're too soon yet. You've come afore the parson. Eat your bread and
milk up, and 'bide where you are; that's a snug little corner for you,
where you'll be warm and safe. Is Father coming too, and Neighbour
Ursula?"
"Yes, they're both coming presently," said Cissy.
The next arrival was that of two gentlemen, the preacher and a friend.
After this people began to drop in, at first by twos and threes, and as
the time drew near, with more rapidity. The Mounts and Rose Allen came
early; Elizabeth Foulkes was late, for she had hard work to get away at
all. Last of anybody was Margaret Thurston and with her a tall,
strong-looking man, who was John Thurston, her husband. John Johnson
found out the corner where his children were, and made his way to them;
but Rose Allen had been before him, and was seated next to Cissy,
holding the little hand in hers. On the other side of little Will sat
an old lady with grey hair, and a very sweet, kind face. She was Mrs
Silverside, the widow of a priest. By her was Mrs Ewring the miller's
wife, who was a little deaf, and wanted to get near the preacher.
When the room was full, Mr Pulleyne, who was to preach that evening,
rose and came forward to the table, and gave out the Forty-Second Psalm.
They had no hymn-books, as we have. There were just a few hymns,
generally bound up at the end of the Prayer-Book, which had been written
during the reign of good King Edward the Sixth; but hardly any English
hymns existed at all then. They had one collection of metrical Psalms--
that of Sternhold and Hopkins, of which we never sing any now except the
Hundredth--that version known to every one, beginning--
"All people that on earth do dwell."
The Psalms they sang then sound strange to us now but we must remember
they did not sound at all strange to those who sang them. Here are two
verses of the Forty-Second.
"Like as the hart doth pant and bray,
The well-springs to obtain,
So doth my soul desire alway
With Thee, Lord, to remain.
My soul doth thirst, and would draw near
The living God of might;
Oh, when shall I come and appear
In presence of His sight!
"The tears all times are my repast,
Which from mine eyes do slide;
Whilst wicked men cry out so fast,
`Where now is God thy Guide?'
Alas! what grief is it to think
The freedom once I had!
Therefore my soul, as at pit's brink,
Most heavy is and sad."
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Note 1. Peaked: Very thin and pinched-looking.
Note 2. Come up. An exclamation of surprise, then often used.