Chapter 9

WALTER LEARNS TO SAY NO.

"Betray mean terror of ridicule,--thou shalt find fools enough to mock thee:--

"But answer thou their laughter with contempt, and the scoffers shall lick thy feet."

Martin Farquhar Tupper.

(_In Edith's handwriting_.)

SELWICK HALL, MARCH THE II. Never, methinks, saw I any so changed as our _Milly_ by the illness and death of poor _Blanche_. From being the merriest of all us, methinks she is become well-nigh the saddest. I count it shall pass in time, but she is not like _Milisent_ at this present. All we, indeed, have much felt the same: but none like her. I never did reckon her so much to love _Blanche_.

I have marvelled divers times of late, what did bring _Robin Lewthwaite_ here so oft; and I did somewhat in mine own mind, rhyme his name with _Milisent's_, for all (as I find on looking) my damsel hath set down never a time he came. The which, as methinks, is somewhat significant. So I was little astonied this afternoon to be asked of _Robin_, as we two were in the garden, if I reckoned _Milisent_ had any care touching him.

"Thou wist, _Edith_," saith he, "I did alway love her: but when yon rogue came in the way betwixt that did end all by the beguilement of our poor _Blanche_, I well-nigh gave up all hope, for methought she were fair enchanted by him."

"I think she so were, for a time, _Robin_," said I, "until she saw verily what manner of man he were: and that it were not truly he that she had loved, but the man she had accounted him."

"Well," saith _Robin_, "I would like to be the man she accounted him. Thinkest there is any chance?"

"Thou wist I can but guess," I made answer, "for _Milisent_ is very close of that matter, though she be right open on other: but I see no reason, _Robin_, wherefore thou shouldst not win her favour, and I do ensure thee I wish thee well therein."

"_Edith_, thou art an angel!" crieth he out: and squeezed mine hand till I wished him the other side the Border.

"Nay!" said I, a-laughing: "what then is _Milly_?"

"Oh, aught thou wilt," saith he, also laughing, "that is sweet, and fair, and delightsome. Dost know, _Edith_, our _Nym_ goeth about to be a soldier? He shall leave us this next month."

"A soldier!" cried I: for in very deed _Nym_ and a soldier were two matters that ran not together to my thoughts. Howbeit, I was not sorry to hear that _Nym_ should leave this vicinage, and thereby cease tormenting of our _Helen_. The way he gazeth on her all the sermon-time in church should make me fit to poison him, were I she, and desired not (as I know she doth not) that he should be a-running after me. But, _Nym_ a soldier! I could as soon have looked to see _Moses_ play the virginals. Why, he is feared of his own shadow, very nigh: and is worser for ghosts than even _Austin Park_. I do trust, if we need any defence here in _Derwentdale_, either the Queen's Majesty shall not send _Nym_ to guard us, or else that his men shall have stouter hearts than he. An hare were as good as _Nym Lewthwaite_.

Sithence I writ what goeth afore, have we all been rare gladded by _Walter's_ coming, which was just when the dusk had fallen. He looketh right well of his face, and is grown higher, and right well-favoured: but, eh me, so fine! I felt well-nigh inclined to lout [courtesy] me low unto this magnifical gentleman, rather than take him by the hand and kiss him. _Ned_ saith--

"The Queen's Highness' barge ahoy!--all lined and padded o' velvet!--and in the midst the estate [the royal canopy] of cloth of gold! Off with your caps, my hearties!"

_Walter_ laughed, and took it very well. Saith Aunt _Joyce_, when he come to her--

"_Wat_, how much art thou worth by the yard?"

"Ten thousand pound, _Aunt_," saith he, boldly, and laughing.

"Ha!" saith she, somewhat dry. "I trust 'tis safe withinside, for I see it not without."

SELWICK HALL, MARCH YE IV. Yesterday, being _Sunday_, was nought said touching _Wat_ and his ways: only all to church, of course, at matins and evensong, but this day no sermons. This morrow, after breakfast, as we arose from the table, saith _Father_:--

"_Walter_, my lad, thou and I must have some talk."

"An' it like you, Sir," saith _Wat_.

"Wouldst thou choose it rather without other ears?"

"Not any way, I thank you, Sir."

"Then," quoth _Father_, drawing of a chair afore the fire, "we may tarry as we be."

_Walter_ sat him down in the chimney-corner; _Mother_, with her sewing, on the other side the fire; Aunt _Joyce_ in the place she best loveth, in the window. Cousin _Bess_ and _Mynheer_ were gone on their occasions. _Ned_ and we three maids were in divers parts of the chamber; _Ned_ carving of a wooden boat for _Anstace_ her little lad, and we at our sewing.

