"Then you think my lady still remembers her first husband?" the vicar ventured to ask.
"Don't be a fool, John Alwright! Remember him! Of course she does! My lady is as good a wife as ever breathed, but between ourselves, she loves the very shadow of Colonel Winthrop better than she loves Sir Edward's whole body. She would never have married again but for her mother, my old lady, who, with all due reverence, was altogether too fond of having her own way, and putting her finger in other people's pies. Remember him, indeed!" repeated Alwright, indignantly. "Do you suppose I have ever forgotten my poor John Foster, who was killed at Long Marston, though we never were married at all? I should like to see anybody try to make me marry against my will!"
"Doubtless the person who should attempt such coercion would speedily become aware of his error," replied her brother, dryly. "I meant no offence, Hannah, and no disrespect to my lady, whom I honor from my heart, but you know I have but little knowledge of women's matters."
"Of course not! How should you?" said Mrs. Alwright in a mollified tone. "Now let me look over your shirts and bands, and see that you have something decent to wear. You ought to take a wife, John Alwright, if only to sew on your buttons and keep your house in order."
Mrs. Alwright took an early opportunity to question Dame Evans respecting her family, and discovered that she was nearly related to Colonel Winthrop. Whether she ever communicated the fact to her lady no one knew, but it is certain Lady Peckham continued to treat Winifred with great kindness, and to take an active interest in her education, even sometimes going so far as to instruct her herself in those branches of knowledge which were considered suitable to a young woman. Hence it was that at fifteen Winifred was better educated than many young ladies of higher station.
CHAPTER IV.
THE CONFERENCE.
IT was, as we have seen, nothing unusual for Winifred to be employed by Mrs. Alwright in gathering flowers and herbs for the still-room, so that Lady Peckham was not at all surprised at meeting her in the shrubbery, or maze, as it was then called.
"Well, Winifred, are you helping Mrs. Alwright, to-day?" asked Lady Peckham, kindly. "She tells me you are making great progress with your work, and she is intending to teach you to do carpet-work. But you are not looking well, sweetheart?"
"I am quite well, my lady, but—" Winifred glanced around, and, seeing no one near, drew close to Lady Peckham, and said in a low voice: "I have a message and a token for you, my lady."
"And if you have, why did you not give them to me before?" asked Lady Peckham, in some displeasure. "Or why did not you send them to me by the hands of Mrs. Alwright?"
"Because I was to put them into your own hands, and when no one was by," answered Winifred, modestly but firmly. "It is a matter of life and death, my lady!"
"Winifred, what do you mean?" asked Lady Peckham, surprised and somewhat startled. "You know, little one, I am not to be trifled with."
For all reply Winifred drew the watch and the packet from her bosom, and placed them in Lady Peckham's hands.
The lady looked at the watch, and turned so pale that Winifred, alarmed, expected her to sink to the ground.
"Who gave you this?" she asked, in a hoarse whisper.
"If you please, my lady, it is a long story, and some one might be within hearing, or listening behind the hedge," replied Winifred, in a low tone.
"You are right!" said Lady Peckham, recovering herself with a great effort. "Come with me."
Winifred followed her benefactress through the garden and along the terrace till they came to a little door in the bottom of one of the many turrets which adorned the front of the Hall. Lady Peckham opened the door with a key which she drew from her pocket, and led the way up a winding stone stair lighted with narrow windows, and into a little chamber where Winifred had never been before. It was very bare of furniture, having only a table, chair, and footstool, with a small Persian rug on the floor before the table, upon which lay a large Bible and one or two other volumes. A couple of shelves well filled with books hung against the wall, which was decorated with two or three pictures, one of which Winifred recognized at once as a portrait of the wounded cavalier who lay concealed at Dame Sprat's cottage.
"Wait for me here!" said Lady Peckham, and went out, shutting the door after her.
Winifred waited for what seemed to her a very long time. She looked at the figures on the tapestry which covered the walls and which was adorned with the story of the Deluge, executed in colored wools and silks, and wondered who had the patience to do all that work. She read the titles of all the volumes, and thought Lady Peckham must be a happy woman to possess so many books, and have so much time to read them. She looked at the great Bible bound in red velvet, and wondered whether there were any pictures in it.
"I suppose this is my lady's closet, where she comes to read and pray," she thought. "It must be very nice to have such a pleasant room all to oneself, with no sewing, or milking, or feeding chickens to interrupt just as one gets to the interesting place. I should not like to be one of the court ladies, who, Mrs. Alwright says, spend all their time in dressing and dancing and painting their faces, but it must be wondrous pleasant to have such a closet as this, and such a withdrawing-room as my lady's, with Indian cabinets and great china jugs full of rose-leaves and spices; and to have nothing to do but to work tapestry and distill medicines and cordials. I would not put any earthworms or woodlice in them, though. I would only use sweet herbs and gums, and powder of corals and pearls, and such things as are in the receipt for Lady Hewett's Cordial Balm, which I copied out for Mrs. Alwright."
Winifred was in some danger of growing discontented, when the door of the closet was again opened, and Lady Peckham entered. Winifred could now see that the closet opened into a dressing-room or small parlor, where Mrs. Alwright was now sitting, and where Winifred had often been to show her needlework to her lady, and to read to her. Lady Peckham closed the door and seemed about to seat herself in her great chair, but as if suddenly changing her mind, she opened another little door concealed by a hanging strip of tapestry, and beckoned Winifred out upon a small stone balcony.
"No one can listen here!" said she. "Tell me now what you have to say."
Winifred related her story in as few words as possible. When she had finished, Lady Peckham stood for some time in silence, looking abroad to the horizon where was to be seen a strip of the blue waters of the Bristol channel.
"Winifred," said she, at last, "do you know what you have done?"
"I hope I have done no wrong, my lady," replied Winifred. "I know there is danger, and that King Monmouth's men are rebels, but, my lady, if he had been twice a rebel, I could not have left the poor gentleman there to die. You would not have done so yourself!" she concluded, rather amazed at her own boldness. "I am sure you would not."
Lady Peckham smiled through her tears, and sitting down on a stone bench, she drew Winifred to her and kissed her again and again. "Oh, if God had but seen fit to give me such a daughter as you, my child, what a treasure would you be to me! Do you know, sweetheart, what you have done? You have saved the life of my own dearest brother!"
"That then was the reason why Dame Sprat knew him!" said Winifred. "She called him Master Arthur at once, and when I told my grandfather, he said he thought as much. And was that really Mr. Carew?"
"It really was Arthur Carew!" replied Lady Peckham. "The same little brother whom I have nursed and tended many a day (for he was much younger than myself), and who was my greatest comfort when I was in deep affliction. My own dear little Arthur, whom I loved as my own child! He was suspected, though most unjustly, of taking part in the last plot against King Charles, and fled to Holland, where he was much befriended by the unhappy Duke of Monmouth. It must have been by the duke's persuasion that he was induced to join in this last mad undertaking. There would be no hope for him if he were taken. But he must not remain in that miserable hovel, Winifred. You will help, will you not, to bring him up to the Hall?"
