Part 4

“No—there’s another dove already fastened with a cord from the top of the stage. We shall see it in a minute!” And, sure enough, while he was speaking, the bird came fluttering down, almost into Noah’s hands.

“Oh! it’s got the olive-branch in its beak!” exclaimed Margery. “That shows that the trees are out of the water—doesn’t it?”

“Yes; listen—then you will hear Noah saying that the flood has gone down.”

“By this sight I well may say, This flood begins to cease (Noah was declaring). My sweet dove to me brought has A branch of olive from some place; This betokeneth God has done us some grace, And is a sign of peace.”

By this time all the windows in the ark were open, disclosing the whole family, including Noah’s wife, who looked much subdued.

“She’s glad she’s saved now!” Margery remarked. “Look!—they’re all coming out, and God is talking to them.”

“He is promising that the rainbow shall be a sign from heaven that the earth shall never more be drowned,” said Master Gyseburn. “It’s all over now. Look!—the men are dragging the pageant away to the next halting-place.”

“And _now_ it’s Abraham and Isaac!” said Margery joyfully.

VI The Story of Abraham and of Isaac

Both the children looked anxiously in the direction from which all the pageants coming from the gates of the Priory, approached the market-place.

“It isn’t in sight yet!” said Colin in surprise, for hitherto one pageant had followed swiftly upon another.

“Oh! but here’s a man on horseback, dressed _splendidly_!” Margery cried. “What is he going to do?”

“He’s part of the play,” Master Gyseburn explained. “He is a messenger who is going to tell us what it’s all about.”

By this time the rider, who came from a side-street, was clattering over the stones of the market-place. Just beneath the window he drew up his horse, and, raising his plumed cap, began in these words to address the multitude:

“All peace, Lordings, that be present, And hearken now with good intent How Noah away from us he went With all his company; And Abraham, through God’s grace He is come forth into this place, And you will give him room and space To tell you his storye. This play, forsooth, begin shall he, In worship of the Trinity, That you may all hear and see What shall be done to-day. My name is Gobbet-on-the-Green, No longer here I may be seen; Farewell, my Lordings, all by dene [in haste] For letting [hindering] of your play.”

Setting spurs to his horse, the messenger, a brilliant figure in a doublet of sapphire blue laced with gold, and long crimson hose, rode away, disappearing at the opposite corner of the market-place from that at which he had entered.

And now another figure came into view, also riding.

This was a stately man in long robes, wearing a curious turban of linen.

“Is that Abraham?” asked Colin. “But where is Isaac?”

“He doesn’t come yet,” answered Master Gyseburn. “The story, you see, begins long before Isaac is born. Abraham has just returned from his victory over the four kings. Listen! He is explaining how the kings took his nephew Lot prisoner, and how he released him, and conquered the kings.”

“Now there’s another man coming on horseback!” said Margery. “Oh! look how beautifully he is dressed, with rubies on his gown, and on the thing that comes over his forehead. Who is he?”

“That’s Melchizedek, King of Salem, and priest of the Most High God. He is coming to bless Abraham for conquering the kings, and to give him bread and wine.”

“Yes! A servant is holding up a golden cup to him and a golden plate!” said Colin. “And now he’s going to give the bread and wine to Abraham, I suppose.”

This duly happened as Colin had guessed, for Melchizedek, reining up his horse close to Abraham, began to speak, offering him presently the golden cup and platter:

“Abraham, welcome must thou be, God’s grace is fully in thee; Blessed ever must thou be That enemies so can make. I have brought, as thou may’st see, Bread and wine for thy degree; Receive this present now from me, And that I thee beseke [beseech].”

Then Abraham, taking the bread and wine, answered in this fashion:

“Sir King, welcome in good say, Thy present is welcome to my pay. God has helped me to-day, Unworthy though I were. He shall have part of my prey That I won since I went away. Therefore to thee thou take it may, The tenth I offer thee.”

At this moment a horse richly laden with all sorts of precious gifts of gold and silver and jewels was led forward by a page. The beautiful animal had splendid harness and trappings upon him, and he walked proudly as though conscious of the royal presents he brought.

