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قراءة كتاب Joyce Morrell's Harvest The Annals of Selwick Hall
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Joyce Morrell's Harvest The Annals of Selwick Hall
not given unto a righteous man,’ so how can they be aught but ill folk that be alway a-poking in it? Tell me that, Mistress. If ‘birds of a feather will flock together,’ then a chap that’s shaking hands every day wi’ th’ law mun be an ill un, and no mistake.”
“Go to, Jack: it signifies not that,” Milly makes answer. “Saint Paul meant that the law of God was given for the sake of ill men, not good men. The laws of England be other matter.”
“Get out wi’ ye!” saith Jack. “Do ye think I wis not what Paul means as well as a woman? It says th’ law, and it means th’ law. And if he’d signified as you say, he’d have said as th’ law wasn’t given again’ a righteous man, not to him. You gi’e o’er comin’ a-rumpagin’ like yon.”
For me, I scarce knew which way to look, to let me from laughing. But Milly goes on, sad as any judge.
“Well, but if lawyers be thus bad, Jack—though my sister’s husband is a lawyer, mind thou—”
“He’s a rascal, then!” breaks in Jack. “They’re all rascals, every wastrel (an unprincipled, good-for-nothing fellow) of ’em.”
“But what fashion of folk be better?” saith Milly. “Thou seest, Jack, we maids be nigh old enough for wedding, and I would fain know the manner of man a woman were best to wed.”
“Best let ’em all a-be,” growls Jack. “Women’s always snarin’ o’ men. Women’s bad uns. Howbeit, you lasses down at th’ Hall are th’ better end, I reckon.”
“Oh, thank you, Jack!” cries Milly with much warmth. “Now do tell me—shall I wed with a chirurgeon?”
“And take p’ison when he’s had enough of you,” quoth Jack. “Nay, never go in for one o’ them chaps. They kills folks all th’ day, and lies a-thinkin’ how to do it all th’ night.”
“A soldier, then?” saith Milly.
“Hired murderers,” saith Jack.
“Come, Jack, thou art hard on a poor maid. Thou wilt leave me ne’er a one. Oh, ay, there is the parson.”
“What!” shrieks forth Jack. “One o’ they Babylonian mass-mongers? Hypocrites, wolves in sheep’s clothing a-pretending for to be shepherds! Old ’Zekiel, he’s summut to say touching them. You get home, and just read his thirty-fourth chapter; and wed one o’ them wastrels at after, if ye can! Now then, get ye forth; I’ve had enough o’ women. I telled ye so.”
“Fare thee well, Jack,” quoth Milly in mocking tribulation. “I see how it is,—I shall be forced to wed a lead-miner.”
I was verily thankful that Milly did come away, for I could bear no longer. We ran fast down the steep track, and once at the bottom, we laughed till the tears ran down. When we were something composed, said I—
“Shall we look in on old Isaac Crewdson?”
“Gramercy, not this morrow,” quoth Milly. “Jack’s enough for one day. Old Isaac alway gives me the horrors. I cannot do with him atop of Jack.”
So we came home. But if Milly love it not, then will I go by myself to see old Isaac, for he liketh me well.
Selwick Hall, October ye ix.
Aunt Joyce went with me yesterday to see Isaac. We found him of the chimney-corner, whence he seldom stirreth, being now infirm. Old Mary had but then made an end of her washing, and she was a-folding the clean raiment to put by. I ran into the garden and gathered sprigs of rosemary, whereof they have a fine thriving bush.
“Do tell me, Mall,” said I, “how thou orderest matters, for to have thy rosemary thrive thus? Our bush is right stunted to compare withal.”
“I never did nought to it,” quoth old Mall, somewhat crustily. She is Jack Benn’s sister, and truly they be something like.
“Eh, Mistress Nell, dunna ye know?” saith Isaac, laughing feebly. “Th’ rosemary always thrives well where th’ missis is th’ master. Did ye never hear yon saying?”
“Shut up wi’ thy foolish saws!” saith Mall, a-turning round on him. “He’s a power of proverbs and saws, Mistress Nell, and he’s for ever and the day after a-thrustin’ of ’em in. There’s no wit i’ such work.”
“Eh, but there’s a deal o’ wit in some o’ they old saws!” Isaac makes answer, of his slow fashion. “Look ye now,—‘Brag’s a good dog, but Holdfast’s better’—there’s a true sayin’ for ye. Then again look ye,—‘He that will have a hare to breakfast must hunt o’er night.’ And ‘A grunting horse and a groaning wife never fails their master.’ Eh, but that’s true!” And old Isaac laughed, of his feeble fashion, yet again.
“There be some men like to make groaning wives,” quoth Mall, crustily. “They sit i’ th’ chimney-corner at their ease, and put ne’er a hand to the work.”
“That is not thy case, Mall,” saith Aunt Joyce, cheerily. “So long as he were able, I am well assured Isaac took his share of the work. And now ye be both infirm and stiff of the joints, what say ye to a good sharp lass that should save your old bones? I know one that should come but for her meat,—a good stirring maid that should not let the grass grow under her feet. What sayest, Mall?”
“What, me?” saith Mall. “Eh, you’d best ask th’ master. I am none th’ master here, howso the rosemary may thrive. I would say she should ne’er earn the salt to her porridge; but I’m of no signification in this house, as I well wis. You’d best ask o’ them as is.”
“Why, then, we mun gi’e th’ porridge in,” quoth Isaac. “Come, Mall, thou know’st better, lass.”
But old Mary, muttering somewhat we might not well hear, went forth to fetch in a fresh armful of linen from the hedge.
“What hath put her out, Isaac?” asks Aunt Joyce.
“Eh, Mistress Joyce, there’s no telling!” saith he. “’Tis not so much as puts her in. She’s easy put out, is Mall: and ’tis no good on earth essaying to pull her in again. You’d best let her be. She’ll come in of hersen, when she’s weary of threapin’.” (Grumbling, fault-finding.)
“I reckon thou art weary first, most times,” saith Aunt.
“Well! I’ve ay kept a good heart up,” quo’ he. “‘The still sow eateth all the draff,’ ye ken. I’ve bore wi’ Mall for fifty year, and it comes easier than it might to an other man. And the Lord has bore wi’ me for seventy odd. If He can bear wi’ me a bit longer, I reckon I can wi’ Mall.”
Aunt Joyce smiled on old Isaac as she rose up.
“Ay, Goodman, that is the best way for to take it,” saith she. “And now, Nell, we must hurry home, for I see a mighty black cloud o’er yonder.”
So we home, bidding God be wi’ ye to old Mall, in passing, and had but a grunt in answer: but we won home afore the rain, and found Father and Mynheer a-talking in the great chamber, and Mother above, laying of sweet herbs in the linen with Edith.
Note 1. Passages from the New Testament are quoted from Cranmer’s or the Geneva version, both then in common use.
Chapter Two.
Wherein Ideas Differ.
“O man, little hast thou learned of truth in things most true.”—Martin Farquhar Tupper.
(In Helen’s handwriting.)
Selwick Hall, October the xii.
Well! Milly saith nought never happens in this house.