"I will do anything in the world for you, my lady!" replied Winifred. "But—"
"But what, child?"
"I think he is safer where he is than he would be at the Hall, madam. Dame Sprat lives on the edge of the waste, in a most lonesome place, where no one passes by and no one ever goes but our own family. She is so poor that no one will suspect her of having anything to spare for others. If Mr. Carew is brought to the Hall, more than one person must be in the secret. Sir Edward's friends will be coming and going; even Colonel Kirke himself, perhaps, for Sir Edward is well-known to be a warm friend to the king."
"That is true!" said the lady. "And yet my heart aches to think of my poor brother lying in that miserable hovel, which will hardly keep out the weather."
"Dame Sprat has lived there ten years!" Winifred ventured to observe. "I have heard my grandfather say that she once lived in as good a house as ours, with servants of her own, and everything comfortable about her."
"Your words go to my heart, Winifred!" said Lady Peckham. "It was my father who turned Dame Sprat off his land, for the part her husband took in the civil wars. What security can I have that the old woman will not avenge her wrongs upon my unfortunate brother, now that he is in her power?"
"Indeed, my lady, you need have no such fear!" replied Winifred, eagerly. "You do not know Dame Sprat, or you would never think of such a thing. I am certain she would not betray any one, least of all her enemy."
"And why least of all her enemy, little one?"
"Because she is a godly Christian woman, madam, one who loves her Bible and her Saviour and tries to be like Him. She never complains of her lot, poor and hard as it is, for she says it would be foolish to quarrel with a shelter which she may leave any minute for the Courts of her Father's house in heaven. And while she is daily and hourly expecting to go to meet her Saviour, I am sure she would never dare to disobey His commands by rendering evil for evil. Besides I do not think she bears a grudge against Mr. Arthur Carew for anything his father may have done. She welcomed him as though he had been a prince of the blood, and would gladly have given up to him her own bed, only he would not take it. Indeed, my lady, if you knew Dame Sprat as I do, you would never think of her betraying anybody!"
"Aye, you have doubtless a great knowledge of the world and of men," said the lady, smiling sadly. "When you have seen as much of both as I, you may be more distrustful."
"Then I hope I shall never see more," said Winifred. "I do not like to distrust people, but I am sure of Dame Sprat!"
"And you do really think my brother would be safe with her—safer than he would be at the Hall?"
"I do, my lady. And you know," she added, timidly, "it is our secret as well as your ladyship's, and if the dame betrays us, we are utterly ruined, without remedy."
"True!" said Lady Peckham. "You are very young, my maid, to be burdened with secrets which concern men's lives. Suppose you should be brought before the chief-justice and questioned, could you have the firmness to keep silence?"
"I think so, madam."
"You have a very good conceit of yourself, Winifred," said Lady Peckham, not altogether pleased with the readiness of the answer. "Take care that it does not betray you. Pride goeth before destruction."
"If I may venture to say so much, I think you do not quite understand me," said Winifred, modestly. "I was thinking the matter over as I came home through the fields last night, and perplexing myself with the same question, whether I should be able to keep the secret, when all at once it seemed to come to me that I was taking thought for to-morrow, and worrying myself about things which might never happen. And then I remembered a great many such texts as these: 'My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness,' 'I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee,' and a great many more such verses of Scripture. So then I thought God has always helped me when I have asked Him heretofore, and why should I begin to doubt His love now, when I need His aid more than ever? It is not because I have any strength of my own, but because I hope He will give it me."
"You are a strange child, Winifred! How do you come to have such grave thoughts, when other girls of your age are thinking only of new gowns and gingerbread?"
"Please, my lady, I like new gowns and gingerbread too," replied Winifred, smiling. "My father has promised to bring me a new gown all the way from the Indies when he comes home again, and also a china pot full of sweetmeats."
"That is spoken like a child again!" said Lady Peckham, smiling in her turn. "And now, Winifred, you shall stay and dine with Mrs. Alwright while I consider what is best for us to do. We must let her into the secret. I see no help for that, since we shall need her assistance, but I am sure of her, and indeed it is only her due. But oh, my maid, be careful. Remember how much may hang upon one careless word!"
"I shall remember, my lady," said Winifred, quietly. While she could not help thinking that there was not much danger of her being careless so long as her own life and that of her friends depended upon her prudence, as well as the life of Mr. Arthur Carew.
CHAPTER V.
JACK'S MISFORTUNE.
MRS. ALWRIGHT rose up with a firm and somewhat dissatisfied countenance, as her lady entered with Winifred. Fond as she was of the child, she was not well pleased that Winifred should have so long a conference with her lady from which she herself was excluded, and she had already prepared in her own mind a lecture upon forwardness and presumption of which she meant to give Winifred the benefit so soon as they should be alone together. This lecture, however, was destined never to be delivered.
"Will you come with me, Alwright?" said Lady Peckham. "Winifred, you may remain here and amuse yourself, if you will, with the pictures in that great book on the table. Keep the door shut, and inform me if any one wants me."
The book was well worth looking at, being a Bible illustrated with wood-cuts by Albert Durer, the father, as he might almost be called, of wood-engraving. Winifred almost forgot her mighty secret, as she studied the pictures of Joseph and his brethren, of David and Goliath, of Samson and the Queen of Sheba, and above all those in the Gospels, of the shepherds coming with their humble offerings, of the wise men presenting their gifts, and of Mary and Martha in their house at Bethany.
Her natural good taste and feeling led her fully to appreciate the beauty and sentiment of the pictures, while her ignorance prevented her from seeing the various incongruities of scenery, costume, &c. For aught she knew, Jerusalem might have been adorned with just such steeples and gables, and Martha might have kept her dishes in just such an open carved dresser as that in the picture. She had not nearly finished the volume, when Mrs. Alwright appeared, her eyes red with weeping.
She took Winifred by the hand without speaking a word, and led her through various galleries and up a turnpike stair to her own private chamber, when, having bolted the door, she caught the child in her arms, and covered her with kisses, mingled with tears, sobs, and words of endearment. Winifred was amazed, for Mrs. Alwright had usually thought it necessary that her pupil, like all young people, should be kept down to her proper place, and made to understand that if she were treated with any consideration, it arose solely from the kindness of her elders and superiors, and not in the least from any merits of her own. Winifred had never before received from her good old friend any greater token of approbation than a pat on the head or a few carefully measured words of praise.
"Oh, my dear lamb! My blessed child!" sobbed Mrs. Alwright. "To think that you should have done such a thing! That you should have saved Master Arthur, whom I have carried in my arms when he was a baby, and taught him his letters with my own hands, my dear—and risking your precious life abroad in the lonesome fields at midnight, and the dew and all, enough to give you your death! You shall have two bottles of the rose cordial to take home with you; and mind you take a glass whenever you come in, to prevent catching cold.
