JACKANAPES

DADDY DARWIN'S DOVECOT

AND OTHER STORIES

By

JULIANA HORATIO EWING. 

with

Illustrations

By

Randolph

Caldecott

[Illustration]

 "If I might buffet for my love, or bound my horse for her favors, I could lay on like a butcher, and sit like a Jackanapes, never off!"

 KING HENRY V, Act 5, Scene 2. 

JACKANAPES

CHAPTER I. 

 Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, The midnight brought the signal sound of strife, The morn the marshalling in arms--the day Battle's magnificently stern array! The thunder clouds close o'er it, which when rent The earth is covered thick with other clay, Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, Rider and horse:--friend, foe, --in one red burial blent. 

 Their praise is hymn'd by loftier harps than mine: Yet one would I select from that proud throng. ----to thee, to thousands, of whom each And one as all a ghastly gap did make In his own kind and kindred, whom to teach Forgetfuluess were mercy for their sake; The Archangel's trump, not glory's, must awake Those whom they thirst for. --BYRON. 

[Illustration]

Two Donkeys and the Geese lived on the Green, and all other residents ofany social standing lived in houses round it. The houses had no names. Everybody's address was, "The Green, " but the Postman and the people ofthe place knew where each family lived. As to the rest of the world, what has one to do with the rest of the world, when he is safe at homeon his own Goose Green? Moreover, if a stranger did come on any lawfulbusiness, he might ask his way at the shop. 

Most of the inhabitants were long-lived, early deaths (like that of thelittle Miss Jessamine) being exceptional; and most of the old peoplewere proud of their age, especially the sexton, who would be ninety-ninecome Martinmas, and whose father remembered a man who had carriedarrows, as a boy, for the battle of Flodden Field. The Grey Goose andthe big Miss Jessamine were the only elderly persons who kept their agessecret. Indeed, Miss Jessamine never mentioned any one's age, orrecalled the exact year in which anything had happened. She said thatshe had been taught that it was bad manners to do so "in a mixedassembly. "

The Grey Goose also avoided dates, but this was partly because herbrain, though intelligent, was not mathematical, and computation wasbeyond her. She never got farther than "last Michaelmas, " "theMichaelmas before that, " and "the Michaelmas before the Michaelmasbefore that. " After this her head, which was small, became confused, andshe said, "Ga, ga!" and changed the subject. 

But she remembered the little Miss Jessamine, the Miss Jessamine withthe "conspicuous" hair. Her aunt, the big Miss Jessamine, said it washer only fault. The hair was clean, was abundant, was glossy, but dowhat you would with it, it never looked like other people's. And atchurch, after Saturday night's wash, it shone like the best brass fenderafter a Spring cleaning. In short, it was conspicuous, which does notbecome a young woman--especially in church. 

Those were worrying times altogether, and the Green was used for strangepurposes. A political meeting was held on it with the village Cobbler inthe chair, and a speaker who came by stage coach from the town, wherethey had wrecked the bakers' shops, and discussed the price of bread. Hecame a second time, by stage, but the people had heard something abouthim in the meanwhile, and they did not keep him on the Green. They tookhim to the pond and tried to make him swim, which he could not do, andthe whole affair was very disturbing to all quiet and peaceable fowls. After which another man came, and preached sermons on the Green, and agreat many people went to hear him; for those were "trying times, " andfolk ran hither and thither for comfort. And then what did they do butdrill the ploughboys on the Green, to get them ready to fight theFrench, and teach them the goose-step! However, that came to an end atlast, for Bony was sent to St. Helena, and the ploughboys were sent backto the plough. 

Everybody lived in fear of Bony in those days, especially the naughtychildren, who were kept in order during the day by threats of, "Bonyshall have you, " and who had nightmares about him in the dark. Theythought he was an Ogre in a cocked hat. The Grey Goose thought he was afox, and that all the men of England were going out in red coats to hunthim. It was no use to argue the point, for she had a very small head, and when one idea got into it there was no room for another. 

Besides, the Grey Goose never saw Bony, nor did the children, whichrather spoilt the terror of him, so that the Black Captain became moreeffective as a Bogy with hardened offenders. The Grey Goose remembered_his_ coming to the place perfectly. What he came for she did notpretend to know. It was all part and parcel of the war and bad times. Hewas called the Black Captain, partly because of himself, and partlybecause of his wonderful black mare. Strange stories were afloat of howfar and how fast that mare could go, when her master's hand was on hermane and he whispered in her ear. Indeed, some people thought we mightreckon ourselves very lucky if we were not out of the frying-pan intothe fire, and had not got a certain well-known Gentleman of the Road toprotect us against the French. But that, of course, made him none theless useful to the Johnson's Nurse, when the little Miss Johnsons werenaughty. 

"You leave off crying this minnit, Miss Jane, or I'll give you rightaway to that horrid wicked officer. Jemima! just look out o' the windy, if you please, and see if the Black Cap'n's a-coming with his horse tocarry away Miss Jane. "

And there, sure enough, the Black Captain strode by, with his swordclattering as if it did not know whose head to cut off first. But he didnot call for Miss Jane that time. He went on to the Green, where he cameso suddenly upon the eldest Master Johnson, sitting in a puddle onpurpose, in his new nankeen skeleton suit, that the young gentlemanthought judgment had overtaken him at last, and abandoned himself to thehowlings of despair. His howls were redoubled when he was clutched frombehind and swung over the Black Captain's shoulder, but in five minuteshis tears were stanched, and he was playing with the officer'saccoutrements. All of which the Grey Goose saw with her own eyes, andheard afterwards that that bad boy had been whining to go back to theBlack Captain ever since, which showed how hardened he was, and thatnobody but Bonaparte himself could be expected to do him any good. 

But those were "trying times. " It was bad enough when the pickle of alarge and respectable family cried for the Black Captain; when it cameto the little Miss Jessamine crying for him, one felt that the soonerthe French landed and had done with it the better. 

The big Miss Jessamine's objection to him was that he was a soldier, andthis prejudice was shared by all the Green. "A soldier, " as the speakerfrom the town had observed, "is a bloodthirsty, unsettled sort of arascal; that the peaceable, home-loving, bread-winning citizen can neverconscientiously look on as a brother, till he has beaten his sword intoa ploughshare, and his spear into a pruning-hook. "

On the other hand there was some truth in what the Postman (an oldsoldier) said in reply; that the sword has to cut a way for us out ofmany a scrape into which our bread-winners get us when they drive theirploughshares into fallows that don't belong to them. Indeed, whilst ourmost peaceful citizens were prosperous chiefly by means of cotton, ofsugar, and of the rise and fall of the money-market (not to speak ofsuch salable matters as opium, firearms, and "black ivory"), disturbances were apt to arise in India, Africa and other outlandishparts, where the fathers of our domestic race were making fortunes fortheir families. And, for that matter, even on the Green, we did not wishthe military to leave us in the lurch, so long as there was any fearthat the French were coming. [1]

[Footnote 1: "'The political men declare war, and generally forcommercial interests; but when the nation is thus embroiled with itsneighbors the soldier . . . Draws the sword, at the command of hiscountry. . . . One word as to thy comparison of military and commercialpersons. What manner of men be they who have supplied the Caffres withthe firearms and ammunition to maintain their savage and deplorablewars? Assuredly they are not military. . . . Cease then, if thou would'stbe counted among the just, to vilify soldiers. "--W. Napier, Lieut. General, _November_, 1851. ]

II

[Illustration]

To let the Black Captain have little Miss Jessamine, however, wasanother matter. Her Aunt would not hear of it; and then, to crown all, it appeared that the Captain's father did not think the young lady goodenough for his son. Never was any affair more clearly brought to aconclusion. But those were "trying times;" and one moon-light night, when the Grey Goose was sound asleep upon one leg, the Green was rudelyshaken under her by the thud of a horse's feet. "Ga, ga!" said she, putting down the other leg, and running away. 

By the time she returned to her place not a thing was to be seen orheard. The horse had passed like a shot. But next day, there washurrying and skurrying and cackling at a very early hour, all about thewhite house with the black beams, where Miss Jessamine lived. And whenthe sun was so low, and the shadows so long on the grass that the GreyGoose felt ready to run away at the sight of her own neck, little MissJane Johnson, and her "particular friend" Clarinda, sat under the bigoak-tree on the Green, and Jane pinched Clarinda's little finger tillshe found that she could keep a secret, and then she told her inconfidence that she had heard from Nurse and Jemima that MissJessamine's niece had been a very naughty girl, and that that horridwicked officer had come for her on his black horse, and carried herright away. 

"Will she never come back?" asked Clarinda. 

"Oh, no!" said Jane decidedly. "Bony never brings people back. "

"Not never no more?" sobbed Clarinda, for she was weak-minded, and couldnot bear to think that Bony never, never let naughty people go homeagain. 

Next day Jane had heard more. 

"He has taken her to a Green?"

"A Goose Green?" asked Clarinda. 

"No. A Gretna Green. Don't ask so many questions, child, " said Jane;who, having no more to tell, gave herself airs. 

Jane was wrong on one point. Miss Jessamine's niece did come back, andshe and her husband were forgiven. The Grey Goose remembered it well, itwas Michaelmastide, the Michaelmas before the Michaelmas before theMichaelmas--but ga, ga! What does the date matter? It was autumn, harvest-time, and everybody was so busy prophesying and praying aboutthe crops, that the young couple wandered through the lanes, and gotblackberries for Miss Jessamine's celebrated crab and blackberry jam, and made guys of themselves with bryony-wreaths, and not a soul troubledhis head about them, except the children, and the Postman. The childrendogged the Black Captain's footsteps (his bubble reputation as an Ogrehaving burst), clamoring for a ride on the black mare. And the Postmanwould go somewhat out of his postal way to catch the Captain's dark eye, and show that he had not forgotten how to salute an officer. 

But they were "trying times. " One afternoon the black mare was steppinggently up and down the grass, with her head at her master's shoulder, and as many children crowded on to her silky back as if she had been anelephant in a menagerie; and the next afternoon she carried him away, sword and _sabre-tache_ clattering war-music at her side, and theold Postman waiting for them, rigid with salutation, at the four crossroads. 

War and bad times! It was a hard winter, and the big Miss Jessamine andthe little Miss Jessamine (but she was Mrs. Black-Captain now), livedvery economically that they might help their poorer neighbors. Theyneither entertained nor went into company, but the young lady alwayswent up the village as far as the _George and Dragon_, for air andexercise, when the London Mail[2] came in. 

[Footnote 2: The Mail Coach it was that distributed over the face of theland, like the opening of apocalyptic vials, the heart-shaking news ofTrafalgar, of Salamanca, of Vittoria, of Waterloo. . . . The grandestchapter of our experience, within the whole Mail Coach service, was onthose occasions when we went down from London with the news of Victory. Five years of life it was worth paying down for the privilege of anoutside place. DE QUINCEY. ]

One day (it was a day in the following June) it came in earlier thanusual, and the young lady was not there to meet it. 

But a crowd soon gathered round the _George and Dragon_, gaping tosee the Mail Coach dressed with flowers and oak-leaves, and the guardwearing a laurel wreath over and above his royal livery. The ribbonsthat decked the horses were stained and flecked with the warmth and foamof the pace at which they had come, for they had pressed on with thenews of Victory. 

Miss Jessamine was sitting with her niece under the oak-tree on theGreen, when the Postman put a newspaper silently into her hand. Herniece turned quickly--"Is there news?"

"Don't agitate yourself, my dear, " said her aunt. "I will read it aloud, and then we can enjoy it together; a far more comfortable method, mylove, than when you go up the village, and come home out of breath, having snatched half the news as you run. "

"I am all attention, dear aunt, " said the little lady, clasping herhands tightly on her lap. 

Then Miss Jessamine read aloud--she was proud of her reading--and theold soldier stood at attention behind her, with such a blending of prideand pity on his face as it was strange to see:--

 "DOWNING STREET, "_June_ 22, 1815, 1 A. M. "

"That's one in the morning, " gasped the Postman; "beg your pardon, mum. "

But though he apologized, he could not refrain from echoing here andthere a weighty word. "Glorious victory, "--"Two hundred pieces ofartillery, "--"Immense quantity of ammunition, "--and so forth. 

"The loss of the British Army upon this occasion has unfortunately beenmost severe. It had not been possible to make out a return of the killedand wounded when Major Percy left headquarters. The names of theofficers killed and wounded, as far as they can be collected, areannexed. 

"I have the honor----"

"The list, aunt! Read the list!"

"My love--my darling--let us go in and----"

"No. Now! now!"

To one thing the supremely afflicted are entitled in their sorrow--to beobeyed--and yet it is the last kindness that people commonly will dothem. But Miss Jessamine did. Steadying her voice, as best she might, she read on, and the old soldier stood bareheaded to hear that firstRoll of the Dead at Waterloo, which began with the Duke of Brunswick, and ended with Ensign Brown. [3] Five-and-thirty British Captains fellasleep that day on the bed of Honor, and the Black Captain slept amongthem. 

[Footnote 3: "Brunswick's fated chieftain" fell at Quatre Bras, the daybefore Waterloo, but this first (very imperfect) list, as it appeared inthe newspapers of the day, did begin with his name, and end with that ofan Ensign Brown. ]

 * * * * *

There are killed and wounded by war, of whom no returns reach DowningStreet. 

Three days later, the Captain's wife had joined him, and Miss Jessaminewas kneeling by the cradle of their orphan son, a purple-red morsel ofhumanity, with conspicuously golden hair. 

"Will he live, Doctor?"

"Live? GOD bless my soul, ma'am! Look at him! The young Jackanapes!"

CHAPTER II. 

 And he wandered away and away With Nature, the dear old Nurse. 

 LONGFELLOW. 

[Illustration]

The Grey Goose remembered quite well the year that Jackanapes began towalk, for it was the year that the speckled hen for the first time inall her motherly life got out of patience when she was sitting. She hadbeen rather proud of the eggs--they are unusually large--but she neverfelt quite comfortable on them; and whether it was because she used toget cramp, and got off the nest, or because the season was bad, or what, she never could tell, but every egg was addled but one, and the one thatdid hatch gave her more trouble than any chick she had ever reared. 

It was a fine, downy, bright yellow little thing, but it had a monstrousbig nose and feet, and such an ungainly walk as she knew no otherinstance of in her well-bred and high-stepping family. And as tobehavior, it was not that it was either quarrelsome or moping, butsimply unlike the rest. When the other chicks hopped and cheeped on theGreen all at their mother's feet, this solitary yellow one went waddlingoff on its own responsibility, and do or cluck what the spreckled henwould, it went to play in the pond. 