Melchizedek accepted the gift and, after further talk with Abraham, rode away, followed by his servants, who led the laden steed.

Abraham now wheeled his horse aside to make room for the messenger, who rode into the cleared space, and once more addressed the audience. In a long speech he explained to the people that the scene they had just witnessed was a sort of parable, and meant the Holy Communion, the Bread and Wine commemorating Christ’s sacrifice for the world.

So far the pageant or wooden stage had not been used at all. All the characters had come riding in to act their parts. But now the platform which stood waiting in the background, was drawn into the midst of the open space, and the rest of the play took place as usual, upon it.

First God the Father appeared, and Abraham entreated Him to send him a child to be his heir. The Almighty promised to grant his request, laid various commands upon him, and told him that his descendants should be as the stars of heaven for number; and the scene ended with Abraham kneeling to bless and thank the Lord for His mercy.

The curtains were now drawn, and before they were once more unclosed, the messenger again rode up, and explained to the people how some of the commands which God had just given to Abraham pointed to and foreshadowed the Sacrament of Baptism, which followed the birth of Christ.

When he had ridden away, and the curtains of the pageant again swung back, the children grew very excited, for almost the first words of the scene told them that Isaac might soon be expected to appear.

“You see,” said Master Gyseburn, “that some years are supposed to have passed between the last scene and this. God’s promise has been fulfilled, and Abraham now has a son. Listen!”

Abraham was alone on the stage, but just as Master Gyseburn finished speaking, God’s voice was heard:

“Abraham, My servant Abraham!”

“Lo, Lord, already here I am,”

replied Abraham.

“Take Isaac thy son by name,”

the voice continued,

“And in sacrifice offer him to Me Upon that hill, beside thee. Abraham, I will that it so be For aught that may befall.”

Though almost stunned with grief at the command, Abraham at once declared himself ready to obey the Lord. He said that all his household should remain at home except Isaac, with whom he would go to the appointed hill.

By this time Mistress Harpham was leaning anxiously over the children’s shoulders, for she knew that Giles in the character of Isaac was waiting to come on to the stage. All the guests were also very excited and full of expectation.

“It’s well that the boy acts with so good a man as Master Eliott!” exclaimed a woman who stood close to her hostess.

“Aye! John Eliott is a rare good player!” answered Mistress Harpham nervously. “We’ve never had a better ‘Abraham’ than he makes, and he’s taken such pains with Giles too, teaching him and training him for the part.”

“There he is! There he is!” cried Margery, as a pretty, delicate little figure in a linen tunic entered. “Oh! _doesn’t_ he look nice!”

And indeed, with his fair curly hair and sweet face, Giles made quite a touching little Isaac.

“Hush! Hush! Abraham is speaking,” Master Gyseburn reminded her.

“Make thee ready, my darling,” he was saying in a voice which made Margery feel as though she wanted to cry:

“Make thee ready, my darling, For we must do a little thing; This wood upon thy back you bring, We must not long abide. A sword and fire I will take, For sacrifice I must make; God’s bidding will I not forsake, But ay obedient be.”

There was a deep silence in the crowd, as speaking in a very clear, gentle voice, Isaac made reply:

“Father, I am all ready To do your bidding meekly; To bear this wood full bound am I As you command me.”

Abraham then in trembling tone gave a blessing to his son, whose look of bewilderment and growing fear brought tears to the eyes of some of the women at the window.

Then, after the old man had bound the wood on the boy’s back, he was suddenly overcome with misery.

“Oh! my heart will break in three, To hear thy words I have pity,”

he exclaimed. But the cry of despair was immediately followed by

“As thou wilt, Lord, so must it be.”

Still wondering and afraid, Isaac spoke:

“Are you anything adread? (he asked) Father, if it be your will, Where is the beast that we shall kill?”

And when Abraham told him that he saw no animal at all, the boy went on in a shaking voice:

“Father, I am full sore afraid To see you bare this naked sword. I hope for all middle-yard [instead of any creature from the farmyard], You will not slay your child?”