"But Master Arthur, living in that lonesome place, along with Dame Sprat! She was always a good woman and kind to the poor, and I never did justify my Lord Carew in turning her off his land, where she and hers had lived for hundreds of years, even before my lord's ancestors came from Normandy, which they did with the Conqueror, my dear! And all because her husband was for the Protector, which, for the matter of that, so were some other folks who shall be nameless, though they turned round quickly enough when the sun shone on the other side of the hedge. Dame Sprat shall have my duffel gown and my gray cloak to keep her warm this winter, and I will knit her some woollen stockings with my own hands.
"But poor dear Master Arthur, how he could be so mad I can't think, only he was always in mischief from a boy, when he used to steal my saffron cakes, and was flogged at school for helping to bar out the master. But to think of him wounded and lying out in the fields all night! Dear, dear! It is enough to break one's heart!"
All this and much more did Mrs. Alwright pour out with many sobs and little regard to her stops or her grammar, till Winifred, terrified for the consequences, reminded her that it would be highly dangerous for any one to hear Master Arthur's name mentioned, or even to guess that anything unusual was the matter.
"I know it, my dear, I know it! And you shall see that no one shall ever guess anything from me. I shall feel better now that I have had my cry out! But poor dear Master Arthur, that was such a lovely baby, and my poor dear lady loved him more like a son than a brother—"
"I think I hear some one coming up-stairs!" said Winifred, fearing lest the cry should commence again.
Mrs. Alwright started up and wiped her eyes vigorously.
"Open the door, Winifred, while I wash my face," said she. "It will be only Betty, coming to say that our dinner is ready. You are to stay and dine with me, my dear, and then you shall help me to make the conserve of hips, and I will send a pot of it to your good mother against winter comes."
But Betty had more to tell. The herd-boy had come up to say that Winifred was needed at home, because her brother had fallen from a tree and hurt himself very badly. Also Betty gave notice that Colonel Kirke was come to dine and sup with Sir Edward, and Mrs. Alwright was wanted to attend to the pastry and other additions to the dinner-which the presence of such an important guest rendered necessary.
"Dear me!" said Mrs. Alwright. "How things do happen all together! I hope that unlucky boy has broken no bones, but it would be just like him. I often wonder why boys should be made at all, they are such plagues. One can do something with girls in the way of needlework and giving them dolls to play with, but men ought to be made already grown up, and then they are plagues enough. You must go home at once, Winifred, without waiting to finish your work, and mind you remember what I have told you. Your mother will need you, for at such times even little girls can be of use, if they are not idle and careless, as too many are. Betty, why do you stand staring and listening there at the door, instead of getting the fowls ready for the spit? Go about your work directly, and let me find the chickens neatly dressed when I come down-stairs. Come into the store-room with me, Winifred, and I will give you a basket and medicine for the poor woman you spoke of."
Mrs. Alwright's store-room was a model of its kind. The stone floor was as white as hands could make it, and the wood-work shone with much rubbing. Every inch of wall was covered with cupboards, shelves, and drawers, containing piles upon piles of fine linen, much of it of Mrs. Alwright's own spinning, and jars, pots, and boxes innumerable filled with all sorts of good things, while hams, sausages, bundles of sweet herbs, and bunches of onions and garlic dangled from the ceiling. It was evident to the most unpractised eye that all these good things were presided over by a vigilant and capable guardian, for nothing was out of place—everything was labelled, covered, and secured in the most approved manner, and not a stray crumb was left lying anywhere to tempt the mice. Mrs. Alwright took down a good-sized basket and began filling it, taking the opportunity, which, indeed, she seldom lost, of delivering a little moral lecture for Winifred's benefit.
"You see now, Winifred, the advantage of having a place for everything, and everything in its place. If I were obliged to hunt all over the house for a basket, and then look half an hour for every individual thing I wanted to put into it, it would take me half the day, but now you see I have everything ready to my hand. These saffron cakes and these clean napkins and handkerchiefs are for Master Arthur. He used to be very fond of saffron cakes, poor dear young gentleman! This bit of bacon and these sausages are for the dame, and also this bottle of ginger cordial, which will be warming and comforting for her poor old bones. Now, can you carry any more?"
Winifred lifted the basket, and thought she could.
"Well then, here is the rose cordial for yourself, and a cake of gingerbread, but mind you must not let Jack have any of that to-day. And here are two clean shirts for Master Arthur. They are Sir Edward's, and are old and worn, but they will be better than none. So now go along, my dear, and may God bless you! Come again as soon as you can. And, Winifred!" she called after her. "Don't forget to tell your good mother to send up the green geese as soon as she can get them ready. She need not dress them. Betty and her niece can see to that."
"Don't you mind Mrs. Alwright, Miss Winifred!" said good-natured Betty, as Winifred presently passed out by the kitchen door. "Her bark is worse than her bite, we all know that. I see she has been lecturing you, but that is all for your good. Young folks must learn. She scolds me too, but la! I don't mind. I know her ways, and take her the year round, you will not find many better people than Mrs. Alwright, look where you will."
"And that is very true, Betty," said Winifred, not at all displeased to see Betty go off on a wrong scent. "I am sure she is very good to me. But I must hurry home as fast as I can."
"Aye, and you have a heavy basket to carry—for some poor body, I warrant me! That is another of her ways. She will rail at my poor sister for having so many children, and not keeping them cleaner, but she always ends by giving her something to make over for them, and maybe a loaf of white bread for a treat. Then there was Madge Wilkin—"
"I really must go, Betty!" said Winifred, cutting short the catalogue of Mrs. Alwright's good deeds, to which at another time she would gladly have listened. "Mother will need me, I am sure, and I want to see poor Jack."
"Aye, go along, there's a dear maid! It is some comfort to have you about," said Betty, continuing her remarks for the benefit of her own niece, a girl about Winifred's age, who was cleaning some pots near by. "Not like some girls, who cannot even scour a saucepan without blacking themselves from head to foot. Why can't you take pattern by Miss Winifred, Cicily? You never saw 'her' in such a mess—no, not when she was no bigger than my thumb!"
Winifred was not destined to reach home without farther interruption. She was walking very fast down the avenue, with her eyes bent on the ground, when she was nearly run over by two gentlemen, who were coming in the opposite direction with their guns and dogs, and followed by a groom leading their horses. Winifred looked up with a start, and recognized Sir Edward Peckham. She had never seen the other gentleman in the richly laced uniform, but she guessed at once that the fierce, sun-burnt face, bold, wicked-looking eyes, and long mustache belonged to no other than the dreaded Colonel Kirke, who was feared and hated almost as much as the chief-justice himself, for his cruelty and rapacity. Her color rose and her heart beat fast at the sight of the man whom she associated with so much misery and distress. She courtesied, and would have passed on, but she was not to escape so easily.
"Holloa! What little Puritan have we here?" said the soldier, in a loud, coarse voice, and seizing Winifred by the arm. "Not so fast, my pretty maid!" he added, as Winifred would have escaped. "What, do you think I make a breakfast of children every morning, as some folks say, that you are so afraid of me?"
"Holloa! What little Puritan have we here?" said the
soldier in a loud coarse voice and seizing Winifred by the arm.