It was off one day as usual, and the hen was fussing and fuming afterit, when the Postman, going to deliver a letter at Miss Jessamine'sdoor, was nearly knocked over by the good lady herself, who, burstingout of the house with her cap just off and her bonnet just not on, fell into his arms, crying--

"Baby! Baby! Jackanapes! Jackanapes!"

If the Postman loved anything on earth, he loved the Captain'syellow-haired child, so propping Miss Jessamine against her owndoor-post, he followed the direction of her trembling fingers and madefor the Green. 

Jackanapes had had the start of the Postman by nearly ten minutes. Theworld--the round green world with an oak tree on it--was just becomingvery interesting to him. He had tried, vigorously but ineffectually, tomount a passing pig the last time he was taken out walking; but then hewas encumbered with a nurse. Now he was his own master, and might, bycourage and energy, become the master of that delightful, downy, dumpy, yellow thing, that was bobbing along over the green grass in front ofhim. Forward! Charge! He aimed well, and grabbed it, but only to feelthe delicious downiness and dumpiness slipping through his fingers as hefell upon his face. "Quawk!" said the yellow thing, and wobbled offsideways. It was this oblique movement that enabled Jackanapes to comeup with it, for it was bound for the Pond, and therefore obliged to comeback into line. He failed again from top-heaviness, and his prey escapedsideways as before, and, as before, lost ground in getting back to thedirect road to the Pond. 

[Illustration]

And at the Pond the Postman found them both, one yellow thing rockingsafely on the ripples that lie beyond duck-weed, and the other washinghis draggled frock with tears, because he too had tried to sit upon thePond, and it wouldn't hold him. 

CHAPTER III. 

 . . . If studious, copie fair what time hath blurred, Redeem truth from his jawes; if souldier, Chase brave employments with a naked sword Throughout the world. Fool not; for all may have, If they dare try, a glorious life, or grave. 

 * * * * *

 In brief, acquit thee bravely: play the man. Look not on pleasures as they come, but go. Defer not the least vertue: life's poore span Make not an ell, by trifling in thy woe. If thou do ill, the joy fades, not the pains. If well, the pain doth fade, the joy remains. 

 GEORGE HERBERT. 

[Illustration]

Young Mrs. Johnson, who was a mother of many, hardly knew which to pitymore; Miss Jessamine for having her little ways and her antimacassarsrumpled by a young Jackanapes; or the boy himself, for being brought upby an old maid. 

Oddly enough, she would probably have pitied neither, had Jackanapesbeen a girl. (One is so apt to think that what works smoothest works tothe highest ends, having no patience for the results of friction. ) ThatFather in GOD, who bade the young men to be pure, and the maidens brave, greatly disturbed a member of his congregation, who thought that thegreat preacher had made a slip of the tongue. 

"That the girls should have purity, and the boys courage, is what youwould say, good Father?"

"Nature has done that, " was the reply; "I meant what I said. "

In good sooth, a young maid is all the better for learning some robustervirtues than maidenliness and not to move the antimacassars. And therobuster virtues require some fresh air and freedom. As, on the otherhand, Jackanapes (who had a boy's full share of the little beast and theyoung monkey in his natural composition) was none the worse, at histender years, for learning some maidenliness--so far as maidenlinessmeans decency, pity, unselfishness and pretty behavior. 

And it is due to him to say that he was an obedient boy, and a boy whoseword could be depended on, long before his grandfather the General cameto live at the Green. 

He was obedient; that is he did what his great aunt told him. But--ohdear! oh dear!--the pranks he played, which it had never entered intoher head to forbid!

It was when he had just been put into skeletons (frocks never suitedhim) that he became very friendly with Master Tony Johnson, a youngerbrother of the young gentleman who sat in the puddle on purpose. Tonywas not enterprising, and Jackanapes led him by the nose. One summer'sevening they were out late, and Miss Jessamine was becoming anxious, when Jackanapes presented himself with a ghastly face all besmirchedwith tears. He was unusually subdued. 

"I'm afraid, " he sobbed; "if you please, I'm very much afraid that TonyJohnson's dying in the churchyard. "

Miss Jessamine was just beginning to be distracted, when she smeltJackanapes. 

"You naughty, naughty boys! Do you mean to tell me that you've beensmoking?"

"Not pipes, " urged Jackanapes; "upon my honor, Aunty, not pipes. Onlysegars like Mr. Johnson's! and only made of brown paper with a very, very little tobacco from the shop inside them. "

Whereupon, Miss Jessamine sent a servant to the churchyard, who foundTony Johnson lying on a tomb-stone, very sick, and having ceased toentertain any hopes of his own recovery. 

If it could be possible that any "unpleasantness" could arise betweentwo such amiable neighbors as Miss Jessamine and Mrs. Johnson--and ifthe still more incredible paradox can be that ladies may differ over apoint on which they are agreed--that point was the admitted fact thatTony Johnson was "delicate, " and the difference lay chiefly in this:Mrs. Johnson said that Tony was delicate--meaning that he was morefinely strung, more sensitive, a properer subject for pampering andpetting than Jackanapes, and that, consequently, Jackanapes was to blamefor leading Tony into scrapes which resulted in his being chilled, frightened, or (most frequently) sick. But when Miss Jessamine said thatTony Johnson was delicate, she meant that he was more puling, lessmanly, and less healthily brought up than Jackanapes, who, when they gotinto mischief together, was certainly not to blame because his friendcould not get wet, sit a kicking donkey, ride in the giddy-go-round, bear the noise of a cracker, or smoke brown paper with impunity, as hecould. 

Not that there was ever the slightest quarrel between the ladies. Itnever even came near it, except the day after Tony had been so very sickwith riding Bucephalus in the giddy-go-round. Mrs. Johnson had explainedto Miss Jessamine that the reason Tony was so easily upset, was theunusual sensitiveness (as a doctor had explained it to her) of thenervous centres in her family--"Fiddlestick!" So Mrs. Johnsonunderstood Miss Jessamine to say, but it appeared that she only said"Treaclestick!" which is quite another thing, and of which Tony wasundoubtedly fond. It was at the fair that Tony was made ill by riding onBucephalus. Once a year the Goose Green became the scene of a carnival. First of all, carts and caravans were rumbling up all along, day andnight. Jackanapes could hear them as he lay in bed, and could hardlysleep for speculating what booths and whirligigs he should find fairlyestablished; when he and his dog Spitfire went out after breakfast. As amatter of fact, he seldom had to wait long for news of the Fair. ThePostman knew the window out of which Jackanapes' yellow head would come, and was ready with his report. 

"Royal Theayter, Master Jackanapes, in the old place, but be careful o'them seats, sir; they're rickettier than ever. Two sweets and aginger-beer under the oak tree, and the Flying Boats is just a-comingalong the road. "

No doubt it was partly because he had already suffered severely in theFlying Boats, that Tony collapsed so quickly in the giddy-go-round. Heonly mounted Bucephalus (who was spotted, and had no tail) becauseJackanapes urged him, and held out the ingenious hope that theround-and-round feeling would very likely cure the up-and-downsensation. It did not, however, and Tony tumbled off during the firstrevolution. 

[Illustration]

Jackanapes was not absolutely free from qualms, but having once mountedthe Black Prince he stuck to him as a horseman should. During the firstround he waved his hat, and observed with some concern that the BlackPrince had lost an ear since last Fair; at the second, he looked a littlepale but sat upright, though somewhat unnecessarily rigid; at thethird round he shut his eyes. During the fourth his hat fell off, and heclasped his horse's neck. By the fifth he had laid his yellow headagainst the Black Prince's mane, and so clung anyhow till thehobby-horses stopped, when the proprietor assisted him to alight, and hesat down rather suddenly and said he had enjoyed it very much. 

The Grey Goose always ran away at the first approach of the caravans, and never came back to the Green till there was nothing left of the Fairbut footmarks and oyster-shells. Running away was her pet principle; theonly system, she maintained, by which you can live long and easily, andlose nothing. If you run away when you see danger, you can come backwhen all is safe. Run quickly, return slowly, hold your head high, andgabble as loud as you can, and you'll preserve the respect of the GooseGreen to a peaceful old age. Why should you struggle and get hurt, ifyou can lower your head and swerve, and not lose a feather? Why in theworld should any one spoil the pleasure of life, or risk his skin, if hecan help it?

 "'What's the use' Said the Goose. "

Before answering which one might have to consider what world--whichlife--whether his skin were a goose-skin; but the Grey Goose's headwould never have held all that. 

Grass soon grows over footprints, and the village children took theoyster-shells to trim their gardens with; but the year after Tony rodeBucephalus there lingered another relic of Fairtime, in which Jackanapeswas deeply interested. "The Green" proper was originally only part of astraggling common, which in its turn merged into some wilder waste landwhere gipsies sometimes squatted if the authorities would allow them, especially after the annual Fair. And it was after the Fair thatJackanapes, out rambling by himself, was knocked over by the Gipsy's sonriding the Gipsy's red-haired pony at break-neck pace across the common. 

Jackanapes got up and shook himself, none the worse, except for beingheels over head in love with the red-haired pony. What a rate he wentat! How he spurned the ground with his nimble feet! How his red coatshone in the sunshine! And what bright eyes peeped out of his darkforelock as it was blown by the wind!

The Gipsy boy had had a fright, and he was willing enough to rewardJackanapes for not having been hurt, by consenting to let him have aride. 

"Do you mean to kill the little fine gentleman, and swing us all on thegibbet, you rascal?" screamed the Gipsy-mother, who came up just asJackanapes and the pony set off. 

"He would get on, " replied her son. "It'll not kill him. He'll fall onhis yellow head, and it's as tough as a cocoanut. "

But Jackanapes did not fall. He stuck to the red-haired pony as he hadstuck to the hobbyhorse; but oh, how different the delight of this wildgallop with flesh and blood! Just as his legs were beginning to feel asif he did not feel them, the Gipsy boy cried "Lollo!" Round went thepony so unceremoniously, that, with as little ceremony, Jackanapes clungto his neck, and he did not properly recover himself before Lollostopped with a jerk at the place where they had started. 

"Is his name Lollo?" asked Jackanapes, his hand lingering in the wirymane. 

"Yes. "

"What does Lollo mean?"

"Red. "

"Is Lollo your pony?"

"No. My father's. " And the Gipsy boy led Lollo away. 

At the first opportunity Jackanapes stole away again to the common. Thistime he saw the Gipsy-father, smoking a dirty pipe. 

"Lollo is your pony, isn't he?" said Jackanapes. 

"Yes. "

"He's a very nice one. "

"He's a racer. "

"You don't want to sell him, do you?"

"Fifteen pounds, " said the Gipsy-father; and Jackanapes sighed and wenthome again. That very afternoon he and Tony rode the two donkeys, andTony managed to get thrown, and even Jackanapes' donkey kicked. But itwas jolting, clumsy work after the elastic swiftness and the daintymischief of the red-haired pony. 

A few days later Miss Jessamine spoke very seriously to Jackanapes. Shewas a good deal agitated as she told him that his grandfather, theGeneral, was coming to the Green, and that he must be on his very bestbehavior during the visit. If it had been feasible to leave off callinghim Jackanapes and to get used to his baptismal name of Theodore beforethe day after to-morrow (when the General was due), it would have beensatisfactory. But Miss Jessamine feared it would be impossible inpractice, and she had scruples about it on principle. It would not seemquite truthful, although she had always most fully intended that heshould be called Theodore when he had outgrown the ridiculousappropriateness of his nickname. The fact was that he had not outgrownit, but he must take care to remember who was meant when his grandfathersaid Theodore. 

Indeed for that matter he must take care all along. 

"You are apt to be giddy, Jackanapes, " said Miss Jessamine. 

"Yes aunt, " said Jackanapes, thinking of the hobby-horses. 

"You are a good boy, Jackanapes. Thank GOD, I can tell your grandfatherthat. An obedient boy, an honorable boy, and a kind-hearted boy. But youare--in short, you _are_ a Boy, Jackanapes. And I hope, "--addedMiss Jessamine, desperate with the results of experience--"that theGeneral knows that Boys will be Boys. "

[Illustration]

What mischief could be foreseen, Jackanapes promised to guard against. He was to keep his clothes and his hands clean, to look over hiscatechism, not to put sticky things in his pockets, to keep that hair ofhis smooth--("It's the wind that blows it, Aunty, " saidJackanapes--"I'll send by the coach for some bear's-grease, " said MissJessamine, tying a knot in her pocket-handkerchief)--not to burst in atthe parlor door, not to talk at the top of his voice, not to crumple hisSunday frill, and to sit quite quiet during the sermon, to be sure tosay "sir" to the General, to be careful about rubbing his shoes on thedoormat, and to bring his lesson-books to his aunt at once that shemight iron down the dogs' ears. The General arrived, and for the firstday all went well, except that Jackanapes' hair was as wild as usual, for the hair-dresser had no bear's-grease left. He began to feel more atease with his grandfather, and disposed to talk confidentially with him, as he did with the Postman. All that the General felt it would take toolong to tell, but the result was the same. He was disposed to talkconfidentially with Jackanapes. 

"Mons'ous pretty place this, " he said, looking out of the lattice on tothe Green, where the grass was vivid with sunset, and the shadows werelong and peaceful. 

"You should see it in Fair-week, sir, " said Jackanapes, shaking hisyellow mop, and leaning back in his one of the two Chippendale armchairsin which they sat. 

"A fine time that, eh?" said the General, with a twinkle in his lefteye. (The other was glass. )

Jackanapes shook his hair once more. "I enjoyed this last one the bestof all, " he said. "I'd so much money. "

"By George, it's not a common complaint in these bad times. How much hadye?"

"I'd two shillings. A new shilling Aunty gave me, and elevenpence I hadsaved up, and a penny from the Postman--_sir_!" added Jackanapeswith a jerk, having forgotten it. 

"And how did ye spend it--_sir_?" inquired the General. Jackanapesspread his ten fingers on the arms of his chair, and shut his eyes thathe might count the more conscientiously. 