"Wilt tell me, _Wat_," saith _Father_, "what years thou hast?"

"Why, Sir," quoth he, "I reckon you know that something better than I; but I have alway been given to wit that the year of my birth was Mdlvii." [1557.]

"The which, sith thou wert born in _July_, makes thee now of two and twenty years," _Father_ makes answer.

"I believe so much, Sir," saith _Walter_, that looked somewhat diverted at this beginning.

"And thy wage at this time, from my Lord of _Oxenford_, is sixteen pound by the year?" [Note 1.]

"It is so, Sir," quoth _Wat_.

"And what reckonest thy costs to be?"

"In good sooth, Sir, I have not reckoned," saith he.

"Go to--make a guess."

_Wat_ did seem diseased thereat, and fiddled with his chain. At the last (_Father_ keeping silence) he saith, looking up, with a flush of his brow--

"To speak truth, Sir, I dare not."

"Right, my lad," saith _Father_. "Speak the truth, and let come of it what will. But, in very deed, we must come to it, _Wat_. This matter is like those wounds that 'tis no good to heal ere they be probed. Nor knew I ever a chirurgeon to use the probe without hurting of his patient. Howbeit, _Wat_, I will not hurt thee more than is need. Tell me, dost thou think that all thy costs, of whatsoever kind, should go into two hundred pound by the year?"

The red flush on _Wat's_ brow grew deeper.

"I am afeared not, Sir," he made answer, of a low voice.

"Should they go into three?" _Wat_ hesitated, but seemed more diseased [uncomfortable] than ever.

"Should four overlap them?"

_Wat_ brake forth.

"_Father_, I would you would scold me--I cannot stand it! I should feel an hard whipping by far less than your terrible gentleness. I know I have been a downright fool, and I have known it all the time: but what is a man to do? The fellows laugh at you if you do not as all the rest. Then they come to one every day, with, `Here, _Louvaine_, lend me a sovereign,'--and `Look you, _Louvaine_, pay this bill for me,'--and they should reckon you the shabbiest companion ever lived, if you did it not, or if, having done it, you should ask them for it again."

"_Wat_!" saith Aunt _Joyce_ from the window.

"What so, _Aunt_?" quoth he.

"Stand up a minute, and let me look at thee," saith she.

_Walter_ did so, but with a look as though he marvelled what Aunt _Joyce_ would be at.

"I would judge from thy face," quoth she, "if thou art the right lad come, or they have changed thee in _London_ town. Our _Walter_ used to have his father's eyes and his mother's mouth. Well, I suppose thou art: but I should scantly have guessed it from thy talk."

"_Walter_," softly saith _Mother_, "thy father should never have so dealt when he were of thy years."

"Lack-a-daisy! I would have thought the world was turning round," quoth Aunt _Joyce_, "had I ever heard such a speech of _Aubrey_ at any years whatsoever."

_Father_ listed this with some diversion, as methought from the set of his lips.

"Well, I am not as good as _Father_," saith _Wat_.

"Amen!" quoth Aunt _Joyce_.

"But, _Aunt_, you are hard on a man. See you not, all the fellows think you a coward if you dare not spend freely and act boldly? Ay, and a miser belike."

"Is it worser to be thought a coward than to be one?" saith _Father_.

"Who be `all the fellows'?" saith Aunt _Joyce_. "My Lord of _Burleigh_ and my Lord _Hunsdon_ and Sir _Francis Walsingham_, I'll warrant you."

"Now, _Aunt_!" saith _Walter_. "Not grave old men like they! My Lord of _Oxenford_, that is best-dressed man of all the Court, and spendeth an hundred pound by the year in gloves and perfumes only--"

"Eh, _Wat_!" cries _Helen_: and _Mother_,--"_Walter_, my dear boy!"

"'Tis truth, I do ensure you," saith he: "and Sir _Walter Raleigh_, one of the first wits in all _Europe_: and young _Blount_, that is high in the Queen's Majesty's favour: and my young Lord of _Essex_, unto whom she showeth good countenance. 'Tis not possible to lower one's self in the eyes of such men as these--and assuredly I should were I less free-handed."

"My word, _Wat_, but thou hast fallen amongst an ill pack of hounds!" saith Aunt _Joyce_.

"Then it is possible, or at least more possible, to lower thyself in our eyes, _Wat_?" saith _Father_.

"_Father_, you make me to feel 'shamed of myself!" crieth _Wat_. "Yet, think you, so should they when I were among them, if I should hold back from these very deeds."

"Then is there no difference, my son," asks _Father_, still as gentle as ever, "betwixt being 'shamed for doing the right, and for doing the wrong?"