"I am not afraid of you," said Winifred, standing still and looking her captor in the face, while her large gray eyes flashed with indignation. "My brother is sick, and my mother needs me at home. I pray you let me pass on my way!"
"Your brother is sick, eh? That means he has been out with Monmouth and got hurt, I suppose! Where does this brother of yours live, mistress? I must look after him!"
"My brother is only twelve years old, and was hurt in falling from a tree," replied Winifred, calmly. "He and I live with our grandfather, at the gray house on the hill yonder."
"What, you are old Master Evans' granddaughter!" said Sir Edward, kindly. "You are so grown, I did not know you! This maid is a favorite of Lady Peckham's, Colonel Kirke, and I can vouch for the loyalty of her whole family. I pray you let her pass on her way, as she desires."
"My lady knows how to choose her favorites, I should say!" returned Colonel Kirke. "I protest I have not seen a prettier rustic damsel. Well, give me a kiss for your ransom, my shepherdess, and here is a gold piece for you all the way from Africa, to make up for the fright I have given you."
Trembling more with indignation than fear, Winifred submitted to the kiss, and received the piece of gold, which she inwardly determined to put into the poor-box the very first time she went to church.
"It looks as though it had blood upon it," she thought, as she went on her way; "and what an evil-looking man he is! I wonder how Sir Edward can endure to have him in his house. But they say he is always for keeping well with whatever party is uppermost. I am glad that Colonel Kirke did not take notice of my basket. I don't know what I should have said to account for some of the things in it. Poor Jack! I trust he is not very much hurt. It is unlucky that he should take just this busy time for his mishap. I fear I shall not be able to go to Dame Sprat's at all to-day. They have food enough to last till to-morrow, that is one comfort."
When Winifred arrived at home, she found both pain and pleasure awaiting her. The pain was the news that Jack was indeed very much hurt, having broken his arm and bruised himself severely. He had climbed the tree to the magpie's nest, secured a pair of the young ones, and come half way down with his prize, when one of the dry limbs gave way, and he came to the ground, killing the poor young birds in his fall.
The vicar, who possessed considerable knowledge of surgery, happened to be riding by at the time, saw the tumble, and had been the first on the spot. He carried the poor boy into the house, set his arm, and gave his mother directions for his treatment, adding a special injunction to let the patient have no food stronger than gruel or weak broth till he came again.
This injunction seemed to poor Jack a greater calamity even than his broken arm. He was very fond of good things. He remembered the nice jellies and cordials, the beaten-up eggs and roasted fowls, which had been prepared for Winifred when she was slowly recovering from her long fever, and he had comforted himself with the thought of all these dainties for his prospective pain and confinement.
The water-gruel law was a terrible blow, and poor Jack was in very low spirits indeed. He had the additional discomfort of knowing that his trouble was all his own fault, for he had been strictly forbidden to climb the tree, and he had waited till his grandfather was away in the barley field, and his mother busy in the dairy, before he made the attempt. As his grandfather said, he was bold in the wrong place and cowardly in the wrong place. He was not afraid to disobey, and he was afraid to do a necessary errand.
The good news which met Winifred was the arrival of a letter and a parcel from her father, whose ship had come into Plymouth, instead of into Bristol as usual, having been damaged by a gale not far from the coast. The parcel contained, besides tokens for the rest of the family, the promised new gown for Winifred, and better still, three new books! One of these was the "Pilgrim's Progress," then lately published, with wood-cuts, which, however rude they might appear beside the latest edition of the Tract Society and the Sunday-School Union, were marvels of art in the eyes of our young friend. The other books were "A Serious Call to a Devout and Holy Life," by Mr. William Law, and the "Paradise Lost" of John Milton.
"These seem but grave books for a young maid like Winifred," wrote her father; "but I have read the 'Pilgrim's Progress,' and believe my serious daughter will care more for it than for any fairy tale. The other books were given me by a very grave and religious gentleman who went out to India on board our ship; so I doubt not Winifred will be pleased with them. I have just now heard of the terrible things which have been happening among you, and I am thankful that none of our family have been engaged in them, but I doubt I shall hear heavy tidings of some of our neighbors. I cannot leave the ship just at present, but I shall come as soon as possible."
Delighted as Winifred was with her new treasures, she had scant time to examine them. She was wanted everywhere at once—by Jack's bedside, to tell him tales and sing him to sleep; in the dairy, to churn, while Priscy carried their lunch to the men in the barley field; then to feed the fowls, and take especial care of a brood of late chickens; to count up the ducks and drive home the young turkeys. She had hardly time to eat her supper, and any visit to Dame Sprat was of course out of the question; so she carefully locked up the basket lest it should tell tales, and set about her multifarious tasks with her usual neatness and dispatch.
As Dame Magdalen said, the child was run off her feet! So that when bed-time came, she was glad to go to bed without even asking to sit by the fire and examine her precious new books.
CHAPTER VI.
A NARROW ESCAPE.
IT was not till the next afternoon that Winifred found time to visit Dame Sprat again, and then it was only by giving Jack full possession of her new book, that she was able to leave him even for an hour. Jack had usually rather a contempt for Winifred's society, classing her with the rest of "women folks," who he considered were made only to wait upon their fathers and brothers. But the poor boy was no braver about bearing pain than he was about anything else, and he had a great deal of pain to bear. Nobody could turn and smooth his hot pillow, or cool his feverish hands and forehead, or put his bed to rights without hurting him so well as Winnie, not even his mother. And above all, Winifred had never once said or even looked "I told you so!" or, "Just good enough for you!" Remarks which he had to bear often enough from the maids Priscy and Jenny, with whom he was no favorite.
But by the afternoon of the next day, Jack began to feel better. He was greatly taken by the pictures of Giant Despair and Apollyon in the "Pilgrim's Progress," and he agreed, if Winnie would leave him the book, to allow her to go to Dame Sprat's, provided she did not stay too long.
Winifred was glad to get away upon any terms. She took on her arm the basket Mrs. Alwright had sent, and set off across the fields, thinking, as she went, of Christian setting out on his pilgrimage with his burden on his back, of the little wicket-gate, and of Mr. Worldly Wiseman, who, she fancied, might have looked a good deal like Sir Edward Peckham.
When she reached the dame's cottage, she was surprised not to see the good woman sitting by her window, as usual.
"Something must have happened!" she thought, and quickening her steps she entered without knocking.
A curious scene met her eyes as she opened the door. The poor old dame was in bed, apparently unable to rise. But everything in the hut was in its usual order, a saucepan was simmering on the embers, and Mr. Carew himself, in his shirt sleeves, was in the act of sweeping up the hearth. He started as Winifred entered, but quickly recovered himself when he recognized the visitor.
"So it is you, my fearless little guide!" said he, laughing, and blushing a little. "The dame is ill with rheumatism, and I could do no less than take care of her. I fear I am but a rough sick-nurse, though I think I may fairly call myself a tolerable cook. Eh, dame?"
"Indeed, sir, I think you are very skilful in both ways," replied Dame Sprat, "but I fear you are running a great risk."