"Watch-stand for Aunty, threepence. Trumpet for myself, twopence, that'sfivepence. Ginger-nuts for Tony, twopence, and a mug with a Grenadier onfor the Postman, fourpence, that's elevenpence. Shooting-gallery apenny, that's a shilling. Giddy-go-round, a penny, that's one and apenny. Treating Tony, one and twopence. Flying Boats (Tony paid forhimself), a penny, one and threepence. Shooting-gallery again, one andfour-pence; Fat Woman a penny, one and fivepence. Giddy-go-round again, one and sixpence. Shooting-gallery, one and sevenpence. Treating Tony, and then he wouldn't shoot, so I did, one and eightpence. LivingSkeleton, a penny--no, Tony treated me, the Living Skeleton doesn'tcount. Skittles, a penny, one and ninepence Mermaid (but when we gotinside she was dead), a penny, one and tenpence. Theatre, a penny(Priscilla Partington, or the Green Lane Murder. A beautiful young lady, sir, with pink cheeks and a real pistol), that's one and elevenpence. Ginger beer, a penny (I _was_ so thirsty!) two shillings. And thenthe Shooting-gallery man gave me a turn for nothing, because, he said, Iwas a real gentleman, and spent my money like a man. "

"So you do, sir, so you do!" cried the General. "Why, sir, you spend itlike a prince--And now I suppose you've not got a penny in your pocket?"

"Yes I have, " said Jackanapes. "Two pennies. They are saving up. " AndJackanapes jingled them with his hand. 

"You don't want money except at fair-times, I suppose?" said theGeneral. 

Jackanapes shook his mop. 

"If I could have as much as I want, I should know what to buy, " said he. 

"And how much do you want, if you could get it?"

"Wait a minute, sir, till I think what twopence from fifteen poundsleaves. Two from nothing you can't, but borrow twelve. Two from twelve, ten, and carry one. Please remember ten, sir, when I ask you. One fromnothing you can't, borrow twenty. One from twenty, nineteen, and carryone. One from fifteen, fourteen. Fourteen pounds nineteen and--what did Itell you to remember?"

"Ten, " said the General. 

"Fourteen pounds nineteen shillings and ten-pence then, is what I want, "said Jackanapes. 

"Bless my soul, what for?"

"To buy Lollo with. Lollo means red, sir. The Gipsy's red-haired pony, sir. Oh, he is beautiful! You should see his coat in the sunshine! Youshould see his mane! You should see his tail! Such little feet, sir, andthey go like lightning! Such a dear face, too, and eyes like a mouse!But he's a racer, and the Gipsy wants fifteen pounds for him. "

"If he's a racer, you couldn't ride him. Could you?"

"No--o, sir, but I can stick to him. I did the other day. "

"You did, did you? Well, I'm fond of riding myself, and if the beast isas good as you say, he might suit me. "

"You're too tall for Lollo, I think, " said Jackanapes, measuring hisgrandfather with his eye. 

"I can double up my legs, I suppose. We'll have a look at himto-morrow. "

"Don't you weigh a good deal?" asked Jackanapes. 

"Chiefly waistcoats, " said the General, slapping the breast of hismilitary frock-coat. "We'll have the little racer on the Green the firstthing in the morning. Glad you mentioned it, grandson. Glad youmentioned it. "

The General was as good as his word. Next morning the Gipsy and Lollo, Miss Jessamine, Jackanapes and his grandfather and his dog Spitfire, were all gathered at one end of the Green in a group, which so arousedthe innocent curiosity of Mrs. Johnson, as she saw it from one of herupper windows, that she and the children took their early promenaderather earlier than usual. The General talked to the Gipsy, andJackanapes fondled Lollo's mane, and did not know whether he should bemore glad or miserable if his grandfather bought him. 

"Jackanapes!"

"Yes, sir!"

"I've bought Lollo, but I believe you were right. He hardly stands highenough for me. If you can ride him to the other end of the Green, I'llgive him to you. "

How Jackanapes tumbled on to Lollo's back he never knew. He had justgathered up the reins when the Gipsy-father took him by the arm. 

"If you want to make Lollo go fast, my little gentleman--"

"_I_ can make him go!" said Jackanapes, and drawing from his pocketthe trumpet he had bought in the fair, he blew a blast both loud andshrill. 

Away went Lollo, and away went Jackanapes' hat. His golden hair flew out, an aureole from which his cheeks shone red and distended withtrumpeting. Away went Spitfire, mad with the rapture of the race, andthe wind in his silky ears. Away went the geese, the cocks, the hens, and the whole family of Johnson. Lucy clung to her mamma, Jane savedEmily by the gathers of her gown, and Tony saved himself by asomersault. 

[Illustration]

The Grey Goose was just returning when Jackanapes and Lollo rode back, Spitfire panting behind. 

"Good, my little gentleman, good!" said the Gipsy. "You were born to thesaddle You've the flat thigh, the strong knee, the wiry back, and thelight caressing hand, all you want is to learn the whisper Come here!"

"What was that dirty fellow talking about, grandson?" asked the General. 

"I can't tell you, sir. It's a secret. "

They were sitting in the window again, in the two Chippendalearm-chairs, the General devouring every line of his grandson's face, with strange spasms crossing his own. 

"You must love your aunt very much, Jackanapes?"

"I do, sir, " said Jackanapes warmly. 

"And whom do you love next best to your aunt?"

The ties of blood were pressing very strongly on the General himself, and perhaps he thought of Lollo. But Love is not bought in a day, evenwith fourteen pounds nineteen shillings and ten-pence. Jackanapesanswered quite readily, "The Postman. "

"Why the Postman?"

"He knew my father, " said Jackanapes, "and he tells me about him, andabout his black mare. My father was a soldier, a brave soldier. He diedat Waterloo. When I grow up I want to be a soldier too. " "So you shall, my boy. So you shall. "

"Thank you, grandfather. Aunty doesn't want me to be a soldier for fearof being killed. "

"Bless my life! Would she have you get into a feather-bed and staythere? Why, you might be killed by a thunderbolt, if you were abutter-merchant!"

"So I might. I shall tell her so. What a funny fellow you are, sir! Isay, do you think my father knew the Gipsy's secret? The Postman says heused to whisper to his black mare. "

"Your father was taught to ride as a child, by one of those horsemen ofthe East who swoop and dart and wheel about a plain like swallows inautumn. Grandson! Love me a little too. I can tell you more about yourfather than the Postman can. "

"I do love you, " said Jackanapes. "Before you came I was frightened. I'dno notion you were so nice. "

"Love me always, boy, whatever I do or leave undone. And--God helpme--whatever you do or leave undone, I'll love you! There shall never bea cloud between us for a day; no, sir, not for an hour. We're imperfectenough, all of us, we needn't be so bitter; and life is uncertain enoughat its safest, we needn't waste its opportunities. Look at me! Here sitI, after a dozen battles and some of the worst climates in the world, and by yonder lych gate lies your mother, who didn't move five miles, Isuppose, from your aunt's apron-strings, --dead in her teens; mygolden-haired daughter, whom I never saw. "

Jackanapes was terribly troubled. 

"Don't cry, grandfather, " he pleaded, his own blue eyes round withtears. "I will love you very much, and I will try to be very good. But Ishould like to be a soldier. "

"You shall, my boy, you shall. You've more claims for a commission thanyou know of. Cavalry, I suppose; eh, ye young Jackanapes? Well, well; ifyou live to be an honor to your country, this old heart shall grow youngagain with pride for you; and if you die in the service of yourcountry--GOD bless me, it can but break for ye!"

And beating the region which he said was all waistcoats, as if theystifled him, the old man got up and strode out on to the Green. 

CHAPTER IV. 

 "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. "--JOHN XV. 13. 

[Illustration]

Twenty and odd years later the Grey Goose was still alive, and in fullpossession of her faculties, such as they were. She lived slowly andcarefully, and she lived long. So did Miss Jessamine; but the Generalwas dead. 

He had lived on the Green for many years, during which he and thePostman saluted each other with a punctiliousness that it almost drilledone to witness. He would have completely spoiled Jackanapes if MissJessamine's conscience would have let him; otherwise he somewhatdragooned his neighbors, and was as positive about parish matters as aratepayer about the army. A stormy-tempered, tender-hearted soldier, irritable with the suffering of wounds of which he never spoke, whom allthe village followed to his grave with, tears. 

The General's death was a great shock to Miss Jessamine, and her nephewstayed with her for some little time after the funeral. Then he wasobliged to join his regiment, which was ordered abroad. 

One effect of the conquest which the General had gained over theaffections of the village, was a considerable abatement of the popularprejudice against "the military. " Indeed the village was now somewhatimportantly represented in the army. There was the General himself, andthe Postman, and the Black Captain's tablet in the church, andJackanapes, and Tony Johnson, and a Trumpeter. 

Tony Johnson had no more natural taste for fighting than for riding, buthe was as devoted as ever to Jackanapes, and that was how it came aboutthat Mr. Johnson bought him a commission in the same cavalry regimentthat the General's grandson (whose commission had been given him by theIron Duke) was in, and that he was quite content to be the butt of themess where Jackanapes was the hero; and that when Jackanapes wrote hometo Miss Jessamine, Tony wrote with the same purpose to his mother;namely, to demand her congratulations that they were on active serviceat last, and were ordered to the front. And he added a postscript to theeffect that she could have no idea how popular Jackanapes was, nor howsplendidly he rode the wonderful red charger whom he had named after hisold friend Lollo. 

 * * * * *

"Sound Retire!"

A Boy Trumpeter, grave with the weight of responsibilities andaccoutrements beyond his years, and stained, so that his own motherwould not have known him, with the sweat and dust of battle, did as hewas bid; and then pushing his trumpet pettishly aside, adjusted hisweary legs for the hundredth time to the horse which was a world too bigfor him, and muttering, "'Tain't a pretty tune, " tried to see somethingof this, his first engagement, before it came to an end. 

Being literally in the thick of it, he could seen less or known less ofwhat happened in that particular skirmish if he had been at home inEngland. For many good reasons; including dust and smoke, and that whatattention he dared distract from his commanding officer was pretty wellabsorbed by keeping his hard-mouthed troop-horse in hand, under pain ofexecration by his neighbors in the melde. By-and-by, when the newspaperscame out, if he could get a look at one before it was thumbed to bits, he would learn that the enemy had appeared from ambush in overwhelmingnumbers, and that orders had been given to fall back, which was doneslowly and in good order, the men fighting as they retired. 

[Illustration]

Born and bred on the Goose Green, the youngest of Mr. Johnson'sgardener's numerous off-spring, the boy had given his family "no peace"till they let him "go for a soldier" with Master Tony and MasterJackanapes. They consented at last, with more tears than they shed whenan elder son was sent to jail for poaching, and the boy was perfectlyhappy in his life, and full of _esprit de corps_. It was this whichhad been wounded by having to sound retreat for "the young gentlemen'sregiment, " the first time he served with it before the enemy, and he wasalso harassed by having completely lost sight of Master Tony. There hadbeen some hard fighting before the backward movement began, and he hadcaught sight of him once, but not since. On the other hand, all thepulses of his village pride had been stirred by one or two visions ofMaster Jackanapes whirling about on his wonderful horse. He had beeneasy to distinguish, since an eccentric blow had bared his head withouthurting it, for his close golden mop of hair gleamed in the hot sunshineas brightly as the steel of the sword flashing round it. 

Of the missiles that fell pretty thickly, the Boy Trumpeter did not takemuch notice. First, one can't attend to everything, and his hands werefull. Secondly, one gets used to anything. Thirdly, experience soonteaches one, in spite of proverbs, how very few bullets find theirbillet. Far more unnerving is the mere suspicion of fear or even ofanxiety in the human mass around you. The Boy was beginning to wonder ifthere were any dark reason for the increasing pressure, and whether theywould be allowed to move back more quickly, when the smoke in frontlifted for a moment, and he could see the plain, and the enemy's linesome two hundred yards away. 

And across the plain between them, he saw Master Jackanapes gallopingalone at the top of Lollo's speed, their faces to the enemy, his goldenhead at Lollo's ear. 

But at this moment noise and smoke seemed to burst out on every side, the officer shouted to him to sound retire, and between trumpeting andbumping about on his horse, he saw and heard no more of the incidents ofhis first battle. 

Tony Johnson was always unlucky with horses, from the days of thegiddy-go-round onwards. On this day--of all days in the' year--his ownhorse was on the sick list, and he had to ride an inferior, ill-conditioned beast, and fell off that, at the very moment when it wasa matter of life or death to be able to ride away. The horse fell onhim, but struggled up again, and Tony managed to keep hold of it. It wasin trying to remount that he discovered, by helplessness and anguish, that one of his legs was crushed and broken, and that no feat of whichhe was master would get him into the saddle. Not able even to standalone, awkwardly, agonizingly unable to mount his restive horse, hislife was yet so strong within him! And on one side of him rolled thedust and smoke-cloud of his advancing foe, and on the other, that whichcovered his retreating friends. 

He turned one piteous gaze after them, with a bitter twinge, not ofreproach, but of loneliness; and then, dragging himself up by the sideof his horse, he turned the other way and drew out his pistol, andwaited for the end. Whether he waited seconds or minutes he never knew, before some one gripped him by the arm. 

"Jackanapes! GOD bless you! It's my left leg. If you could get me on--"

It was like Tony's luck that his pistol went off at his horse's tail, and made it plunge; but Jackanapes threw him across the saddle. 

"Hold on anyhow, and stick your spur in. I'll lead him. Keep your headdown, they're firing high. "

And Jackanapes laid his head down--to Lollo's ear. 

It was when they were fairly off, that a sudden upspringing of the enemyin all directions had made it necessary to change the gradual retirementof our force into as rapid a retreat as possible. And when Jackanapesbecame aware of this, and felt the lagging and swerving of Tony's horse, he began to wish he had thrown his friend across his own saddle, andleft their lives to Lollo. 

When Tony became aware of it, several things came into his head. 1. Thatthe dangers of their ride for life were now more than doubled. 2. Thatif Jackanapes and Lollo were not burdened with him they wouldundoubtedly escape. 3. That Jackanapes' life was infinitely valuable, and his--Tony's--was not. 4. That this--if he could seize it--was thesupremest of all the moments in which he had tried to assume the virtueswhich Jackanapes had by nature; and that if he could be courageous andunselfish now--

He caught at his own reins and spoke very loud--

"Jackanapes! It won't do. You and Lollo must go on. Tell the fellows Igave you back to them, with all my heart. Jackanapes, if you love me, leave me!"

There was a daffodil light over the evening sky in front of them, and itshone strangely on Jackanapes' hair and face. He turned with an odd lookin his eyes that a vainer man than Tony Johnson might have taken forbrotherly pride. Then he shook his mop and laughed at him. 