Then the father, who could not bear to detect the fear in his boy’s voice, tried to comfort him by saying that the Lord would surely provide some beast that might be slain for the sacrifice. But Isaac was not satisfied. He begged the old man to tell him whether any evil would happen to him, and at the entreaty Abraham could no longer hide his terrible grief, but broke into wild words.

“Ah, dear God, that me is woe! Thou bursts my heart in sunder,”

he exclaimed, wringing his hands; and finally, when Isaac again implored him to hide nothing from him, he told the dreadful truth.

“O Isaac, Isaac, I must thee kill!”

he cried.

Then poor little Isaac went down on his knees and entreated his father to spare him:

“Alas! father,” he sobbed, “is that your will, Your own child here for to spill Upon this hill’s brink? If I have trespassed in any degree With a rod you may beat me; Put up your sword, if your will be, For I am but a child.... Would God my mother were here with me! She would kneel upon her knee, Praying you, father, if it might be, For to save my life.”

By this time Mistress Harpham was crying, and so were many other mothers in the crowd, while they listened to the boy’s voice, and the words of Abraham as he explained to his son that this terrible thing must come to pass because it was God’s command.

Isaac listened, and, forgetting himself, tried very sweetly to comfort his poor father, begging him not to linger, but to do the deed quickly.

“Father, tell my mother of nothing,” he implored, anxious to spare her the knowledge of his fate; and then he asked that a handkerchief might be tied over his eyes to prevent him from seeing the flash of the sword.

Most of the women hid their own eyes while poor little Isaac was bound and laid upon the altar; when the boy spoke again, for the last time, they sobbed aloud.

“Now, father, I see that I shall die! Almighty God in Majesty, My soul I offer unto Thee; Lord, to it be kind.”

Margery could not look when Abraham, snatching up the sword, held it high over the child’s head, and it was only when she heard a gentle voice that she dared to take her hands from her eyes.

“Abraham, My servant dear!”

“Look up! He’s not going to be hurt,” whispered Colin. “The angel has come. _Two_ angels!”

With great relief Margery gazed at them. They were beautiful, she thought, with their long golden wings, and their white gowns; and she loved them for coming to save poor little Isaac.

She saw that Abraham had dropped his sword, and she heard his trembling voice saying,

“_Lo, Lord! I am already here._”

“Lay not thy sword in any manner On Isaac, thy dear darling!”

replied one of the gracious angels, while the other pointed to a ram which was struggling in a thicket of bushes close by, and bade Abraham sacrifice the animal instead of his only son.

Then Abraham rejoiced, and offered praise to God:

“Ah, Lord of heaven, and King of bliss! Thy bidding I shall do, I wis; Sacrifice here to me sent is, And all, Lord, through Thy grace. A hornèd wether here I see, Among the briars tied is he. To Thee offered it shall be Anon, right in this place.”

Margery drew a long breath when, just before the curtains were closed, she saw Abraham unbinding and embracing his poor little son. But even then the play was not quite over, for again the messenger rode forward, and, placing himself in front of the pageant, explained to the audience that Isaac was a type of Christ, and that the sacrifice was meant to foreshadow His death upon the Cross. These were the words of his message:

“Lordings, the signification Of this deed of devotion, An you will, it is shown, May turn you to much good. This deed you see done in this place, In example of Jesus done it was, That for to win mankind grace Was sacrificed on the rood. By Abraham you may understand The Father of heaven that can fand [find means] With His Son’s blood to break that band The devil had brought us to. By Isaac understand I may Jesus Who was obedient ay, His Father’s will to work alway, His death to undergo.”

VII The Shepherds’ Play

Many were the exclamations of wonder and delight at the performance, and many the congratulations to the parents of the little actor, when _The Sacrifice of Isaac_ passed on its way to the next halting-place. Indeed so excited and talkative were the guests at the house of Master Harpham, that the four following pageants received little attention from them.

“The poor child will be worn out before evening comes!” declared the women again and again, and Giles’ mother agreed. “Though he so loves playing,” she said, “that I don’t think he feels the fatigue as much as one might imagine. I know who _will_ be worn out, though!” she exclaimed, turning to Mistress Short. “Your little ones ought to go and rest awhile. It’s altogether too long a day for them.”