"Indeed you are, Mr. Carew!" said Winifred, earnestly. "You are all the time in danger of being surprised. Think if it had been anybody but me, who stole upon you so silently just now. You must needs be content to lie concealed during the day, at least for the present. Colonel Kirke is still in the neighborhood, though the soldiers are mostly gone. He dined with Sir Edward at the Hall yesterday, and he is to be with him for several days. Bethink you, sir, it is not only your own safety, but that of all your friends, which depends upon your prudence!"
"Even so, my wise little monitor! I know all that as well as you, but I could not see my good, kind hostess suffering so long as I was able to help. Now that she is in better hands, I will get me into my lair again, so soon as you have told me the news from the Hall. Did you give my sister the watch?"
"Yes, sir, the next morning. She has sent you a message, and Mrs. Alwright some clothes and other things, which are in the basket. She has also sent you some sausages and bacon, dame, and some ginger cordial. And she bade me say she had a gown and cloak for you against cold weather."
"She is very good!" said Dame Sprat. "Mrs. Alwright was always kind to the poor, and her mother before her. I knew the family well!"
"And you say Kirke is at the Hall?" said Arthur Carew.
"Yes, and I understand he is to remain some time, for the sake of the shooting. I saw him and Sir Edward with their guns and dogs, yesterday morning."
"Aye, my cautious brother-in-law will be friends with whichever party is uppermost, whatever company he may keep in so doing!" muttered Arthur. "I have seen the day when he would not have been very fond of Kirke's society. No chance of any help from him! But what said my sister?"
"My lady and I talked the matter over," said Winifred, gravely, and not observing the slight smile exchanged between the dame and Arthur at the words. "She bade me say that she would gladly have you at the Hall, but she judges you are safer here for the present than you could be anywhere else. And, dame," continued Winifred, "my lady prays you to forget all past cause of unkindness, of which there has been more than enough, and for her mother's sake, who was always your good friend, to be kind to Mr. Arthur."
The old dame smiled rather proudly, and a little color mounted to her withered cheek.
"My lady has no reason to fear!" she replied. "I have no cause of quarrel with her. I would serve her with all my heart, were it only for the sake of that gracious and godly youth Colonel Winthrop, my husband's friend. Neither have I aught against Master Arthur, seeing he was but a babe in arms at the time of my misfortunes. But were my Lord Carew himself to seek shelter with me from his enemies, he should be welcome to all this poor hut affords, for the sake not of old times or ties, but of Him who purchased forgiveness for me with His own blood, even our Lord Jesus Christ."
Arthur Carew reverently bowed his head. "You are indeed a true Christian, my good old friend," said he. "If ever I come to my own, this matter shall be righted for you, even if it costs me the half of my inheritance."
"Ah! My dear young gentleman," cried the dame, kindly, "I trust and pray that you may indeed be brought back to your father's house in peace, but, my dears, long before that time, I shall have entered upon a far greater inheritance, even that which is incorruptible, undefiled, and which fadeth not away. But, Master Arthur, when you do come to your own, as something tells me you will, remember me, and for my sake, meddle not with the consciences of men. If they are wrong in their belief, it is to God they must give account; and if right, persecution will not alter them, while it will prove a millstone round your neck and those of your descendants. The sins of the fathers are visited upon the children!"
"Yes, methinks I have reason to believe that!" said Arthur, with some bitterness. "My father made six families homeless for conscience' sake, and now his eldest son is a poor lunatic, and the younger a homeless, outlawed wanderer; while his daughter—but I will say nothing of her. She has never been a free agent. How does my sister, Winifred?"
Winifred did not answer for the moment. She was looking out of the window, from which she presently turned, with a face ashy pale, but with her usual quiet manner.
"I fear all is lost!" said she. "Sir Edward and Colonel Kirke are coming across the waste with their dogs and guns. I can see the colonel's mustache. What shall we do?"
"I must go!" said Arthur Carew, hastily looking for his doublet, which he had thrown aside during the process of his cookery. "I will not be found here to bring ruin upon you all. Farewell, dame! Farewell, Winifred, and may God bless you!"
"Stay!" said Dame Sprat, raising herself and speaking in a tone of authority. "You go to certain death! Winifred, how near are they?"
"They are by the great black thorn tree," said Winifred, peeping out. "They seem to be looking at something in the water."
"Aye, the snare with which I took the great pike which is now stewing in the saucepan," said Arthur. "I doubt the fish will prove a dear bargain."
"There is yet time, and the delay is all in our favor!" said the old woman. "Get you at once into the shed, Master Arthur. Climb over the fagots, and lie down behind them, close to the wall, pulling them over you. Take with you the clothes and the wine my lady sent, lest they tell tales. Now, Winifred, close the door. Leave the basket where it is, and the sausages also. Trust me to account for them if any questions are asked. Now that you have made all tidy, take the book, and sit down as if reading to me. It may be that they will pass on without calling, but should they come, we are ready for them. Now, my child, let us look to the Strong for strength."
The dame's prayer was in few words, but it brought back the courage to Winifred's heart and the color to her cheeks. She took the Bible and sat down by the bedside, from which she could watch the approach of the sportsmen. They hesitated for a moment, and then turned toward the door of the hut, which they entered without knocking. Dame Sprat slightly raised herself in bed.
"You are welcome to my poor house, with your friend, Sir Edward Peckham!" she said, with, as Winifred thought, the air of a queen. "Can I do aught to serve you? Winifred, set the chair and stool for the gentlemen."
"Do not disturb yourself, my good dame," said Sir Edward, kindly; for, though a pompous man in general, he was always gracious and polite, especially to his inferiors in rank. "A drink of fair water is all we require."
"The water is none of the best, but such as it is you are heartily welcome," replied Dame Sprat. "Winifred, bring a jug of fresh water, and mix with it some of the ginger cordial you brought me, to take off the earthy taste."
"What! My little Puritan again, I protest!" exclaimed Colonel Kirke. "What brings you here, my fairy?"
"I came to see and wait upon Dame Sprat," replied Winifred.
"And you seem to have performed your office well!" said the colonel. "Your cooking smells very savory," he continued, lifting the cover of the saucepan without ceremony. "Pray, did your mother send this fine fish with all the rest?"
"No," replied the dame. "That was given me by a stranger who had been fishing in the stream not far-away. I have more than once received such treats from the sportsmen and fowlers, who now and then call, as you have done, for a drink of water or some directions concerning the way. The fish is at your service, gentlemen, if you please to eat."
"No, no, dame, I will not rob you of your supper, but you are lucky in having such a neat handmaiden—a 'neat-handed Phyllis,' as that pestilent old roundhead, John Milton, says. I could find it in my heart to take her away from you. What say you, my fairy, will you go with me to London to see the king and dress in silks and satins?"
"No!" replied Winifred, as she poured out the water. "I am but a simple country maid, and I have no desire to be anything else."
"The gentleman is but jesting with you, child!" said Sir Edward, not very well pleased with the soldier's tone toward his wife's favorite, since any person or thing in the remotest degree connected with himself became sacred in his eyes. "Colonel Kirke, will it please you to drink?"