[Illustration]

"_Leave you?_ To save my skin? No, Tony, not to save my soul!"

CHAPTER V. 

 Mr. VALIANT _summoned. His will. His last words. _

 Then, said he, "I am going to my Father's. . . . My Sword I give to him that shall succeed me in my Pilgrimage, and my Courage and Skill to him that can get it. " . . . And as he went down deeper, he said, "Grave, where is thy Victory?"

 So he passed over, and all the Trumpets sounded for him on the other side. BUNYAN'S _Pilgrim's, Progress_. 

[Illustration]

Coming out of a hospital-tent, at headquarters, the surgeon cannonadedagainst, and rebounded from, another officer; a sallow man, not young, with a face worn more by ungentle experiences than by age; with wearyeyes that kept their own counsel, iron gray hair, and a moustache thatwas as if a raven had laid its wing across his lips and sealed them. 

"Well?"

"Beg pardon, Major. Didn't see you. Oh, compound fracture and bruises, but it's all right. He'll pull through. "

"Thank GOD. "

It was probably an involuntary expression, for prayer and praise werenot much in the Major's line, as a jerk of the surgeon's head would havebetrayed to an observer. He was a bright little man, with his feelingsshowing all over him, but with gallantry and contempt of death enoughfor both sides of his profession; who took a cool head, a whitehandkerchief and a case of instruments, where other men went hot-bloodedwith weapons, and who was the biggest gossip, male or female, of theregiment. Not even the Major's taciturnity daunted him. 

"Didn't think he'd as much pluck about him as he has. He'll do all rightif he doesn't fret himself into a fever about poor Jackanapes. "

"Whom are you talking about?" asked the Major hoarsely. 

"Young Johnson. He--"

"What about Jackanapes?"

"Don't you know? Sad business. Rode back for Johnson, and brought himin; but, monstrous ill-luck, hit as they rode. Left lung--"

"Will he recover?"

"No. Sad business. "

"What a frame--what limbs--what health--and what good looks? Finestyoung fellow--"

"Where is he?"

"In his own tent, " said the surgeon sadly. 

The Major wheeled and left him. 

 * * * * *

"Can I do anything else for you?"

"Nothing, thank you. Except--Major! I wish I could get you to appreciateJohnson. "

"This is not an easy moment, Jackanapes. "

"Let me tell you, sir--_he_ never will--that if he could havedriven me from him, he would be lying yonder at this moment, and Ishould be safe and sound. "

The Major laid his hand over his mouth, as if to keep back a wish hewould have been ashamed to utter. 

"I've known old Tony from a child. He's a fool on impulse, a good manand a gentleman in principle. And he acts on principle, which it's notevery--some water, please! Thank you, sir. It's very hot, and yet one'sfeet get uncommonly cold. Oh, thank you, thank you. He's no fire-eater, but he has a trained conscience and a tender heart, and he'll do hisduty when a braver and more selfish man might fail you. But he wantsencouragement; and when I'm gone----"

"He shall have encouragement. You have my word for it. Can I do nothingelse?"

"Yes, Major. A favor. "

"Thank you, Jackanapes. "

"Be Lollo's master, and love him as well as you can. He's used to it. "

"Wouldn't you rather Johnson had him?"

The blue eyes twinkled in spite of mortal pain. 

"Tony _rides_ on principle, Major. His legs are bolsters, and willbe to the end of the chapter. I couldn't insult dear Lollo, but if youdon't care----Whilst I live----which will be longer than I desire ordeserve----Lollo shall want nothing, but----you. I have too littletenderness for----my dear boy, you're faint. Can you spare me for amoment?"

"No, stay--Major!"

"What? What?"

"My head drifts so--if you wouldn't mind. "

"Yes! Yes!"

"Say a prayer by me. Out loud please, I am getting deaf. "

"My dearest Jackanapes--my dear boy----"

"One of the Church Prayers--Parade Service, you know----"

"I see. But the fact is--GOD forgive me, Jackanapes--I'm a verydifferent sort of fellow to some of you youngsters. Look here, let mefetch--"

But Jackanapes' hand was in his, and it wouldn't let go. 

There was a brief and bitter silence. 

"'Pon my soul I can only remember the little one at the end. "

"Please, " whispered Jackanapes. 

Pressed by the conviction that what little he could do it was his dutyto do, the Major--kneeling--bared his head, and spoke loudly, clearly, and very reverently--

"The Grace of our Lord Jesus Christ--"

Jackanapes moved his left hand to his right one, which still held theMajor's--

"--The love of GOD. "

And with that--Jackanapes died. 

CHAPTER VI. 

[Illustration]

 "Und so ist der blaue Himmel grösser als jedes Gewolk darin, und dauerhafter dazu. " JEAN PAUL RICHTER. 

Jackanapes' death was sad news for the Goose Green, a sorrow justlyqualified by honorable pride in his gallantry and devotion. Only theCobbler dissented, but that was his way. He said he saw nothing in itbut foolhardiness and vainglory. They might both have been killed, aseasy as not, and then where would ye have been? A man's life was a man'slife, and one life was as good as another. No one would catch himthrowing his away. And, for that matter, Mrs. Johnson could spare achild a great deal better than Miss Jessamine. 

But the parson preached Jackanapes' funeral sermon on the text, "Whosoever will save his life shall lose it; and whosoever will lose hislife for My sake shall find it;" and all the village went and wept tohear him. 

Nor did Miss Jessamine see her loss from the Cobbler's point of view. Onthe contrary, Mrs. Johnson said she never to her dying day should forgethow, when she went to condole with her, the old lady came forward, withgentle-womanly self-control, and kissed her, and thanked GOD that herdear nephew's effort had been blessed with success, and that this sadwar had made no gap in her friend's large and happy home circle. 

"But she's a noble, unselfish woman, " sobbed Mrs. Johnson, "and shetaught Jackanapes to be the same, and that's how it is that my Tony hasbeen spared to me. And it must be sheer goodness in Miss Jessamine, forwhat can she know of a mother's feelings? And I'm sure most people seemto think that if you've a large family you don't know one from anotherany more than they do, and that a lot of children are like a lot ofstore-apples, if one's taken it won't be missed. "

Lollo--the first Lollo, the Gipsy's Lollo--very aged, draws MissJessamine's bath-chair slowly up and down the Goose Green in thesunshine. 

The Ex-postman walks beside him, which Lollo tolerates to the level ofhis shoulder. If the Postman advances any nearer to his head, Lolloquickens his pace, and were the Postman to persist in the injudiciousattempt, there is, as Miss Jessamine says, no knowing what might happen. 

In the opinion of the Goose Green, Miss Jessamine has borne her troubles"wonderfully. " Indeed, to-day, some of the less delicate and lessintimate of those who see everything from the upper windows, say (wellbehind her back) that "the old lady seems quite lively with her militarybeaux again. "

[Illustration]

The meaning of this is, that Captain Johnson is leaning over one side ofher chair, whilst by the other bends a brother officer who is stayingwith him, and who has manifested an extraordinary interest in Lollo. Hebends lower and lower, and Miss Jessamine calls to the Postman torequest Lollo to be kind enough to stop, whilst she is fumbling forsomething which always hangs by her side, and has got entangled with herspectacles. 

It is a two-penny trumpet, bought years ago in the village fair, andover it she and Captain Johnson tell, as best they can, between them, the story of Jackanapes' ride across the Goose Green; and how he wonLollo--the Gipsy's Lollo--the racer Lollo--dear Lollo--faithfulLollo--Lollo the never vanquished--Lollo the tender servant of his oldmistress. And Lollo's ears twitch at every mention of his name. 

Their hearer does not speak, but he never moves his eyes from thetrumpet, and when the tale is told, he lifts Miss Jessamine's hand andpresses his heavy black moustache in silence to her trembling fingers. 

The sun, betting gently to his rest, embroiders the sombre foliage ofthe oak-tree with threads of gold. The Grey Goose is sensible of anatmosphere of repose, and puts up one leg for the night. The grass glowswith a more vivid green, and, in answer to a ringing call from Tony, hissisters, fluttering over the daisies in pale-hued muslins, come out oftheir ever-open door, like pretty pigeons form a dovecote. 

And, if the good gossips, eyes do not deceive them, all the MissJohnsons, and both the officers, go wandering off into the lanes, wherebryony wreaths still twine about the brambles. 

 * * * * *

A sorrowful story, and ending badly?

Nay, Jackanapes, for the end is not yet. 

A life wasted that might have been useful?

Men who have died for men, in all ages, forgive the thought!

There is a heritage of heroic example and noble obligation, not reckonedin the Wealth of Nations, but essential to a nation's life; the contemptof which, in any people, may, not slowly, mean even its commercial fall. Very sweet are the uses of prosperity, the harvests of peace andprogress, the fostering sunshine of health and happiness, and length ofdays in the land. 

But there be things--oh, sons of what has deserved the name of GreatBritain, forget it not!--"the good of" which and "the use of" which arebeyond all calculation of worldly goods and earthly uses; things such asLove, and Honor, and the Soul of Man, which cannot be bought with aprice, and which do not die with death. "And they who would fain livehappily EVER after, should not leave these things out of the lessons oftheir lives. "

DADDY DARWIN'S DOVECOT. 

 * * * * *

PREAMBLE. 

A summer's afternoon. Early in the summer, and late in the afternoon;with odors and colors deepening, and shadows lengthening, towardsevening. 

Two gaffers gossiping, seated side by side upon a Yorkshire wall. A wallof sandstone of many colors, glowing redder and yellower as the sun goesdown; well cushioned with moss and lichen, and deep set in rank grass onthis side, where the path runs, and in blue hyacinths on that side, where the wood is, and where--on the gray and still naked branches ofyoung oaks--sit divers crows, not less solemn than the gaffers, and alsogossiping. 

One gaffer in work-day clothes, not unpicturesque of form and hue. Gray, home-knit stockings, and coat and knee-breeches of corduroy, which takestints from Time and Weather as harmoniously as wooden palings do; sothat field laborers (like some insects) seem to absorb or mimic thecolors of the vegetation round them and of their native soil. That is, on work-days. Sunday-best is a different matter, and in this the othergaffer was clothed. He was dressed like the crows above him, _fitexcepted_: the reason for which was, that he was only a visitor, arevisitor to the home of his youth, and wore his Sunday (and funeral)suit to mark the holiday. 

Continuing the path, a stone pack-horse track, leading past a hedgesnow-white with may, and down into a little wood, from the depths ofwhich one could hear a brook babbling. Then up across the sunny fieldbeyond, and yet up over another field to where the brow of the hill iscrowned by old farm-buildings standing against the sky. 

Down this stone path a young man going whistling home to tea. Thenstaying to bend a swarthy face to the white may to smell it, and thenplucking a huge branch on which the blossom lies like a heavy fall ofsnow, and throwing that aside for a better, and tearing off another andyet another, with the prodigal recklessness of a pauper; and so, whistling, on into the wood with his arms full. 

Down the sunny field, as he goes up it, a woman coming to meet him--with_her_ arms full. Filled by a child with a may-white frock, and hairshining with the warm colors of the sandstone. A young woman, having afair forehead visible a long way off, and buxom cheeks, and steadfasteyes. When they meet he kisses her, and she pulls his dark hair andsmooths her own, and cuffs him in country fashion. Then they changeburdens, and she takes the may into her apron (stooping to pick upfallen bits), and the child sits on the man's shoulder, and cuffs andlugs its father as the mother did, and is chidden by her and kissed byhim. And all the babbling of their chiding and crowing and laughtercomes across the babbling of the brook to the ears of the old gaffersgossiping on the wall. 

Gaffer I. Spits out an over-munched stalk of meadow soft-grass, andspeaks:

"D'ye see yon chap?"

Gaffer II. Takes up his hat and wipes it round with a spottedhandkerchief (for your Sunday hat is a heating thing for work-day wear), and puts it on, and makes reply:

"Aye. But he beats me. And--see there!--he's t'first that's beat me yet. Why, lad! I've met young chaps to-day I could ha' sworn to for mates ofmine forty years back--if I hadn't ha' been i't' churchyard spellingover their fathers' tumstuns!"

"Aye. There's a many old standards gone home o' lately. "

"What do they call _him?_"

"T' young chap?"

"Aye. "

"They _call_ him--Darwin. "

"Dar--win? I should known a Darwin. They're old standards, is Darwins. What's he to Daddy Darwin of t' Dovecot yonder?"

"He _owns_ t' Dovecot. Did ye see t' lass?"

"Aye. Shoo's his missus, I reckon?"

"Aye. "

"What did they call her?"

"Phoebe Shaw they called her. And if she'd been _my_ lass--butthat's nother here nor there, and he's got t' Dovecot. "

"Shaw? _They're_ old standards, is Shaws. Phoebe? They called hermother Phoebe. Phoebe Johnson. She were a dainty lass! My father werevery fond of Phoebe Johnson. He said she allus put him i' mind of ourorchard on drying days; pink and white apple-blossom and clean clothes. And yon's her daughter? Where d'ye say t'young chap come from? He don'tlook like hereabouts. "

"He don't come from hereabouts. And yet he do come from hereabouts, asone may say. Look ye here. He come from t' wukhus. That's the short andthe long of it. "

"_The workhouse!_"

"Aye. "

Stupefaction. The crows chattering wildly overhead. 

"And he owns Darwin's Dovecot?"

"He owns Darwin's Dovecot. "

"And how i' t' name o' all things did that come about'!"

"Why, I'll tell thee. It was i' this fashion. "

 * * * * *

Not without reason does the wary writer put gossip in the mouths ofgaffers rather than of gammers. Male gossips love scandal as dearly asfemale gossips do, and they bring to it the stronger relish and energiesof their sex. But these were country gaffers, whose speech--likeshadows--grows lengthy in the leisurely hours of eventide. The gentlereader shall have the tale in plain narration. 

NOTE--It will be plain to the reader that the birds here described areRooks (_corvus frugilegus_). I have allowed myself to speak of themby their generic or family name of Crow, this being a common countrypractice. The genus _corvus_, or _Crow_, includes the Raven, the Carrion Crow, the Hooded Crow, the Jackdaw, and the Rook. 

SCENE I. 

One Saturday night (some eighteen years earlier than the date of thisgaffer-gossiping) the parson's daughter sat in her own room before theopen drawer of a bandy-legged black oak table, _balancing herbags_. The bags were money-bags, and the matter shall be made clearat once. 