Colin and Margery protested, but their mother was firm, and they were obliged to follow her to Mistress Harpham’s guest-room, the grandest they had ever seen, where Margery was placed on the big four-posted bed of oak, and Colin, grumbling a great deal, was forced to lie down on a little truckle-bed at its foot.

“You’ll be all the fresher, and enjoy the plays all the better for a bit of a sleep,” Mistress Harpham assured them. “And you shall be called in time for the Shepherds’ play—that I promise you.”

Margery brightened at this, for she had heard that the Shepherds’ play was the most popular of all the pageants, and she had been afraid of missing it. Though she and Colin had laughed at the idea of “a bit of a sleep,” each found a strange feeling of drowsiness creeping nearer, and considering that they had been up since daybreak, and it was now past noon, this was not so surprising as they considered it. At any rate, when their mother softly entered the room an hour later, she roused both children from sleep.

The Shepherds’ play, she told them, was expected in a few minutes; and they ran eagerly into the front room to take their old places at the window.

“Do tell us what they’ve been acting!” begged Margery, as their friend Master Gyseburn welcomed them with a smile.

“Well! we’ve had _Moses lifting up the Serpent in the Wilderness_. That was the Hosiers’ pageant. Then came the Grocers with the _Salutation of Mary to Elisabeth_. Next came _Mary and Joseph with an angel commanding them to go to Bethlehem_, acted by the Pewterers; and the last one was the Tylers’ (Thatchers’) pageant of the _Stable at Bethlehem, with the Child Jesus in the Manger_.”

“Oh! we wanted to see that!” exclaimed both the children, very disappointed.

“You will,” Master Gyseburn assured them. “After this pageant, the Shepherds go to the stable to worship the Child, so the manger scene appears again; in fact it appears several times.”

By the stir and noise in the crowd below, it was evident that the Shepherds’ play was awaited with great eagerness. There was a pushing and scrambling in the throng, which had greatly increased in numbers. Many people who had strolled away to get something to eat and drink had returned, and were trying to recover their lost places.

“Is this a funny play?” asked Colin.

“Yes,” said Master Gyseburn. “The Shepherds’ play, or at any rate the first part of it, is always expected to be amusing. It is an old custom, and the people would be very disappointed, and perhaps angry, if it were changed. This particular play is one that is always acted at Wakefield, but our Chandlers have borrowed it this year, because it is such a good one.”

“Oh! this is the Chandlers’ pageant, then?” asked Margery.

Master Gyseburn nodded. “Here it comes,” said he. “You will find that it has very little to do with the Bible story about the Shepherds.”

“Just a made-up play, I suppose?” said Colin.

“That’s it. Just a funny story to make people laugh.”

By this time the pageant stood in its place before the Harphams’ window, and the children noticed that the big stage was divided into two parts. One part represented a field, in which three shepherds were seated with their sheep huddled round them; and next to this scene, on a line with it, there was a sort of separate compartment, at present covered by curtains.

The shepherds began at once to grumble about the weather. They complained of the cold, which one of them said made his legs cramped, and his hands all chapped.

Neither Margery nor Colin, nor indeed any of the simple people who watched the play, found anything strange in this. Indeed very few of them realized that all the events they were watching, took place in an Eastern country, whose scenery and climate were very different from anything that was represented by the pageant. They imagined all the scenes as happening in a country very like England—if not in England itself! So the shepherds talked about the “moors,” which, as you know, spread through Yorkshire, and of “bannocks,” which are special cakes made in the North of England, and of “ale,” the usual English drink; and no one criticized nor found fault, because scarcely anybody knew, or remembered, if they knew, that Christ’s life was spent in a warm far-away Eastern land, whose manners, customs, and language were as different as possible from those of England.

The shepherds talked about many things familiar in the every-day life of most of the people in the crowd. They grumbled about the taxes they had to pay, and they gossiped about their wives, who they said were always scolding and nagging; and they complained bitterly about their hard work, and their low wages. And the listening people laughed and were delighted, because all they heard came home to them and was thoroughly well understood.