"Well, here's a health to you and your attendant sprite, dame!" said the colonel. "What makes the dog so uneasy?"
One of Sir Edward's dogs had been snuffing about the hut ever since they entered, smelling here and there, and whining eagerly. Winifred's heart sank fathoms deep as she saw him scratching at the door of the shed, and heard the soldier's question. She thought all was indeed lost, but the old woman answered in her usual quiet tone:
"Doubtless he smells the cat, which hath her kittens. May I ask you, gentleman, as a favor, not to let the creature be disturbed? She is almost my only companion, and even the love of a dumb beast is some solace, as I sit here alone all day."
"Truly, I should think so!" said Kirke. "Have no fear, dame! Your cat shall not be troubled, though I think a dog would be the better companion."
The dame smiled. "A dog could not provide for himself as my poor Tabby does, and in poverty such as mine, even the food of a dog is of consequence."
"Where have I seen you before, dame?" asked the soldier, abruptly. "Your face, voice, and manner are all familiar to me, and yet I cannot recall the time or place where I have known you."
"Yes, you have been under my roof and eaten at my table in other days," replied Dame Sprat. "When you were a young lad, staying with your mother's brother in Devonshire, you and your young cousins used often to come to my house to eat junkets and raspberries with clotted cream. I well remember the fall from the great pear-tree, by which you got that scar on your cheek, and your encounter with my husband's long-horned bull."
"Aye, when you came in with your broomstick, and drove the animal away. Truly I had the worst of that encounter, and but for your timely help, had hardly been here to tell the tale. But why did you not make yourself known to me, dame, since you remembered me so well?"
"I am but a poor woman now, living upon charity, and you are a great gentleman!" said the dame, with a touch of the gentle pride she sometimes showed. "Things are greatly changed since I was at the head of my own house and you were a young boy, not much above my own rank."
The fierce soldier of fortune sighed. "Yes, dame, they are indeed, and not for the better, perhaps, with either of us. However, it is a world of changes, and we must even take it as it comes. But tell me, dame, have you seen any of the escaped rebels lurking here in the waste? It seems a likely place enough to afford them shelter. Sir Edward, suppose we bring out the blood-hound, and see what he can find for us? It would afford us good sport—better than tramping through the moss after wild ducks."
"You are indeed changed from the innocent and kind-hearted lad I once knew you, since you can talk so lightly of hunting your fellow-creatures with hounds, like beasts of the chase!" said Dame Sprat, sadly and severely. "Surely enough of blood hath already been shed in this unhappy cause. Remember, Colonel Kirke, that though man and the world change, there is One who changeth not—One who has solemnly and sternly declared that 'Whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed!' And that 'With what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.' To Him you must one day render a strict account, and neither rank nor riches, nor the favor of kings, will weigh one atom with Him, to whom even kings themselves must answer for the deeds done in the body!"
"'When He maketh inquisition for blood, He remembereth the poor!'" said Winifred, in a low voice, and speaking more to herself than to any one else.
"What, you too, my fairy? Nay, then I must indeed stand reproved! Sir Edward, do you allow female preachers upon your lands? Methinks the vicar should resent such an encroachment upon his office."
"We allow old women to say what they please, so long as they do not forget the respect due to their betters. Winifred, you are too forward with your words! Your lady would be much displeased."
"Oh she did but discharge her conscience or her mind, which comes to much the same thing," said Kirke, laughing. "It would be hard indeed to refuse women the use of their tongues, since they have no other weapons. And so, my fair Saint Winifred, you will not come to London with me, for all the fine things?"
"No, sir!" replied Winifred. "London is no place for such as I am. Amy Crofoot went to London, and I have heard she came to no good."
"Well, you are a wise maid, and I will tease you no more. But tell me, child, why are you so afraid of me? You trembled and changed color when I spoke to you first in the park, as though you expected no less than to be ordered to execution, and I think you are little better now. Why should you fear me?"
"Because I have heard such tales of you," replied Winifred, modestly but firmly. "I mean no offence," she added, seeing his brow darken, "but since you are pleased to ask me, I must needs speak the truth."
"You should have known, Winifred, that even were he so inclined, Colonel Kirke would never have dreamed of offering injury to any member of 'my' family," said Sir Edward, with more than usual stateliness; "and such I may well call you, since my lady is pleased to distinguish you by her favor, though you do not at present dwell under my roof."
Winifred made her lowest reverence, in acknowledgment of Sir Edward's words. "I thank you humbly, Sir Edward," said she. "I do not fear Colonel Kirke so much now, for I see he can be kind when it pleases him."
"Aye, and how do you know that, sweetheart?" said Kirke.
"Because you would not let the dog hunt and worry Dame Sprat's cat, and because you do not seem angry at her plain speaking," replied Winifred.
The soldier's brow smoothed itself, and a smile stole over his face, which seemed for the moment to make another man of him.
"It is but a small matter to change your mind upon," said he. "I should indeed be a brute to make such a return to an old friend for her hospitality. But, Winifred, do you not know that these people of whom you have heard were the king's enemies, and deserved to be punished?"
"I know that the Duke of Monmouth was the king's enemy, and that the people were wrong in following him," replied Winifred. "But I think, with all submission, that the way for the king to turn them into his friends would be to treat them kindly, and show mercy toward them."
"You are but a child, and do not understand these matters," said Colonel Kirke.
"I know that, and therefore I would rather be excused from speaking of them."
"Colonel Kirke, it is full time we were going, if you mean to be at home by midnight," said Sir Edward, impatiently. "Your supper will be spoiled by waiting, and my lady will be uneasy at our delay."
"I am at your service," said Colonel Kirke, rising. "Farewell, dame, and thank you for your courtesy. I will leave you a brace of wild ducks for your fair cookmaid to exercise her skill upon, and here is a broad piece or two to repay your hospitality, and for the sake of old times. Nay, I pray you refuse not my gift. It will be at least one item to my credit in the account you spoke of."
"I need no payment, and you are heartily welcome to all you have had," replied Dame Sprat. "But I will not refuse your gift, which is pleasing to me as a token of kindness for an old acquaintance, and will furnish me with many needed comforts. I am often in want, and indeed should starve but for the kindness of Dame Evans and her daughter. Sir Edward, present my humble duty to your excellent lady. Farewell, gentlemen, both—may God bless you!"
"That is a stately old dame!" said Kirke, after they had left the cottage, followed by the dogs, one of which, however, showed no disposition to go. "With what an air she delivered her blessing, as she bade us farewell! Methinks an archbishop could hardly have done it better. She was well to pass in the world when I knew her in Devonshire. How has she become so poor? Her husband was accounted a rich man, and one that knew how to keep what he had."
"He was a chaplain in Cromwell's army," replied Sir Edward, "and Lord Carew, upon whose land they lived, turned the family adrift after the old man's death. She would hardly have found a harbor upon my estate, but this hut and the small bit of arable land on which it stands belong to Master Evans, one of our substantial yeomen, and a loyal man both to church and state. Indeed, one can hardly grudge the poor old creature her miserable shelter, though I dare swear she is as rank a puritan and republican at heart as ever her husband was. She is, as you see, somewhat of a preacher herself, but otherwise harmless enough."