In this parish, as in others, progress and the multiplication of weaponswith which civilization and the powers of goodness push their conquestsover brutality and the powers of evil, had added to the original dutiesof the parish priest, a multifarious and all but impracticable varietyof offices; which, in ordinary and late conditions, would have beenperformed by several more or less salaried clerks, bankers, accountants, secretaries, librarians, club-committees, teachers, lecturers, discountfor ready-money dealers in clothing, boots, blankets, and coal, domestic-servant agencies, caterers for the public amusement, andpreservers of the public peace. 

The country parson (no less than statesmen and princes, than men ofscience and of letters) is responsible for a great deal of his work thatis really done by the help-mate--woman. This explains why five out ofthe young lady's moneybags bore the following inscriptions inmarking-ink: "Savings' bank, " "Clothing club, " "Library, " "Magazines andhymn-books, " "Three-halfpenny club"--and only three bore reference toprivate funds, as--"House-money"--"Allowance "--"Charity. "

It was the bag bearing this last and greatest name which the parson'sdaughter now seized and emptied into her lap. A ten-shilling piece, somesmall silver, and twopence halfpenny jingled together, and roused asilver-haired, tawny-pawed terrier, who left the hearthrug and came tosmell what was the matter. His mistress's right hand--absentlycaressing--quieted his feelings; and with the left she held theten-shilling piece between finger and thumb, and gazed thoughtfully atthe other bags as they squatted in a helpless row, with twine-tiedmouths hanging on all sides. It was only after anxious consultation withan account-book that the half-sovereign was exchanged for silver; thanksto the clothing-club bag, which looked leaner for the accommodation. Inthe three-halfpenny bag (which bulged with pence) some silver wasfurther solved into copper, and the charity bag was handsomely distendedbefore the whole lot was consigned once more to the table-drawer. 

Any one accustomed to book-keeping must smile at this bag-keeping ofaccounts; but the parson's daughter could never "bring her mind" tokeeping the funds apart on paper, and mixing the actual cash. Indeed, she could never have brought her conscience to it. Unless she had takenthe tenth for "charity" from her dress and pocket-money in coin, and putit then and there into the charity bag, this self-imposed rule of theduty of almsgiving would not have been performed to her soul's peace. 

The problem which had been exercising her mind that Saturday night washow to spend what was left of her benevolent fund in a treat for thechildren of the neighboring work-house. The fund was low, and this haddecided the matter. The following Wednesday would be her twenty-firstbirthday. If the children came to tea with her, the foundation of theentertainment would, in the natural course of things, be laid in theVicarage kitchen. The charity bag would provide the extras of the feast. Nuts, toys, and the like. 

When the parson's daughter locked the drawer of the bandy-legged table, she did so with the vigor of one who has made up her mind, and set aboutthe rest of her Saturday night's duties without further delay. 

She put out her Sunday clothes, and her Bible and Prayer-book, andclass-book and pencil, on the oak chest at the foot of the bed. Shebrushed and combed the silver-haired terrier, who looked abjectlydepressed whilst this was doing, and preposterously proud when it wasdone. She washed her own hair, and studied her Sunday-school lesson forthe morrow whilst it was drying. She spread a colored quilt at the footof her white one for the terrier to sleep on--a slur which he alwaysdeeply resented. 

Then she went to bed, and slept as one ought to sleep on Saturday night, who is bound to be at the Sunday School by 9. 15 on the followingmorning, with a clear mind on the Rudiments of the Faith, the history ofthe Prophet Elisha, and the destinations of each of the parishmagazines. 

SCENE II. 

Fatherless--motherless--homeless!

A little work-house-boy, with a swarthy face and tidily-cropped blackhair, as short and thick as the fur of a mole, was grubbing, not quiteso cleverly as a mole, in the work-house garden. 

He had been set to weed, but the weeding was very irregularly performed, for his eyes and heart were in the clouds, as he could see them over thebig boundary wall. For there--now dark against the white, now whiteagainst the gray--some Air Tumbler pigeons were turning somersaults ontheir homeward way, at such short and regular intervals that they seemedto be tying knots in their lines of flight. 

It was too much! The small gardener shamelessly abandoned his duties, and, curving his dirty paws on each side of his mouth, threw his wholesoul into shouting words of encouragement to the distant birds. 

"That's a good un! On with thee! Over ye go! Oo--ooray!"

It was this last prolonged cheer which drowned the sound of footsteps onthe path behind him, so that if he had been a tumbler pigeon himself hecould not have jumped more nimbly when a man's hand fell upon hisshoulder. Up went his arms to shield his ears from a well-meritedcuffing; but fate was kinder to him than he deserved. It was only an oldman (prematurely aged with drink and consequent poverty), whose fadedeyes seemed to rekindle as he also gazed after the pigeons, and spoke asone who knows. 

"Yon's Daddy Darwin's Tumblers. "

This old pauper had only lately come into "the House" (the house thatnever was a home!), and the boy clung eagerly to his flannel sleeve, andplied him thick and fast with questions about the world without theworkhouse-walls, and about the happy owner of those yet happiercreatures who were free not only on the earth, but in the skies. 

The poor old pauper was quite as willing to talk as the boy was tolisten. It restored some of that self-respect which we lose under theconsequences of our follies to be able to say that Daddy Darwin and hehad been mates together, and had had pigeon-fancying in common "many along year afore" he came into the House. 

And so these two made friendship over such matters as will bring man andboy together to the end of time. And the old pauper waxed eloquent onthe feats of Homing Birds and Tumblers, and on the points of Almonds andBarbs, Fantails and Pouters; sprinkling his narrative also with highsounding and heterogeneous titles, such as Dragons and Archangels, BlueOwls and Black Priests, Jacobines, English Horsemen and Trumpeters. Andthrough much boasting of the high stakes he had had on this and thatpigeon-match then, and not a few bitter complaints of the harshhospitality of the House he "had come to" now, it never seemed to occurto him to connect the two, or to warn the lad who hung upon his lipsthat one cannot eat his cake with the rash appetites of youth, and yethope to have it for the support and nourishment of his old age. 

The longest story the old man told was of a "bit of a trip" he had madeto Liverpool, to see some Antwerp Carriers flown from thence to Ghent, and he fixed the date of this by remembering that his twin sons wereborn in his absence, and that though their birthday was the very day ofthe race, his "missus turned stoopid, " as women (he warned the boy) areapt to do, and refused to have them christened by uncommon namesconnected with the fancy. All the same, he bet the lads would have beennicknamed the Antwerp Carriers, and known as such to the day of theirdeath, if this had not come so soon and so suddenly, of croup; when (asit oddly chanced) he was off on another "bit of a holiday" to fly somepigeons of his own in Lincolnshire. 

This tale had not come to an end when a voice of authority called for"Jack March, " who rubbed his mole-like head, and went ruefully off, muttering that he should "catch it now. "

"Sure enough! sure enough!" chuckled the unamiable old pauper. 

But again fate was kinder to the lad than his friend. His negligentweeding passed unnoticed, because he was wanted in a hurry to join theother children in the school-room. The parson's daughter had come, thechildren were about to sing to her, and Jack's voice could not bedispensed with. 

He "cleaned himself" with alacrity, and taking his place in the circleof boys standing with their hands behind their backs, he lifted up avoice worthy of a cathedral choir, whilst varying the monotony of sacredsong by secretly snatching at the tail of the terrier as it wentsnuffing round the legs of the group. And in this feat he proved as muchsuperior to the rest of the boys (who also tried it) as he excelled themin the art of singing. 

Later on he learned that the young lady had come to invite them all tohave tea with her on her birthday. Later still he found the old pauperonce more, and questioned him closely about the village and theVicarage, and as to which of the parishioners kept pigeons, and where. 

And when he went to his straw bed that night, and his black headthrobbed with visions and high hopes, these were not entirely of thehonor of drinking tea with a pretty young lady, and how one shouldbehave himself in such abashing circumstances. He did not even dreamprincipally of the possibility of getting hold of that silver-haired, tawny-pawed dog by the tail under freer conditions than those of thisafternoon, though that was a refreshing thought. 

What kept him long awake was thinking of this. From the top of an oldwalnut-tree at the top of a field at the back of the Vicarage, you couldsee a hill, and on the top of the hill some farm buildings. And it washere (so the old pauper had told him) that those pretty pigeons lived, who, though free to play about among the clouds, yet condescended tomake an earthly home--in Daddy Darwin's Dovecot. 

SCENE III. 

Two and two, girls and boys, the young lady's guests marched down to theVicarage. The school-mistress was anxious that each should carry his andher tin mug, so as to give as little trouble as possible; but this wasresolutely declined, much to the children's satisfaction, who had theirwalk with free hands, and their tea out of teacups and saucers, likeanybody else. 

It was a fine day, and all went well. The children enjoyed themselves, and behaved admirably into the bargain. There was only one suspicion ofmisconduct, and the matter was so far from clear that the parson'sdaughter hushed it up, and, so to speak, dismissed the case. 

The children were playing at some game in which Jack March was supposedto excel, but when they came to look for him he could nowhere be found. At last he was discovered, high up among the branches of an oldwalnut-tree at the top of the field, and though his hands were unstainedand his pockets empty, the gardener, who had been the first to spy him, now loudly denounced him as an ungrateful young thief. Jack, withswollen eyes and cheeks besmirched with angry tears, was vehementlydeclaring that he had only climbed the tree to "have a look at MasterDarwin's pigeons, " and had not picked so much as a leaf, let alone awalnut; and the gardener, "shaking the truth out of him" by the collarof his fustian jacket, was preaching loudly on the sin of addingfalsehood to theft, when the parson's daughter came up, and, in the end, acquitted poor Jack, and gave him leave to amuse himself as he pleased. 

It did not please Jack to play with his comrades just then. Pie feltsulky and aggrieved. He would have liked to play with the terrier whohad stood by him in his troubles, and barked at the gardener; but thatlittle friend now trotted after his mistress, who had gone tochoir-practice. 

Jack wandered about among the shrubberies. By-and-by he heard sounds ofmusic, and led by these he came to a gate in a wall, dividing theVicarage garden from the churchyard. Jack loved music, and the organ andthe voices drew him on till he reached the church porch; but there hewas startled by a voice that was not only not the voice of song, but wasthe utterance of a moan so doleful that it seemed the outpouring of allhis lonely, and outcast, and injured feelings in one comprehensive howl. 

It was the voice of the silver-haired terrier. He was sitting in theporch, his nose up, his ears down, his eyes shut, his mouth open, bewailing in bitterness of spirit the second and greater crook of hislot. 

To what purpose were all the caresses and care and indulgence of hismistress, the daily walks, the weekly washings and combings, theconstant companionship, when she betrayed her abiding sense of hisinferiority, first, by not letting him sleep on the white quilt, andsecondly, by never allowing him to go to church?

Jack shared the terrier's mood. What were tea and plum-cake to him, whenhis pauper-breeding was so stamped upon him that the gardener was freeto say--"A nice tale too! What's thou to do wi' doves, and thou awork'us lad?"--and to take for granted that he would thieve and lie ifhe got the chance?

His disabilities were not the dog's, however. The parish church was hisas well as another's, and he crept inside and leaned against one of thestone pillars, as if it were a big, calm friend. 

Far away, under the transept, a group of boys and men held their musicnear to their faces in the waning light. Among them towered the burlychoirmaster, baton in hand. The parson's daughter was at the organ. Wellaccustomed to produce his voice to good purpose, the choirmaster's wordswere clearly to be heard throughout the building, and it was on thesubject of articulation and emphasis, and the like, that he wasspeaking; now and then throwing in an extra aspirate in the energy ofthat enthusiasm without which teaching is not worth the name. 

"That'll not do. We must have it altogether different. You two lads aresinging like bumblebees in a pitcher--border there, boys!--it's nolaughing matter--put down those papers and keep your eyes on me--inflatethe chest--" (his own seemed to fill the field of vision) "and try andgive forth those noble words as if you'd an idea what they meant. "

No satire was intended or taken here, but the two boys, who werepracticing their duet in an anthem, laid down the music, and turnedtheir eyes on their teacher. 

"I'll run through the recitative, " he added, "and take your time fromthe stick. And mind that OH. "

The parson's daughter struck a chord, and then the burly choirmasterspoke with the voice of melody:

"My heart is disquieted within me. My heart--my heart is disquietedwithin me. And the fear of death is fallen--is fallen upon me. "

The terrier moaned without, and Jack thought no boy's voice could beworth listening to after that of the choirmaster. But he was wrong. Afew more notes from the organ, and then, as night-stillness in a wood isbroken by the nightingale, so upon the silence of the church aboy-alto's voice broke forth in obedience to the choirmaster's upliftedhand:

"_Then_, I said--I said----"

Jack gasped, but even as he strained his eyes to see what such a singercould look like, with higher, clearer notes the soprano rose above him--"Then I sa--a--id, " and the duet began:

"Oh that I had wings--O that I had wings like a dove!"

_Soprano_. --"Then would I flee away. " _Alto_. --"Then would Iflee away. " _Together_. --"And be at rest--flee away and be atrest. "

The clear young voices soared and chased each other among the arches, asif on the very pinions for which they prayed. Then--swept from theirseats by an upward sweep of the choirmaster's arms--the chorus rose, asbirds rise, and carried on the strain. 

It was not a very fine composition, but this final chorus had thesingular charm of fugue. And as the voices mourned like doves, "Oh thatI had wings!" and pursued each other with the plaintive passage, "Thenwould I flee away--then would I flee away----, " Jack's ears knew noweariness of the repetition. It was strangely like watching the risingand falling of Daddy Darwin's pigeons, as they tossed themselves byturns upon their homeward flight. 

After the fashion of the piece and period, the chorus was repeated, andthe singers rose to supreme effort. The choirmaster's hands flashedhither and thither, controlling, inspiring, directing. He sang among thetenors. 

Jack's voice nearly choked him with longing to sing too. Could words ofman go more deeply home to a young heart caged within workhouse walls?

"Oh that I had wings like a dove! Then would I flee away--" thechoirmaster's white hands were fluttering downwards in the dusk, and thechorus sank with them--"flee away and be at rest!"

SCENE IV. 