"But--pardon me, Sir--you are not in it!" saith _Walter_. "Do but think, what it should feel to be counted singular, and as a speckled bird, unlike all around."

"Well!" saith Aunt _Joyce_, fervently, "I am five and fifty years of age this morrow; and have in my time done many a foolish deed: but I do thank Heaven that I was never so left to mine own folly as to feel any ambition to make one of a row of buttons!"

I laughed--I could not choose.

"You are a woman, _Aunt_," saith _Wat_. "'Tis different with you."

"I pay you good thanks, Master _Walter Louvaine_," quoth she, "for the finest compliment was ever paid me yet. I am a woman (wherefore I thank God), and therefore (this young gentleman being testimony) have more bravery of soul than a man. For that is what thy words come to, Master _Wat_; though I reckon thou didst not weigh them afore utterance.--Now, _Aubrey_, what art thou about to do with this lad?"

"I fear there is but one thing to do," saith _Father_, and he fetched an heavy sigh. "But let us reach the inwards of the matter first. I reckon, _Walter_, thou hast many debts outstanding?"

"I am afeared so, Sir," saith _Wat_,--which, to do him credit, did look heartily ashamed of himself.

"To what sum shall they reach, thinkest?"

_Wat_ fiddled with his chain, and fidgetted on his seat, and _Father_ had need of some patience (which he showed rarely) ere he gat at the full figures. It did then appear that our young gallant should have debts outstanding to the amount of nigh two thousand pounds.

"But, _Wat_," saith _Helen_, looking sore puzzled, "how _couldst_ thou spend two thousand pounds when thou hadst but sixty-two in these four years?"

"Maidens understand not the pledging of credit," saith _Ned_. "See thou, _Nell_: I am a shop-keeper, and sell silk gowns; and thou wouldst have one that should cost an angel--"

"Eh, _Ned_!" crieth she, and all we laughed.

"Thou shalt not buy a silk gown under six angels at the very least. Leastwise, not clear silk: it should be all full of gum."

"Go to!" saith _Ned_. "Six angels, then--sixty if thou wilt. (Dear heart, what costly matter women be! I'll don my wife in camlet.) Well, in thy purse is but two angels. How then shalt thou get thy gown?"

"Why, how can I? I must do without it," saith she.

"Most sweet _Helen_; sure thou earnest straight out of the Garden of _Eden_! Dear heart, folks steer not in that quarter now o' days. Thou comest to me for the gown, and I set down thy name in my books, that thou owest me six angels: and away goest thou with the silk, and turnest forth o' _Sunday_ as fine as a fiddler."

"Well--and then?" saith she.

"Then, with _Christmas_ in cometh my bill: and thou must pay the same."

"But if I have no money?"

"Then I lose six angels."

"_Father_, is that honest?" saith _Helen_.

"If thou hadst no reason to think thou shouldst have the money by _Christmas_, certainly not, my maid," he made answer.

"Not honest, Sir!" saith _Wat_.

"Is it so?" quoth _Father_.

"Oh, look you, words mean different in the Court," crieth Aunt _Joyce_, "from what they do in _Derwent_-dale and at _Minster Lovel_. If we pay not our debts here, we go to prison; and folks do but say, Served him right! But if they pay them not there, why, the poor tailor and jeweller must feed their starving childre on the sight of my Lord of _Essex'_ gold lace, and the smell of my Lord of _Oxenford_ his perfumes. Do but think, what a rare supper they shall have!"

"Now, hearken, _Walter_," saith _Father_. "I must have thee draw up a list of all thy debts, what sum, for what purpose, and to whom owing: likewise a list of all debts due to thee."

"But you would not ask for loans back, Sir?" cries _Wat_.

"That depends on whom they were lent to," answers _Father_. "If to a poor man that can scarce pay his way, no. But if to my cousin of _Oxenford_ and such like gallants that have plenty wherewith to pay, then ay."

"They would think it so mean, Sir!" saith _Walter_, diseasefully.

"Let them so do," saith _Father_. "I shall sleep quite as well."

"But really, Sir, I could not remember all."

"Then set down what thou canst remember."

_Walter_ looked as if he would liefer do aught else.

"And, my son," saith _Father_, so gently that it was right tender, "I must take thee away from the Court."

"Sir!" crieth _Walter_, in a voice of very despair.

"I can see thou art not he that can stand temptation. I had hoped otherwise. But 'tis plain that this temptation, at the least, hath been too much for thee."

_Wat's_ face was as though his whole life should be ruined if so were.