"It would be hardly fair to complain of her preaching, since she gave us of the best she had at the same time. It is amazing, however, the constancy these roundheads show. I make no doubt this infirm old creature would go to the stake with the same dignified composure with which she welcomed us to her fireside, and sing psalms till the smoke stopped her breath. I am glad I was able to afford her some help, for she was kind to me when I had but few friends, and I believe saved my life in that same battle with the long-horned bull. There, your dog is uneasy again!"
"Yes, he cannot give up the old woman's cat! 'Tis a dog which once belonged to my wife's young brother, who died abroad, and he hath never been properly broken in. Come to heel, sirrah, or I shall find means to teach you!"
The dog obeyed, but unwillingly, and the two sportsmen hastened on their way.
CHAPTER VII.
FURTHER CONSULTATIONS.
WINNIE stood at the cottage door and watched the retreating figures of the sportsmen as long as she could see them. It seemed to her that no one was ever so long in walking a quarter of a mile, but at last they reached the bend of the valley down which the little brook took its course, and were out of view, Carlo pausing and taking another look at the hut, as though his mind were not yet quite at rest about that cat. When she could no longer see the least glimpse, Winifred returned to the bedside, and, throwing herself down with her face hidden in the bed-clothes, she burst into tears, and sobbed as if her heart would break.
"Why, my maid, what is the matter?" asked the old woman. "The danger is over for this time, and Master Arthur is safe. They will not come back again to-night."
"I know it," sobbed Winifred. "I know I am silly, but I cannot help crying. It was so dreadful! And the dog smelling at the door, and all! I thought two or three times it was all over with us!"
"And so did I!" replied Dame Sprat. "I heartily wished the cat at Bristol, or further off, fond as I am of the poor creature."
"Then you think it was really the cat, and not Master Arthur, the dog was after?" said Winifred, composing herself by degrees.
"I think so, but of course I cannot tell," replied the dame. "At all events, the cat was there, and right glad am I that the gentlemen would not allow her to be molested."
"Does it not seem strange," said Winifred, "that a man like Colonel Kirke, who laughed at the prayers of mothers for their children, and made hideous jests upon the poor dying creatures in their agonies—he who made a poor lad run a race with a colt to save his life, and hanged him after all—should have been willing to spare the poor cat because you asked him, and should have taken your plain speaking so kindly?"
"He was in cool blood, and I suppose his heart might be softened by old recollections. There are few men, however hardened in crime, but have some good left about them, if one can only find it."
"I wonder if there is any good left about Judge Jeffreys?" said Winifred.
"Possibly there may be, but I should expect it sooner in Kirke than in him. Kirke is a soldier of fortune, bred up in the midst of war and carnage, and has lived many years in Tangier among the heathen, where he has probably not had one good or softening influence near him. The consequence is that he is a savage, and almost a wild beast. But so far as I know, he has not deliberately sold himself to the devil for gold and gain, as it seems Jeffreys has done, and as did the Duke of Lauderdale in Scotland, who, himself a Presbyterian, lent himself to persecute the suffering people of that name. But I cannot but be sorry for Kirke. It is sad to me to see one whom I remember well as a pleasant, kind-hearted little lad, transformed into such a ruffian. We live in evil times, my child, but I trust they will soon pass away. Something tells me that better days are at hand for this poor country!"
"Yes, if the good Princess of Orange should come to be queen, but then the king may live a long time, and perhaps have children."
"Well, we will not speculate upon the matter, child. There is One who is King over all, and who can bring good out of the darkest evil. I think we are in no further danger of visitors this night, so you may venture to call Master Arthur, and receive his messages for his sister."
Winifred opened the door, and called, "Master Arthur, they are gone, and the dame thinks you are safe. Will you please come out, and tell me what I am to say to my lady?"
"So they are gone at last!" said Arthur, creeping out of his hole, and stretching his long limbs vigorously. "It is a fine time, truly, when I am driven to hide, like a rat in a hole, from my own sister's husband."
"You ought to be thankful that you had the hole to hide in, and that you were safe even there!" said Winifred, rather severely, for she was scandalized by the lightness of his tone. "I am sure I gave all up for lost when the dog scratched at the door."
"And so I am thankful, my wise little monitor, not only for the hole, but still more to you and my good old friend here, for the steady courage you showed under such a severe trial. I heard every word as I lay close to the wall, and know how near my poor old Carlo was to betraying me. The dumb beast has a longer memory for his friends than many who call themselves his superiors. I am thankful, too, to Mistress Puss and her family for taking my peril upon herself. I think I shall always stand up for the whole race of cats from this day, and, by the way, they shall have a share of the fish, which I fear is sadly spoiled by waiting so long."
Winifred sighed. This jesting tone seemed to her sadly out of place in one who had just had such a narrow escape from captivity and death.
Dame Sprat heard the sigh, and said kindly:
"You must, remember, Winifred, that Master Arthur is a soldier, and used to dangers and narrow escapes. We cannot expect him to look upon such things as we do. I doubt not he does in his heart give earnest thanks to his Heavenly Father for this deliverance."
"Indeed I do, dame!" said Arthur, more gravely. "I am, as you say, a soldier, besides being an outlaw and an exile, and one becomes used to danger as to other things, such as cold, hunger, and home-sickness. Nevertheless, I do, as you well say, give earnest thanks to God for His mercies, and not least for raising me up such kind friends at my utmost need. And I trust, if He delivers me from this present peril, to serve Him more faithfully than I have ever done before."
"It is well spoken, and may He who giveth grace send you strength according to your need!" said Dame Sprat. "But, Winifred, it is time you were on your way home. Your good mother will be uneasy at your delay."
"If Mr. Carew will give me the message for my lady," said Winifred.
"Oh, aye! Tell my good sister to run no risk upon my account, and to make no move till Sir Edward has gone up to London. After that, if she can in some way furnish me with a horse, a small quantity of ready money, and a suit of clothes, I can easily find friends, who will aid me to escape from some of the western ports. I would gladly see Margaret if it could be managed, but I would not risk bringing her into trouble or danger."
"I do not think it is her own trouble or danger which my lady fears," said Winifred; "and I am sure she has no lack of affection for you."
"I know, I know!" interrupted Arthur. "My sister cannot do as she would, and I like you the better for being so ready to defend her. But you will come again before long, Winifred?"
"The day after to-morrow," said Winifred, smiling. "You have abundance of provisions till that time, so you will not miss me."
"It is not the provisions I am thinking of, but yourself, my saucy little maid, as you well know," said Arthur, smiling in his turn. "Your face is a medicine for home-sickness."