Jack March had a busy little brain, and his nature was not of the limptype that sits down with a grief. That most memorable tea-party hadfired his soul with two distinct ambitions. First, to be a choir-boy;and, secondly, to dwell in Daddy Darwin's Dovecot. He turned the matterover in his mind, and patched together the following facts:

The Board of Guardians meant to apprentice him, Jack, to some master, atthe earliest opportunity. Daddy Darwin (so the old pauper told him) wasa strange old man, who had come down in the world, and now lived quitealone, with not a soul to help him in the house or outside it. He was"not to say _mazelin_ yet, but getting helpless, and uncommonmean. "

A nephew came one fine day and fetched away the old pauper, to his greatdelight. It was by their hands that Jack despatched a letter, which thenephew stamped and posted for him, and which was duly delivered on thefollowing morning to Mr. Darwin of the Dovecot. 

The old man had no correspondents, and he looked long at the letterbefore he opened it. It did credit to the teaching of the workhouseschoolmistress:

 "HONORED SIR, "They call me Jack March. I'm a workhouse lad, but, sir, I'm a good one, and the Board means to 'prentice me next time. Sir, if you face the Board and take me out you shall never regret it. Though I says it as shouldn't I'm a handy lad. I'll clean a floor with any one, and am willing to work early and late, and at your time of life you're not what you was, and them birds must take a deal of seeing to. I can see them from the garden when I'm set to weed, and I never saw nought like them. Oh, sir, I do beg and pray you let me mind your pigeons. You'll be none the worse of a lad about the place, and I shall be happy all the days of my life. Sir, I'm not unthankful, but please GOD, I should like to have a home, and to be with them house doves. 

 "From your humble servent--hoping to be--

 "JACK MARCH. "

"Mr. Darwin, Sir. I love them Tumblers as if they was my own. "

Daddy Darwin thought hard and thought long over that letter. He changedhis mind fifty times a day. But Friday was the Board day, and whenFriday came he "faced the Board. " And the little workhouse lad went hometo Daddy Darwin's Dovecot. 

SCENE V. 

The bargain was oddly made, but it worked well. Whatever Jack'sparentage may have been (and he was named after the stormy month inwhich he had been born), the blood that ran in his veins could not havebeen beggar's blood. There was no hopeless, shiftless, invincibleidleness about him. He found work for himself when it was not given himto do, and he attached himself passionately and proudly to all thebelongings of his new home. 

"Yon lad of yours seem handy enough, Daddy;--for a vagrant, as one maysay. " Daddy Darwin was smoking over his garden wall, and Mrs. Shaw, fromthe neighboring farm, had paused in her walk for a chat. She was anotable housewife, and there was just a touch of envy in her sense ofthe improved appearance of the doorsteps and other visible points of theDovecot. Daddy Darwin took his pipe out of his mouth to make way for theforce of his reply:

"_Vagrant!_ Nay, missus, yon's no vagrant. _He's fettling up allalong. _ Jack's the sort if he finds a key he'll look for the lock; ifye give him a knife-blade he'll fashion a heft. Why, a vagrant's a chapthat, if he'd all your maester owns to-morrow, he'd be on the trampagain afore t' year were out, and three years wouldn't repair themischief he'd leave behind him. A vagrant's a chap that if ye lend him athing he loses it; if ye give him a thing he abuses it----"

"That's true enough, and there's plenty servant-girls the same, " put inMrs. Shaw. 

"Maybe there be, ma'am--maybe there be; vagrants' children, I reckon. But yon little chap I got from t' House comes of folk that's had stuffo' their own, and cared for it--choose who they were. "

"Well, Daddy, " said his neighbor, not without malice, "I'll wish you agood evening. You've got a good bargain out of the parish, it seems. "

But Daddy Darwin only chuckled, and stirred up the ashes in the bowl ofhis pipe. 

"The same to you, ma'am--the same to you. Aye! he's a good bargain--avery good bargain is Jack March. "

It might be supposed from the foregoing dialogue that Daddy Darwin was amodel householder, and the little workhouse boy the neatest creaturebreathing. But the gentle reader who may imagine this is much mistaken. 

Daddy Darwin's Dovecot was freehold, and when he inherited it from hisfather there was, still attached to it a good bit of the land that hadpassed from father to son through more generations than the churchregisters were old enough to record. But the few remaining acres were soheavily mortgaged that they had to be sold. So that a bit of houseproperty elsewhere, and the old homestead itself, were all that wasleft. And Daddy Darwin had never been the sort of man to retrieve hisluck at home, or to seek it abroad. 

That he had inherited a somewhat higher and more refined nature than hisneighbors had rather hindered than helped him to prosper. And he hadbeen unlucky in love. When what energies he had were in their prime, hisfather's death left him with such poor prospects that the old farmer towhose daughter he was betrothed broke off the match and married herelsewhere. His Alice was not long another man's wife. She died within ayear from her wedding-day, and her husband married again within a yearfrom her death. Her old lover was no better able to mend his brokenheart than his broken fortunes. He only banished women from the Dovecot, and shut himself up from the coarse consolation of his neighbors. 

In this loneliness, eating a kindly heart out in bitterness of spirit, with all that he ought to have had--

 To plough and sow And reap and mow--

gone from him, and in the hands of strangers; the pigeons, for which theDovecot had always been famous, became the business and the pleasure ofhis life. But of late years his stock had dwindled, and he rarely wentto pigeon-matches or competed in shows and races. A more miserable fancyrivalled his interest in pigeon fancying. His new hobby was hoarding;and money that, a few years back, he would have freely spent to improvehis breed of Tumblers or back his Homing Birds he now added withstealthy pleasure to the store behind the secret panel of a fine old oakbedstead that had belonged to the Darwyn who owned Dovecot when thesixteenth century was at its latter end. In this bedstead Daddy sleptlightly of late, as old men will, and he had horrid dreams, which oldmen need not have. The queer faces carved on the panels (one of whichhid the money hole) used to frighten him when he was a child. They didnot frighten him now by their grotesque ugliness, but when he looked atthem, _and knew which was which_, he dreaded the dying out oftwilight into dark, and dreamed of aged men living alone, who had beenmurdered for their savings. These growing fears had had no small sharein deciding him to try Jack March; and to see the lad growing stronger, nimbler, and more devoted to his master's interests day by day, was anightly comfort to the poor old hoarder in the bed-head. 

As to his keen sense of Jack's industry and carefulness, it was part ofthe incompleteness of Daddy Darwin's nature, and the ill-luck of hiscareer, that he had a sensitive perception of order and beauty, and ashrewd observation of ways of living and qualities of character, and yethad allowed his early troubles to blight him so completely that he neverput forth an effort to rise above the ruin, of which he was at least asconscious as his neighbors. 

That Jack was not the neatest creature breathing, one look at him, as hestood with pigeons on his head and arms and shoulders, would have beenenough to prove. As the first and readiest repudiation of his workhouseantecedents he had let his hair grow till it hung in the wildestelf-locks, and though the terms of his service with Daddy Darwin wouldnot, in any case, have provided him with handsome clothes, such as hehad were certainly not the better for any attention he bestowed uponthem. As regarded the Dovecot, however, Daddy Darwin had not done morethan justice to his bargain. A strong and grateful attachment to hismaster, and a passionate love for the pigeons he tended, kept Jackconstantly busy in the service of both; the old pigeon-fancier taughthim the benefits of scrupulous cleanliness in the pigeon-cote, and Jack"stoned" the kitchen-floor and the doorsteps on his own responsibility. The time did come when he tidied up himself. 

SCENE VI. 

Daddy Darwin had made the first breach in his solitary life of his ownfree will, but it was fated to widen. The parson's daughter soon heardthat he had got a lad from the workhouse, the very boy who sang so welland had climbed the walnut-tree to look at Daddy Darwin's pigeons. Themost obvious parish questions at once presented themselves to the younglady's mind. "Had the boy been christened? Did he go to Church andSunday School? Did he say his prayers and know his Catechism? Had he aSunday suit? Would he do for the choir?"

Then, supposing (a not uncommon case) that the boy _had_ beenchristened, _said_ he said his prayers, _knew_ his Catechism, and _was_ ready for school, church, and choir, but had not got aSunday suit--a fresh series of riddles propounded themselves to her busybrain. Would her father yield up his everyday coat and take his Sundayone into weekday wear? Could the charity bag do better than pay thetailor's widow for adapting this old coat to the new chorister's back, taking it in at the seams, turning it wrong-side out, and getting newsleeves out of the old tails? Could she herself spare the boots whichthe village cobbler had just re-soled for her--somewhat clumsily--andwould the "allowance" bag bear this strain? Might she hope to coax anold pair of trowsers out of her cousin, who was spending his LongVacation at the Vicarage, and who never reckoned very closely with_his_ allowance, and kept no charity bag at all? Lastly would "thatold curmudgeon at the Dovecot" let his little farm-boy go to church andschool and choir?

"I must go and persuade him, " said the young lady. 

What she said, and what (at the time) Daddy Darwin said, Jack neverknew. He was at high sport with the terrier round the big sweet-brierbush, when he saw his old master slitting the seams of hisweather-beaten coat in the haste with which he plucked crimson clovecarnations as if they had been dandelions, and presented them, notungracefully, to the parson's daughter. 

Jack knew why she had come, and strained his ears to catch his own name. But Daddy Darwin was promising pipings of the cloves. 

"They are such dear old-fashioned things, " said she, burying her nose inthe bunch. 

"We're old-fashioned altogether, here, Miss, " said Daddy Darwin, lookingwistfully at the tumble-down house behind them. 

"You're very pretty here, " said she, looking also, and thinking what asketch it would make, if she could keep on friendly terms with this oldrecluse, and get leave to sit in the garden. Then her conscience smitingher for selfishness, she turned her big eyes on him and put out hersmall hand. 

"I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Darwin, very much obliged to youindeed. And I hope that Jack will do credit to your kindness. And thankyou so much for the cloves, " she added, hastily changing a subject whichhad cost some argument, and which she did not wish to have reopened. 

Daddy Darwin had thoughts of reopening it. He was slowly getting hisideas together to say that the lad should see how he got along with theschool before trying the choir, when he found the young lady's hand inhis, and had to take care not to hurt it, whilst she rained thanks onhim for the flowers. 

"You're freely welcome, Miss, " was what he did say after all. 

In the evening, however, he was very moody, but Jack was dying ofcuriosity, and at last could contain himself no longer. 

"What did Miss Jenny want, Daddy?" he asked. 

The old man looked very grim. 

"First to make a fool of me, and i' t' second place to make a fool ofthee, " was his reply. And he added with pettish emphasis, "They're allalike, gentle and simple. Lad, lad! If ye'd have any peace of your lifenever let a woman's foot across your threshold. Steek t' door of yourhouse--if ye own one--and t' door o' your heart--if ye own one--and thenye'll never rue. Look at this coat!"

And the old man went grumpily to bed, and dreamed that Miss Jenny hadput her little foot over his threshold, and that he had shown her thesecret panel, and let her take away his savings. 

And Jack went to bed, and dreamed that he went to school, and showedhimself to Phoebe Shaw in his Sunday suit. 

This dainty little damsel had long been making havoc in Jack's heart. The attraction must have been one of contrast, for whereas Jack wasblack and grubby, and had only week-day clothes--which were ragged atthat--Phoebe was fair, and exquisitely clean, and quite terribly tidy. Her mother was the neatest woman in the parish. It was she who was wontto say to her trembling handmaid, "I hope I can black a grate withoutblacking myself. " But little Phoebe promised so far to out-do hermother, that it seemed doubtful if she could "black herself" if shetried. Only the bloom of childhood could have resisted the polishingeffects of yellow soap, as Phoebe's brow and cheeks did resist it. Hershining hair was--compressed into a plait that would have done credit toa rope-maker. Her pinafores were speckless, and as to her white Whitsunfrock--Jack could think of nothing the least like Phoebe in that, excepta snowy fantail strutting about the Dovecot roof; and, to say the truth, the likeness was most remarkable. 

It has been shown that Jack March had a mind to be master of his fate, and he did succeed in making friends with little Phoebe Shaw. This wasbefore Miss Jenny's visit, but the incident shall be recorded here. 

Early on Sunday mornings it was Jack's custom to hide his work-day garbin an angle of the ivy-covered wall of the Dovecot garden, only lettinghis head appear over the top, from whence he watched to see Phoebe passon her way to Sunday School, and to bewilder himself with the sight ofher starched frock, and her airs with her Bible and Prayer-book, andclass card, and clean pocket-handkerchief. 

Now, amongst the rest of her Sunday paraphernalia, Phoebe always carrieda posy, made up with herbs and some strong smelling flowers. Countrywomen take mint and southernwood to a long hot service, as fineladies take smelling-bottles (for it is a pleasant delusion with somewriters that the weaker sex is a strong sex in the working classes). Andthough Phoebe did not suffer from "fainty feels" like her mother, sheand her little playmates took posies to Sunday School, and refreshedtheir nerves in the stream of question and answer, and hair oil andcorduroy, with all the airs of their elders. 

One day she lost her posy on her way to school, and her loss was Jack'sopportunity. He had been waiting half-an-hour among the ivy, when he sawher just below him, fuzzling round and round like a kitten chasingits tail. He sprang to the top of the wall. 

"Have ye lost something?" he gasped. 

"My posy, " said poor Phoebe, lifting her sweet eyes, which were full oftears. 

A second spring brought Jack into the dust at her feet, where hesearched most faithfully, and was wandering along the path by which shehad come, when she called him back. 

"Never mind, " she said. "They'll most likely be dusty by now. "

Jack was not used to think the worse of anything for a coating of dust;but he paused, trying to solve the perpetual problem of his situation, and find out what the little maid really wanted. 

"'Twas only Old Man and marygolds, " said she. "They're common enough. "

A light illumined Jack's understanding. 

"We've Old Man i' plenty. Wait, and I'll get thee a fresh posy. " And hebegan to reclimb the wall. 

But Phoebe drew nearer. She stroked down her frock, and spoke mincinglybut confidentially. "My mother says Daddy Darwin has red bergamot i' hisgarden. We've none i' ours. My mother always says there's nothing likered bergamot to take to church. She says it's a deal more refreshingthan Old Man, and not so common. My mother says she's always meaning toask Daddy Darwin to let us have a root to set; but she doesn't often seehim, and when she does she doesn't think on. But she always says there'snothing like red bergamot, and my Aunt Nancy, she says the same. "

"_Red_ is it?" cried Jack. "You wait there, love. " And beforePhoebe could say him nay, he was over the wall and back again with hisarms full. 

"Is it any o' this lot?" he inquired, dropping a small haycock offlowers at her feet. 

