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قراءة كتاب The King's Daughters
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mother’s questions, she said that her step-father had been in, but finding his wife not yet come from market, he had said that he would step into the next neighbour’s until she came, and Rose was to call him when supper was ready.
William Mount, the second husband of Alice, was twenty years older than his wife, their ages being sixty-one and forty-one. He was a tall, grey, grave-looking man,—a field labourer, like most of the dwellers in Much Bentley. This was but a small place, nestling at one corner of the large park of the Earl of Oxford, the owner of all the property for some distance round. Of course he was the great man in the esteem of the Much Bentley people. During the reign of Edward the Sixth, when Protestantism was in favour at Court, Lord Oxford had been a Protestant like other people; but, also like many other people, he was one of those of whom it has been well said that:
“He’s a slave who dare not be
In the right with two or three.”
Lord Oxford was a slave in this sense—a slave to what other people said and thought about him—and very sad slavery it is. I would rather sweep a crossing than feel that I did not dare to say what I believed or disbelieved, what I liked or did not like, because other people would think it strange. It is as bad as being in Egyptian bondage. Yet there are a great many people quite contented to be slaves of this kind, who have not half so much excuse as Lord Oxford. If he went against the priests, who then were masters of everything, he was likely to lose his liberty and property, if not his life; while we may say any thing we like without need to be afraid. It is not always an advantage to have a great deal to lose. The poor labourers of Much Bentley, who had next to no property at all, and could only lose liberty and life, were far braver than the Earl whom they thought such a grand man, and who carried a golden wand before the Queen.
Supper was over at the Blue Bell, and Margaret Thurston was thinking about going home, when a little faint rap came on the door of the cottage. Rose opened it, and saw a big jar standing on the door-sill, a little boy sitting beside it, and an older girl leaning against the wall.
“Please, we’re come,” said Cissy.
Chapter Four.
On the way to Thorpe.
“Please, we’re come,” said Cissy. “We’ve been a good while getting here, but we— Oh, it isn’t you!”
“What isn’t me?” said Rose, laughing—for people said me where it should have been I, then, as they do still. “I rather think it is me; don’t you?”
“Yes, but you are not she that spake to us on the road,” said Cissy. “Somebody told us to call here as we went down the lane, and her daughter should go home with us, and help us to carry the big jar. Perhaps you’re the daughter?”
“Well, I guess I am,” answered Rose. “Where’s home?”
“It’s at the further end of Thorpe.”
“All right. Come in and rest you, and I’ll fetch a sup of something to do you good, poor little white faces.”
Rose took a hand of each and led them forward.
“Mother, here be two bits of Maypoles,” said she, “for they be scarce fatter; and two handfuls of snow, for they be scarce rosier—that say you promised them that I should go home with them and bear their jar of meal.”
“So I did, Rose. Bring them in, and let them warm themselves,” answered Mrs Mount. “Give them a sup of broth or what we have, to put a bit of life in them; and at after thou shalt bear them company to Thorpe. Poor little souls! they have no mother, and they say God looks after them only.”
“Then I shall be in His company too,” said Rose softly. Then, dropping her voice that the children might not hear, she added, “Mother, there’s only that drop of broth you set aside for breakfast; and it’s scarce enough for you and father both. Must I give them that?”
Alice Mount thought a moment. She had spoken before almost without thinking.
“Daughter,” she said, “if their Father, which is also ours, had come with them visible to our eyes, we should bring forth our best for Him; and He will look for us to do it for the little ones whose angels see His Face. Ay, fetch the broth, Rose.”
Perhaps Cissy had overheard a few words, for wheel the bowl of broth was put into her hands, she said, “Can you spare it? Didn’t you want it for something else than us?”
“We can spare it, little maid,” said Alice, with a smile.
“Sup it up,” added Rose, laying her hand on the child’s shoulder; “and much good may it do thee! Then, when you are both warmed and rested, I’ll set forth with you.”
Cissy did not allow that to be long. She drank her broth, admonished Will by a look to finish his—for he was disposed to loiter,—and after sitting still for a few minutes, rose and put down the bowl.
“We return you many thanks,” she said in her prim little way, “and I think, if you please, we ought to go home. Father ’ll be back by the time we get there; and I don’t like to be away when he comes. Mother bade me not. She said he’d miss her worse if he didn’t find me. You see, I’ve got to do for Mother now, both for Father and the children.”
Alice Mount thought it very funny to hear this little mite talking about “the children,” as if she were not a child at all.
“Well, tarry a minute till I tie on my hood,” said Rose. “I’ll be ready before you can say, ‘This is the house that Jack built.’”
“What do you with the babe, little maid, when you go forth?” asked Alice.
“Baby?” said Cissy, looking up. “Oh, we leave her with Ursula Felstede, next door. She’s quite safe till we come back.”
Rose now came in from the inner room, where she had been putting on her hood and mantle. There were no bonnets then. What women called bonnets in those days were close thick hoods, made of silk, velvet, fur, or woollen stuff of some sort. Nor had they either shawls or jackets—only loose mantles, for out-door wear. Rose took up the jar of meal.
“Please, I can carry it on one side,” said Cissy rather eagerly.
“Thou mayest carry thyself,” said Rose. “That’s plenty. I haven’t walked five miles to-day. I’m a bit stronger than thou, too.”
Little Will had not needed telling that he was no longer wanted to carry the jar; he was already off after wild flowers, as if the past five miles had been as many yards, though he had assured Cissy at least a dozen times as they came along that he did not know how he was ever to get home, and as they were entering Bentley had declared himself unable to take another step. Cissy shook her small head with the air of a prophetess.
“Will shouldn’t say such things!” said she. “He said he couldn’t walk a bit further—that I should have to carry him as well as the jar—and I don’t know how I could, unless I’d poured the meal out and put him in, and he’d never have gone, I’m sure; and now, do but look at him after those buttercups!”
“He didn’t mean to tell falsehoods,” said Rose. “He was tired, I dare say. Lads will be lads, thou knowest.”
“Oh dear, I don’t know how I’m to bring up these children to be good people!” said Cissy, as gravely as if she had been their grandmother. “Ursula says children are great troubles, and I’m sure it’s true. If there’s any place where Will should be, that’s just where he always isn’t; and if there’s one spot where he shouldn’t be, that’s the place where you commonly find him. Baby can’t walk yet, so she’s safe; but whatever I shall do when she can, I’m sure I don’t know! I can’t be in all the places at once where two of them shouldn’t be.”
Rose could not help laughing.
“Little maid,” she said kindly, “thy small