"Now I will not have the child's head turned with your courtier's compliments, Master Arthur," interposed Dame Sprat. "Thank your mother for her gifts, Winifred, and also good Mrs. Alwright. Stay, my child, one word more! If you go to the Hall again while he is there, I would have you endeavor carefully to avoid Colonel Kirke. He is a bold, bad man, and not one to do you any good; nor do I think him likely to pay much respect to Sir Edward's family. Keep you close to my lady or Mrs. Alwright, and do not by any means stray in the park or gardens by yourself. You may not understand me, nor is it needful you should, but I have reasons for what I say. Now once more good-night, and may the Lord bless thee!"
"That is a marvellous little maid!" said Arthur, after Winifred had departed. "It is no wonder that my sister loves her."
"She is indeed a wonderfully gracious child!" replied Dame Sprat. "She comes of a good family, and hath been well-taught both by her mother and by my lady, who keeps her much in her company. I cannot but think, however, that she owes much of her peculiar goodness and purity to a higher teacher than either. She is truly a child of grace and led by the Spirit of God. He would be a wretch indeed who should sully so pure a flower, yet I sometimes fear lest her great beauty should lead her into danger. I would Colonel Kirke had never set his evil eyes upon her face."
"He would indeed be a wretch who could harm her," said Arthur; "but Kirke has done even worse things, unless he is greatly belied. The protection of the queen herself would be no shield to one on whom he fixed his fancy."
"I dare say not," returned the dame, dryly. "Royal protection hath not been particularly favorable to virtue in these latter days."
"Truly not! But you say Winifred is of good family? I thought she belonged to some of the farmers hereabout."
"Her father is a sailor, the younger son of old Master Evans of the Stonehill farm, than whom no one is more respected in these parts. Her mother belongs to an ancient but somewhat decayed Devonshire family, of whom I dare say you know something—the Coffins of North Devon. She is, not distantly, related to your sister's first husband, Colonel Winthrop. I do not know whether my lady is aware of it, but indeed I think she must be, for this child is wonderfully like him, both in face and manner. He was a gracious youth, and one who, my husband used to say, had more of the root of the matter in him than many of those who made more words about it. I suppose you do not remember your brother Winthrop, Master Arthur?"
"Hardly, dame, since he died the very year that I was born," replied Arthur. "But I have seen his portrait in my sister's cabinet, when I was a child. It had always a great charm for me—partly, I suppose, because I fancied some mystery attached to it. Do you know Winifred's age?"
"She is fifteen, though she looks so much younger that she might easily pass for eleven. I trust, Master Arthur, I have no need to remind you—"
"I understand you, dame," said Arthur, coloring high, as Dame Sprat paused, with her eyes fixed upon his face. "I cannot blame you for the thought, considering what are the manners of the time, but believe me, you do me great wrong. I have done many things in my life-time which had been better left undone, but I should be a fiend indeed if I were capable of doing aught that should injure yon fair child. I am right glad my sister has taken such a fancy to her for both their sakes, since Winifred could not have a kinder or more judicious friend, and I sometimes fear my poor Margaret hath but a dull life of it. But our supper is ready, and a savory one it is, thanks to good old Alwright. I am in a hurry to see if her sausages are as good as ever. Here, Mistress Puss, come and have your share."
Winifred found Jack in a very doleful mood.
"What made you stay so long?" he murmured, "I think it is too bad in you to leave me for that old woman!"
"I have only been away three hours, Jack," replied Winifred. "The poor old dame is down with rheumatism, and has no one to attend upon her, while you have all the house to wait upon you."
"It is all the fault of that old magpie. Grandfather ought to have had the tree cut down!"
"It was not the tree's fault, nor the poor magpie's either," remarked Priscy, who had just come in. "I am sure the poor bird never asked you to rob her nest. You should have minded the master and left the tree alone, and then you might have been helping to gather the apples this day, instead of lying here groaning and making ever so much trouble."
"Well, never mind, Priscy!" said Winifred, gently. "Jack will be wiser another time. See here, Jack, what fine apples I picked up as I came through the orchard. I will ask mother to let me roast one for you, and when I go up to the Hall to-morrow, I will ask Mrs. Alwright to send you something nice. I am sure she will, for she said she was very sorry for you. Come now, don't cry any more, and I will read you a story out of my new book."
Winnie's gentleness and kindness finally soothed poor Jack and got him to sleep. And Winnie then delivered a small lecture to Priscilla.
"You should not tease poor Jack, now that he is ill and helpless. It only makes him fret, and I am sure it does him no good. You are not always careful yourself any more than Jack. Do you remember how you would go to Bridgewater fair, in the rain, despite all my mother and grandfather could say? You would not have thought it very kind, when you were sick with your cold and ague afterwards, if my mother had all the time reproached you with the trouble you gave, though your illness was far more inconvenient than Jack's, coming as it did in the midst of sheep-shearing."
"And that is true indeed, Mrs. Winifred!" said Priscilla, a little conscience-stricken. "The dear mistress—she never gave me a word all the time, and nursed me as I had been her own sister. But then, dear me, I never expect to be as good as you and the mistress."
"I don't see why not, Priscy. I don't see any reason why you should not be as good as the best saint that ever lived!"
"No, I dare say you don't, because you judge other folks by yourself. But, Mrs. Winnie, my dear, I will not tease poor Jack any more. I will go to the mistress this minute, and ask her if I may not make the poor lad a nice custard against he wakes. I am sure a custard cannot hurt him."
Permission was given, and Jack and Priscilla were soon good friends over the custard.
When every one else had gone to bed, Winifred related to her mother the adventure of the afternoon. Dame Magdalen shuddered at thought of the peril.
"It was indeed a wonderful escape, and you are a wonderful child," said she. "I fear I could never have kept myself quiet as you did."
"I do not think we any of us know what we can do till we try," said Winifred. "When I look back over this week, and think of all that has happened, it seems to me that I am hardly the same person I was last Sunday—I feel so much older. I wonder what the reason is?"
"'Tis the care, child! Care and trouble make young folks old, and you have heretofore known little of either. My poor grandmother's hair turned gray all in a single week while her mother was in prison, and she was a young woman not thirty years old. Those were fearful times, and who knows but we may have the same back again, since the king is a papist, and by all account as hard-hearted and as much led by the Jesuits as Queen Mary herself!"
"Do you think all papists are hard-hearted, mother?" asked Winifred. "I have heard Priscilla say that the Lady Stratford, with whom her mother lived, was a kind, good lady."
"No doubt there are good and bad among them, as among others. The king has had provocation, too, that cannot be denied, both of late, and in the old times of the Popish Plot. Nevertheless, that does not excuse what has been done in his name in this and other places. Well, Winifred, you have become entangled in this matter by no fault of yours, and I do not see but you must carry it through. It seems hard, or at least strange, that you should have been allowed to fall into such trouble and danger, only for doing your duty and aiding the distressed."
"I think it often happens so," said Winifred. "The apostles were all put to death for teaching people the way of salvation, and you know, mother," she added, with reverence, "our Lord Himself laid down His life for us, and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren."
"True, my daughter! That is the real spirit of Christ. I trust, however, that you may not be called to any such sacrifice. Now, to bed and to sleep, my child, and do not dream of the dangers you have passed."