"Don't ye know one from t'other?" asked Phoebe, with round eyes ofreproach. And spreading her clean kerchief on the grass she laid herBible and Prayer-book and class card on it, and set vigorously andnattily to work, picking one flower and another from the fragrantconfusion, nipping the stalks to even lengths, rejecting witheredleaves, and instructing Jack as she proceeded. 

"I suppose ye know a rose? That's a double velvet. [4] They dry sweeterthan lavender for linen. These dark red things is pheasants' eyes; but, dear, dear, what a lad! Ye'd dragged it up by the roots! And eh! whatwill Master Darwin say when he misses these pink hollyhocks And only inbud, too! _There's_ red Bergamot: smell it!"[5]

[Footnote 4: Double velvet, an old summer rose, not common now It isdescribed by Parkinson. ]

[Footnote 5: Red Bergamot, or Twinflower; _Monarda Didyma_. ]

It had barely touched Jack's willing nose when it was hastily withdrawn. Phoebe had caught eight of Polly and Susan Smith coming to school, andcrying that she should be late and must run, the little maid picked upher paraphernalia (not forgetting the red bergamot), and fled down thelane. And Jack, with equal haste, snatched up the tell-tale heap offlowers and threw them into a disused pig-sty, where it was unlikelythat Daddy Darwin would go to look for his poor pink hollyhocks. 

SCENE VII. 

April was a busy month in the Dovecot. Young birds were chipping theegg, parent birds were feeding their young or relieving each other onthe nest, and Jack and his master were constantly occupied and excited. 

One night Daddy Darwin went to bed; but, though he was tired, he did notsleep long. He had sold a couple of handsome but quarrelsome pigeons, toadvantage, and had added their price to the hoard in the bed-head. Thishad renewed his old fears, for the store was becoming very valuable; andhe wondered if it had really escaped Jack's quick observation, orwhether the boy knew about it, and, perhaps, talked about it. As he layand worried himself he fancied he heard sounds without--the sound offootsteps and of voices. Then his heart beat till he could hear nothingelse; then he could undoubtedly hear nothing at all; then he certainlyheard something which probably was rats. And so he lay in a cold sweat, and pulled the rug over his face, and made up his mind to give the moneyto the parson, for the poor, if he was spared till daylight. 

He _was_ spared till daylight, and had recovered himself, andsettled to leave the money where it was, when Jack rushed in from thepigeon-house with a face of dire dismay. He made one or two futileefforts to speak, and then unconsciously used the words Shakespeare hasput into the mouth of Macduff, "All my pretty 'uns!" and so burst intotears. 

And when the old man made his way to the pigeon-house, followed by poorJack, he found that the eggs were cold and the callow young shivering indeserted nests, and that every bird was gone. And then he remembered therobbers, and was maddened by the thought that whilst he lay expectingthieves to break in and steal his money he had let them get safely offwith his whole stock of pigeons. 

Daddy Darwin had never taken up arms against his troubles, and this onecrushed him. 

The fame and beauty of his house-doves were all that was left ofprosperity about the place, and now there was nothing left--_nothing_! Below this dreary thought lay a far more bitter one, which he dared not confide to Jack. He had heard the robbers; hemight have frightened them away; he might at least have given the lad achance to save his pets, and not a care had crossed his mind except forthe safety of his own old bones, and of those miserable savings in thebed-head, which he was enduring so much to scrape together (oh satire!)for a distant connection whom he had never seen. He crept back to thekitchen, and dropped in a heap upon the settle, and muttered to himself. Then his thoughts wandered. Supposing the pigeons were gone for good, would he ever make up his mind to take that money out of the money-hole, and buy a fresh stock? He knew he never would, and shrank into a meanerheap upon the settle as he said so to himself. He did not like to lookhis faithful lad in the face. 

Jack looked him in the face, and, finding no help there, acted prettypromptly behind his back. He roused the parish constable, and fetchedthat functionary to the Dovecot before he had had bite or sup to breakhis fast. He spread a meal for him and Daddy, and borrowed the Shaws'light cart whilst they were eating it. The Shaws were good farmer-folk, they sympathized most fully; and Jack was glad of a few words of pityfrom Phoebe. She said she had watched the pretty pets "many a score oftimes, " which comforted more than one of Jack's heartstrings. Phoebe'smother paid respect to his sense and promptitude. He had acted exactlyas she would have done. 

"Daddy was right enough about yon lad, " she admitted. "He's not one tolet the grass grow under his feet. "

And she gave him a good breakfast whilst the horse was being "put to. "It pleased her that Jack jumped up and left half a delicious coldtea-cake behind him when the cart-wheels grated outside. Mrs. Shaw sentPhoebe to put the cake in his pocket, and "the Measter" helped Jack inand took the reins. He said he would "see Daddy Darwin through it, " andadded the weight of his opinion to that of the constable, that thepigeons had been taken to "a beastly low place" (as he put it) that hadlately been set up for pigeon-shooting in the outskirts of theneighboring town. 

They paused no longer at the Dovecot than was needed to hustle DaddyDarwin on to the seat beside Master Shaw, and for Jack to fill hispockets with peas, and take his place beside the constable. He hadcertain ideas of his own on the matter, which were not confused by thejogtrot of the light cart, which did give a final jumble to poor DaddyDarwin's faculties. 

No wonder they were jumbled! The terrors of the night past, the shock ofthe morning, the completeness of the loss, the piteous sight in thepigeon-house, remorseful shame, and then--after all these years, duringwhich he had not gone half a mile from his own hearthstone--to be set upfor all the world to see, on the front seat of a market-cart, back toback with the parish constable, and jogged off as if miles were nothing, and crowded streets were nothing, and the Beaulieu Gardens were nothing;Master Shaw talking away as easily as if they were sitting in twoarmchairs, and making no more of "stepping into" a lawyer's office, and"going on" to the Town Hall, than if he were talking of stepping up tohis own bedchamber or going out into the garden!

That day passed like a dream, and Daddy Darwin remembered what happenedin it as one remembers visions of the night. 

He had a vision (a very unpleasing vision) of the proprietor of theBeaulieu Gardens, a big greasy man, with sinister eyes very closetogether, and a hook nose, and a heavy watch chain, and a bullyingvoice. He browbeat the constable very soon, and even bullied Master Shawinto silence. No help was to be had from him in his loud indignation atbeing supposed to traffic with thieves. 

When he turned the tables by talking of slander, loss of time, andcompensation, Daddy Darwin smelt money, and tremblingly whispered toMaster Shaw to apologize and get out of it. "They're gone for good, " healmost sobbed: "Gone for good, like all t' rest! And I'll not be longafter 'em. "

But even as he spoke he heard a sound which made him lift up his head. It was Jack's call at feeding-time to the pigeons at the Dovecot. Andquick following on this most musical and most familiar sound there cameanother. The old man put both his lean hands behind his ears to be surethat he heard it aright--the sound of wings--the wings of a dove!

The other men heard it and ran in. Whilst they were wrangling, Jack hadslipped past them, and had made his way into a weird enclosure in frontof the pigeon-house. And there they found him, with all the captivepigeons coming to his call; flying, fluttering, strutting, nestling fromhead to foot of him, he scattering peas like hail. 

He was the first to speak, and not a choke in his voice. His irontemperament was at white heat, and, as he afterwards said, he "cared nomore for yon dirty chap wi' the big nose, nor if he were a _ratten_[6]in a hay-loft!"

[Footnote 6: _Anglicé_ Rat. ]

"These is ours, " he said, shortly. "I'll count 'em over, and see ifthey're right. There was only one young 'un that could fly. A white'un. " ("It's here, " interpolated Master Shaw. ) "I'll pack 'em i' yon, "and Jack turned his thumb to a heap of hampers in a corner. "T' carriercan leave t' baskets at t' toll-bar next Saturday, and ye may send yourlad for 'em, if ye keep one. "

The proprietor of the Beaulieu Gardens was not a man easily abashed, butmost of the pigeons were packed before he had fairly resumed hisprevious powers of speech. Then, as Master Shaw said, he talked "on theother side of his mouth. " Most willing was he to help to bring tojustice the scoundrels who had deceived him and robbed Mr. Darwin, buthe feared they would be difficult to trace. His own feeling was that ofwishing for pleasantness among neighbors. The pigeons had been found atthe Gardens. That was enough. He would be glad to settle the businessout of court. 

Daddy Darwin heard the chink of the dirty man's money, and would havecompounded the matter then and there. But not so the parish constable, who saw himself famous; and not so Jack, who turned eyes of smoulderingfire on Master Shaw. 

"Maester Shaw! you'll not let them chaps get off? Daddy's mazelin' wi'trouble, sir, but I reckon you'll see to it. "

"If it costs t' worth of the pigeons ten times over, I'll see to it, mylad, " was Master Shaw's reply. And the parish constable rose even to avein of satire as he avenged himself of the man who had slighted hisoffice. "Settle it out of court? Aye! I dare say. And send t' same chapsto fetch 'em away again t' night after. Nay--bear a hand with thishamper, Maester Shaw, if you please--if it's all t' same to you, Mr. Proprietor, I think we shall have to trouble you to step up to t' TownHall by-and-by, and see if we can't get shut of them mistaking friendso' yours for three months any way. "

If that day was a trying one to Daddy Darwin the night that followed itwas far worse. The thieves were known to the police, and the case wasdown to come on at the Town Hall the following morning; but meanwhilethe constable thought fit to keep the pigeons under his own charge inthe village lock-up. Jack refused to be parted from his birds, andremained with them, leaving Daddy Darwin alone in the Dovecot. He darednot go to bed, and it was not a pleasant night that he spent, dozingwith weariness, and starting up with fright, in an arm-chair facing themoney-hole. 

Some things that he had been nervous about he got quite used to, however. He bore himself with sufficient dignity in the publicity of theTown Hall, where a great sensation was created by the pigeons being letloose without, and coming to Jack's call. Some of them fed from theboy's lips, and he was the hero of the hour, to Daddy Darwin's delight. 

Then the lawyer and the lawyer's office proved genial and comfortable tohim. He liked civil ways and smooth speech, and understood them farbetter than Master Shaw's brevity and uncouthness. The lawyer chattedkindly and intelligently; he gave Daddy Darwin wine and biscuit, andtalked of the long standing of the Darwin family and its vicissitudes;he even took down some fat yellow books, and showed the old man how manycurious laws had been made from time to time for the special protectionof pigeons in Dovecots, very ancient statutes making the killing of ahouse-dove felony. Then 1 James I. C. 29 awarded three months'imprisonment "without bail or main price" to any person who should"shoot at, kill, or destroy with any gun, crossbow, stone-bow, orlongbow, any house-dove or pigeon;" but allowed an alternative fine oftwenty shillings to be paid to the churchwardens of the parish for thebenefit of the poor. Daddy Darwin hoped there was no such alternative inthis case, and it proved that by 2 Geo. III. C. 29, the twenty-shillingfine was transferred to the owner of birds; at which point anotherclient called, and the polite lawyer left Daddy to study the laws byhimself. 

It was when Jack as helping Master Shaw to put the horse into the cart, after the trial was over, that the farmer said to him, "I don't want toput you about, my lad, but I'm afraid you won't keep your master long. T'old gentleman's breaking up, mark my words! Constable and me was goinginto the _George_ for a glass, and Master Darwin left us and wentback to the office. I says, 'What are ye going back to t' lawyer for?'and he says, 'I don't mind telling you, Master Shaw, but it's to make mywill. ' And off he goes. Now, there's only two more things between thatand death, Jack March! And one's the parson, and t' other's the doctor. "

SCENE VIII. 

Little Phoebe Shaw coming out of the day school, and picking her wayhome to tea, was startled by folk running past her, and by a sound ofcheering from the far end of the village, which gradually increased involume, and was caught up by the bystanders as they ran. When Phoebeheard that it was "Constable, and Master Shaw, and Daddy Darwin and hislad, coming home, and the pigeons along wi' 'em, " she felt inclined torun too; but a fit of shyness came over her, and she demurely decided towait by the school-gate till they came her way. They did not come. Theystopped. What were they doing? Another bystander explained, "They'reshaking hands wi' Daddy, and I reckon they're making him put up t' birdshere, to see 'em go home to t' Dovecot. "

Phoebe ran as if for her life. She loved beast and bird as well as Jackhimself, and the fame of Daddy Darwin's doves was great. To see them putup by him to fly home after such an adventure was a sight not lightly tobe forgone. 

The crowd had moved to a hillock in a neighboring field before shetouched its outskirts. By that time it pretty well numbered thepopulation of the village, from the oldest inhabitant to the youngestthat could run. Phoebe had her mother's courage and resource. Chirpingout feebly but clearly, "I'm Maester Shaw's little lass, will ye let methrough?" she was passed from hand to hand, till her little fingersfound themselves in Jack's tight clasp, and he fairly lifted her to herfather's side. 

She was just in time. Some of the birds had hung about Jack, nervous, orexpecting peas; but the hesitation was past. Free in the sweetsunshine--beating down the evening air with silver wings and theirfeathers like gold--ignorant of cold eggs and callow young dead indeserted nests--sped on their way by such a roar as rarely shook thevillage in its body corporate--they flew straight home--to DaddyDarwin's Dovecot. 

SCENE IX. 

Daddy Darwin lived a good many years after making his will, and theDovecot prospered in his hands. 

It would be more just to say that it prospered in the hands of JackMarch. 

By hook and by crook he increased the live stock about the place. Folkwere kind to one who had set so excellent an example to other farm lads, though he lacked the primal virtue of belonging to the neighborhood. Hebartered pigeons for fowls, and some one gave him a sitting of eggs to"see what he would make of 'em. " Master Shaw gave him a little pig, withkind words and good counsel; and Jack cleaned out the disused pigstys, which were never disused again. He scrubbed his pigs with soap and wateras if they had been Christians, and the admirable animals regardless ofthe pork they were coming to, did him infinite credit, and brought him aprofit into the bargain, which he spent on ducks' eggs, and otheradditions to his farmyard family. 

The Shaws were very kind to him; and if Mrs. Shaw's secrets must betold, it was because Phoebe was so unchangeably and increasingly kind tohim, that she sent the pretty maid (who had a knack of knowing her ownmind about things) to service. 

Jack March was a handsome, stalwart youth now, of irreproachableconduct, and with qualities which Mrs. Shaw particularly prized; but hewas but a farm-lad, and no match for her daughter. 

Jack only saw his sweetheart once during several years She had not beenwell, and was at home for the benefit of "native air. " He walked overthe hill with her as they returned from church, and lived on theremembrance of that walk for two or three years more. Phoebe had givenhim her Prayer-book to carry, and he had found a dead flower in it, andhad been jealous. She had asked if he knew what it was, and he hadreplied fiercely that he did not, and was not sure that he cared toknow. 