"Come, _Wat_, take heart o' grace!" cries _Ned_. "I wouldn't cruise in those muddy waters if thou shouldst pay me two thousand pound to do the same. Think but of men scenting themselves--with aught but a stiff sea-breeze. Pish! And as to dancing, cap in hand, afore a woman, and calling her thine _Excellency_, or thy _Floweriness_, or thy Some-Sort-of-Foolery, why, I'd as lief strike to a _Spanish_ galleon, very nigh. When I want a maid to wed me, an' I ever do--at this present I don't--I shall walk straight up to her like a man, and say, `Mistress _Cicely_ (or whatso she be named), I love you; will you wed me?' And if she cannot see an honest man's love, or will not take it, without all that flummery, why, she isn't worth a pail o' sea-water: and I can get along without her, and I will."

"Hurrah for _Ned_!" saith Aunt _Joyce_. "'Tis a comfort to find we have one man in the family."

"I trust we may have two, in time," quoth _Father_. "_Wat_, my lad, I know this comes hard: and as I count thee not wicked, but weak, I would fain help thee all I may. But thou canst not be suffered to forget that my fortune is but three hundred pound by the year; and I have yet three daughters to portion. I could not pay thy debts without calling in that for which thou hast pledged my credit--for it is mine, _Wat_, rather than thine, seeing thine own were thus slender."

"But, Sir!" crieth _Wat_, "that were punishing you for mine extravagance. I never dreamed of that!"

"Come, he is opening his eyes a bit at last," saith Aunt _Joyce_ to me, that was next her.

"May-be, _Wat_," saith _Father_, with a kindly smile, "it had been better if thou hadst dreamed thereof a little sooner. I think, my boy, it will be punishment enough for one of thy nature but to 'bide at home, and to see the straits whereto thou hast put them that love thee best."

"Punishment!" saith Wat, in a low, 'shamed voice. "Yes, _Father_, the worst you could devise."

"Well, then we will say no more," saith _Father_. "Only draw up those lists, _Walter_, and let me have them quickly."

_Father_ then left the chamber: and _Wat_ threw him down at _Mother's_ knee.

"O _Mother_, _Mother_, if I had but thought sooner!" crieth he. "If I could but have stood out when they laughed at me!--for that, in very deed, were the point. I did begin with keeping within my wage: and then all they mocked and flouted me, and told me no youth of any spirit should do so: and--and I gave way. Oh, if I had but held on!"

_Mother_ softly stroked _Wat's_ gleaming fair hair, that is so like hers.

"My boy!" she saith, "didst thou ask for God's strength, or try to hold on in thine own?"

_Walter_ made no answer in words, but methought I saw the water stand in his eyes.

When _Mother_ and _Wat_ were both gone forth, Aunt _Joyce_ saith,--"I cannot verily tell how it is that folk should have a fantasy that 'tis a shame to be 'feared of doing ill, and no shame at all to be 'feared of being laughed at. Why, one day when I were at home, there was little _Jack Bracher_ a-stealing apples in mine orchard: and _Hewitt_ (that is Aunt _Joyce's_ chief gardener) caught him and brought him to me. _Jack_, he sobbed and thrust his knuckles into his eyes, and said it were all the other lads. `But what did the other lads to thee?' quoth I. `Oh, they dared me!' crieth he. `They said I durst not take 'em: and so I had to do it.' Now, heard you ever such stuff in your born days? Why, they might have dared me till this time next year, afore ever I had turned thief for their daring."

"But then, _Aunt_, you see," saith _Ned_, a twinkle in his eyes, "you are but a woman. That alters the case."

"Just so, _Ned_," quoth Aunt _Joyce_, the fun in her eyes as in his: "I am one of the weaker sex, I know."

"Now, I'll tell you," saith _Ned_, "how they essayed it with me, when I first joined my ship. They dared me--my mates, wot you--to go up to the masthead, afore I had been aboard a day. `Now, look you here, mates,' says I. `When the Admiral bids me, I'll scale every mast in the ship; and if I break my neck, I shall but have done my duty. But I'll do nought because I'm dared, and so that you know.' Well, believe me who will, but they cheered me as if I had taken a galleon laden with ducats. And I've been their white son [favourite] ever since."

"Of course!" saith Aunt _Joyce_. "They alway do. 'Tis men which have no true courage that dare others: and when they come on one that hath, they hold him the greater hero because 'tis not in themselves to do the like. _Ned_, lad, thou art thy father's son. I know not how _Wat_ gat changed."

"Well, _Aunt_, I hope I am," saith _Ned_. "I would liefer copy _Father_ than any man ever I knew."

"Hold thou there, and thou shalt make a fair copy," saith Aunt _Joyce_.

We wrought a while in silence, when Aunt _Joyce_ saith--

"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.