Presently another shepherd entered, dressed like the rest in a linen smock, though over it he had thrown a heavy cloak. His appearance was hailed by a shout of delight from the audience, for he was a favourite actor, and the part he was going to play was well known.

His name was Mac, and with the shepherds he evidently had the reputation of a thief, for directly he arrived one of them warned the others.

“Is he come?” he asked. “Then each one take heed to his things!” And to make sure of him when they thought of going to sleep, the men forced him to lie down in the midst of them, so that if he stirred they would be warned.

But no sooner did his companions begin to snore than Mac got up, and walking round the men, he worked a spell upon them to make them sleep heavily, chanting these words:

“Be about you a circle as round as the moon Till I have done that I will, till that it be noon, That ye lie stone-still till that I have done. Over your heads my hand I lift, ... Out go your eyes, fore to do your sight....”

Then seeing that they were all motionless, he crept to the flock, and taking a fat sheep, put it under his cloak.

At this moment the curtains in front of the other division of the stage were pulled aside, showing a poor cottage room, in which sat Mac’s wife spinning. A little wicket-gate in front of the cottage was locked, and Mac (who was supposed to have walked some distance to his home) began to knock upon it, and to beg his wife to let him in. At first she was angry with him, saying that one day he would be hanged for sheep-stealing. But the first question after all was to decide how they were to hide the sheep during the search which was sure to be made by its owners. And here Mac’s wife showed her quick wits, for she suggested a splendid way out of the difficulty. This was to dress the creature up as a baby, and put it in the cradle!

Mac agreed, and there were roars of laughter as the poor struggling sheep was wrapped in flannels and robes, and at last tucked so securely in the cradle that it could not move.

When this was at last accomplished, Mac went back to the field, and lying down quietly in his old place, pretended to be fast asleep. Then one by one the shepherds awoke, and began to tell their dreams. All of them except Mac had dreamt that a sheep had been carried off; and _Mac_, so he said, had dreamt that his wife was very ill. He pretended to be much concerned and, telling the men he must go and see whether anything had happened to her, he got up and once more went home. Meanwhile the shepherds began to count their flock, and presently found that a sheep was missing. It was Mac, of course!—who else could have stolen it?—and at once in a body they rushed to his house, and insisted upon searching it.

No sheep could they find, and Mac and his wife pretended to be so angry at being disturbed, that at last the shepherds were leaving the cottage in despair, when an idea occurred to one of them.

He suddenly exclaimed that he would like to give something to the little baby.

“_Mac, by your leave, let me give your bairn but sixpence_,” he said.

“_Nay, go ’way, he sleeps_,” returned Mac. “_When he wakens he weeps_,” he added. “_I pray you go hence._”

“_Give me leave him to kiss, and lift up the clout_,” begged one of the other men. And before Mac’s wife could prevent him he had pulled down the blanket.

“_He has a long snout!_” exclaimed the shepherd, who had only caught one glimpse of the strange “baby” in the cradle.

But Mac’s wife was most indignant, and at once declared that it was a beautiful baby:

“A pretty child is he As sits upon a woman’s knee; A dylly-downe, perdie, To make a man laugh!”

But all she could say was useless, for by this time of course the shepherds were very suspicious, and the sheep was pulled out from the cradle, while the market-place rang with laughter. The angry shepherds, seizing a blanket, now forced Mac into it, and to the huge delight of the crowd, before returning to their field they tossed him violently, as a punishment for his evil-doing.

The laughter caused by this farce had scarcely died away when the serious part of the performance began. A second stage had been drawn meanwhile to the market-place, and was stationed at a little distance from the first one, where to the shepherds, once more quietly guarding their flock, there suddenly appeared an angel. The simple countrymen gazed in awe, while in a sweet voice he sang _Gloria in Excelsis_, and then, as he came closer, they sank on their knees, while he addressed them:

“Rise, gracious hired-men, for now is He born That shall take from the fiend that Adam had lorn [lost] ... God is made your friend: now at this morn He behests [commands] To Bedlem go see There lies that free [Divine One] In a crib full poorly, Betwixt two beasts.”