"Ye never did know much about flowers, " said Phoebe, demurely, "it's redbergamot. "

"I love--red bergamot, " he whispered penitently. "And thou owes me abit. I gave thee some once. " And Phoebe had let him put the witheredbits into his own hymn-book, which was more than he deserved. 

Jack was still in the choir, and taught in the Sunday School where heused to learn. The parson's daughter had had her own way; Daddy Darwingrumbled at first, but in the end he got a bottle-green Sunday-coat outof the oak-press that matched the bedstead, and put the house-key intohis pocket, and went to church too. Now, for years past he had notfailed to take his place, week by week, in the pew that wastraditionally appropriated to the use of the Darwins of Dovecot. In suchan hour the sordid cares of the secret panel weighed less heavily on hissoul, and the things that are not seen came nearer--the house not madewith hands, the treasures that rust and moth corrupt not, and whichthieves do not break through to steal. 

Daddy Darwin died of old age. As his health failed, Jack nursed him withthe tenderness of a woman; and kind inquiries, and dainties which Jackcould not have cooked, came in from many quarters where it pleased theold man to find that he was held in respect and remembrance. 

One afternoon, coming in from the farmyard, Jack found him sitting bythe kitchen-table as he lad left him, but with a dread look of changeupon his face. At first he feared there had been "a stroke, " but DaddyDarwin's mind was clear and his voice firmer than usual. 

"My lad, " he said, "fetch me yon tea-pot out of the corner cupboard. T'one wi' a pole-house[7] painted on it, and some letters. Take care howye shift it. It were t' merry feast-pot[8] at my christening, and yon'st' letters of my father's and mother's names. Take off t' lid. There'stwo bits of paper in the inside. "

[Footnote 7: A _pole-house_ is a small dovecot on the top of a pole. ]

[Footnote 8: "Merry feast-pot" is a name given to old pieces of ware, made in local potteries for local festivals. ]

Jack did as he was bid, and laid the papers (one small and yellow withage, the other bigger, and blue, and neatly written upon) at hismaster's right hand. 

"Read yon, " said the old man, pushing the small one towards him. Jacktook it up wondering. It was the letter he had written from theworkhouse fifteen years before. That was all he could see. The pastsurged up too thickly before his eyes, and tossing it impetuously fromhim, he dropped on a chair by the table, and snatching Daddy Darwin'shands he held them to his face with tears. 

"GOD bless thee!" he sobbed. "You've been a good maester to me!"

"_Daddy_, " wheezed the old man. "_Daddy_, not maester. " Anddrawing his right hand away, he laid it solemnly on the young man'shead. "GOD bless _thee_, and reward thee. What have I done i' myfeckless life to deserve a son? But if ever a lad earned a father and ahome, thou hast earned 'em, Jack March. "

He moved his hand again and laid it trembling on the paper. 

"Every word i' this letter ye've made good. Every word, even to t' bitat the end. 'I love them tumblers as if they were my own, ' says you. Lift thee head, lad, and look at me. _They are thy own!_. . . Yonblue paper's my last will and testament, made many a year back by Mr. Brown, of Green Street, Solicitor, and a very nice gentleman too; andwitnessed by his clerks, two decent young chaps, and civil enough, butwith too much watchchain for their situation. Jack March, my son, I haveleft thee maester of Dovecot and all that I have. And there's a bit ofmoney in t' bed-head that'll help thee to make a fair start, and to buryme decently atop of my father and mother. Ye may let Bill Sexton toll anhour-bell for me, for I'm a old standard, if I never were good for much. Maybe I might ha' done better if things had happened in a differentfashion; but the Lord knows all. I'd like a hymn at the grave, Jack, ifthe Vicar has no objections, and do thou sing if thee can. Don't fret, my son, thou'fet no cause. Twas that sweet voice o' thine took me backagain to public worship, and it's not t' least of all I owe thee, JackMarch. A poor reason lad, for taking up with a neglected duty--a poorreason--but the Lord is a GOD of mercy, or there'd be small chance formost on us. If Miss Jenny and her husband come to t' Vicarage thissummer, say I left her my duty and an old man's blessing; and if shewants any roots out of t' garden, give 'em her, and give her yon oldchest that stands in the back chamber. It belonged to an uncle of mymother's--a Derbyshire man. They say her husband's a rich gentleman, andtreats her very well. I reckon she may have what she's a mind, new andpolished, but she's always for old lumber. They're a whimsical lot, gentle and simple. A talking of _women_, Jack, I've a word to say, if I can fetch my breath to say it. Lad! as sure as you're maester ofDovecot, you'll give it a missus. Now take heed to me. If ye fetch anywoman home here but Phoebe Shaw, I'll _walk_, and scare ye awayfrom t' old place. I'm willing for Phoebe, and I charge ye to tell thelass so hereafter. And tell her it's not because she's fair--too many on'em are that; and not because she's thrifty and houseproud--her mother'sthat, and she's no favorite of mine; but because I've watched herwhenever t' ould cat 's let her be at home, and it's my belief that sheloves ye, knowing nought of _this_" (he laid his hand upon thewill), "and that she'll stick to ye, choose what her folks may say. Aye, aye, she's not one of t' sort that quits a falling house--_likerattens_. "

Language fails to convey the bitterness which the old man put into theselast two words. It exhausted him, and his mind wandered. When he had tosome extent recovered himself he spoke again, but very feebly. 

"Tak' my duty to the Vicar, lad, Daddy Darwin's duty, and say he's at t'last feather of the shuttle, and would be thankful for the Sacrament. "

The Parson had come and gone. Daddy Darwin did not care to lie down, hebreathed with difficulty; so Jack made him easy in a big armchair, andraked up the fire with cinders, and took a chair on the other side ofthe hearth to watch with him. The old man slept comfortably and at last, much wearied, the young man dozed also. 

He awoke because Daddy Darwin moved, but for a moment he thought he mustbe dreaming. So erect the old man stood, and with such delight in hiswide-open eyes. They were looking over Jack's head. 

All that the lad had never seen upon his face seemed to have come backto it--youth, hope, resolution, tenderness. His lips were trembling withthe smile of acutest joy. 

Suddenly he stretched out his arms, and crying, "Alice!" started forwardand fell--dead--on the breast of his adopted son. 

 * * * * *

Craw! Craw! Craw! The crows flapped slowly home, and the Gaffers movedoff too. The sun was down, and "damps" are bad for "rheumatics. "

"It's a strange tale, " said Gaffer II. , "but if all's true ye tell me, there's not too many like him. "

"That's right enough, " Gaffer I. Admitted. "He's been t' same allthrough, and ye should ha' seen the burying he gave t' old chap. He wasrare and good to him by all accounts, and never gainsaid him ought, except i' not lifting his voice as he should ha' done at t' grave. Jackssings a bass solo as well as any man i' t' place, but he stood yonder, for all t' world like one of them crows, black o' visage, and black wi'funeral clothes, and choked with crying like a child i'stead of a man. "

"Well, well, t' old chap were all he had, I reckon, " said Gaffer II. 

"_That's_ right enough; and for going backwards, as ye may say, andsetting a wild graff on an old standard, yon will's done well for DADDYDARWIN'S DOVECOT. "

THE BLIND MAN AND THE TALKING DOG. 

There was once an old man whom Fortune (whose own eyes are bandaged) haddeprived of his sight. She had taken his hearing also, so that he wasdeaf. Poor he had always been, and as Time had stolen his youth andstrength from him, they had only left a light burden for Death to carrywhen he should come the old man's way. 

But Love (who is blind also) had given the Blind Man a Dog, who led himout in the morning to a seat in the sun under the crab-tree, and heldhis hat for wayside alms, and brought him safely home at sunset. 

The Dog was wise and faithful--as dogs often are--but the wonder of himwas that he could talk. In which will be seen the difference betweendogs and men, most of whom can talk; whilst it is a matter foradmiration if they are wise and faithful. 

One day the Mayor's little son came down the road, and by the hand heheld his playmate Aldegunda. 

"Give the poor Blind Man a penny, " said she. 

"You are always wanting me to give away my money, " replied the boypeevishly. "It is well that my father is the richest man in the town, and that I have a whole silver crown yet in my pocket. "

But he put the penny into the hat which the Dog held out, and the Doggave it to his master. 

"Heaven bless you, " said the Blind Man. 

"Amen, " said the Dog. 

"Aldegunda! Aldegunda!" cried the boy, dancing with delight. "Here is adog who can talk. I would give my silver crown for him. Old man, I say, old man! Will you sell me your dog for a silver crown?"

"My master is deaf as well as blind, " said the Dog. 

"What a miserable old creature he must be, " said the boycompassionately. 

"Men do not smile when they are miserable, do they?" said the Dog; "andmy master smiles sometimes--when the sun warms right through our coatsto our bones; when he feels the hat shake against his knee as thepennies drop in; and when I lick his hand. "

"But for all that, he is a poor wretched old beggar, in want ofeverything, " persisted the boy. "Now I am the Mayor's only son, and heis the richest man in the town. Come and live with me, and I will givethe Blind Man my silver crown. I should be perfectly happy if I had atalking dog of my own. "

"It is worth thinking of, " said the Dog. "I should certainly like amaster who was perfectly happy. You are sure that there is nothing elsethat you wish for?"

"I wish I were a man, " replied the boy. "To do exactly as I chose, andhave plenty of money to spend, and holidays all the year round. "

"That sounds well, " said the Dog. "Perhaps I had better wait till yougrow up. There is nothing else that you want, I suppose?"

"I want a horse, " said the boy, "a real black charger. My father oughtto know that I am too old for a hobby-horse. It vexes me to look at it. "

"I must wait for the charger, I see, " said the Dog. "Nothing vexes youbut the hobby-horse, I hope?"

"Aldegunda vexes me more than anything, " answered the boy, with anaggrieved air; "and it's very hard when I am so fond of her. She alwaystumbles down when we run races, her legs are so short. It's her birthdayto-day, but she toddles as badly as she did yesterday, though she's ayear older. "

"She will have learned to run by the time that you are a man, " said theDog. "So nice a little lady can give you no other cause of annoyance, Iam sure?"

The boy frowned. 

"She is always wanting something. She wants something now, I see. Whatdo you want, Aldegunda?"

"I wish--" said Aldegunda, timidly, --"I should like--the blind man tohave the silver crown, and for us to keep the penny, if you can get itback out of the hat. "

"That's just the way you go on, " said the boy, angrily. "You alwaysthink differently from me. Now remember, Aldegunda, I won't marry youwhen you grow big, unless you agree with what I do, like the wife in thestory of 'What the Goodman does is sure to be right. '"

On hearing this Aldegunda sobbed till she burst the strings of her hat, and the boy had to tie them afresh. 

"I won't marry you at all if you cry, " said he. 

But at that she only cried the more, and they went away bickering intothe green lanes. 

As to the old man, he had heard nothing; and when the dog licked hiswithered hand he smiled. 

Many a time did the boy return with his playmate to try and get theTalking Dog. But the Dog always asked if he had yet got all that hewanted, and, being an honorable child, the boy was too truthful to saythat he was content when he was not. 

"The day that you want nothing more but me I will be your dog, " it said. "Unless, indeed, my present master should have attained perfecthappiness before you. "

"I am not afraid of that, " said the boy. 

In time the Mayor died, and his widow moved to her native town and tookher son with her. 

Years passed, and the Blind Man lived on; for when one gets very old andkeeps very quiet in his little corner of the world, Death seemssometimes to forget to remove him. 

Years passed, and the Mayor's son became a man, and was strong and rich, and had a fine black charger. Aldegunda grew up also. She was verybeautiful, wonderfully beautiful, and Love (who is blind) gave her toher old playmate. 

The wedding was a fine one, and when it was over the bridegroom mountedhis black charger and took his bride behind him, and rode away into thegreen lanes. 

"Ah, what delight!" he said. "Now we will ride through the town where welived when we were children; and if the Blind Man is still alive, youshall give him a silver crown; and if the Talking Dog is alive, I shallclaim him, for to-day I am perfectly happy and want nothing. "

Aldegunda thought to herself--"We are so happy, and have so much, that Ido not like to take the Blind Man's dog from him;" but she did not dareto say so. One--if not two--must bear and forbear to be happy even onone's wedding day. 

By-and-bye they rode under the crab-tree, but the seat was empty. "Whathas become of the Blind Man?" the Mayor's son asked of a peasant who wasnear. 

"He died two days ago, " said the peasant. "He is buried to-day, and thepriest and chanters are now returning from the grave. "

"And the Talking Dog?" asked the young man. 

"He is at the grave now, " said the peasant; "but he has neither spokennor eaten since his master died. "

"We have come in the nick of time, " said the young man triumphantly, andhe rode to the churchyard. 

By the grave was the dog, as the man had said, and up the winding pathcame the priest and his young chanters, who sang with shrill, clearvoices--"Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord. "

"Come and live with me, now your old master is gone, " said the youngman, stooping over the dog. But he made no reply. 

"I think he is dead, sir, " said the grave-digger. 

"I don't believe it, " said the young man fretfully. "He was an EnchantedDog, and he promised I should have him when I could say what I am readyto say now. He should have kept his promise. "

But Aldegunda had taken the dog's cold head into her arms, and her tearsfell fast over it. 

"You forget, " she said; "he only promised to come to you when you werehappy, if his old master were not happier first; and, perhaps--"

"I remember that you always disagree with me, " said the young man, impatiently. "You always did do so. Tears on our wedding-day, too! Isuppose the truth is that no one is happy. "

Aldegunda made no answer, for it is not from those one loves that hewill willingly learn that with a selfish and imperious temper happinessnever dwells. 

And as they rode away again into the green lanes, the shrill voices ofthe chanters followed them--"Blessed are the dead. Blessed are thedead. "

"SO-SO. "

"Be sure, my child, " said the widow to her little daughter, "that youalways do just as you are told. "

"Very well, Mother. "

"Or at any rate do what will do just as well, " said the small house-dog, as he lay blinking at the fire. 

"You darling!" cried little Joan, and she sat down on the hearth andhugged him. But he got up and shook himself, and moved three turnsnearer the oven, to be out of the way; for though her arms were soft shehad kept her doll in them, and that was made of wood, which hurts. 

"What a dear, kind house-dog you are!" said little Joan, and she meantwhat she said, for it does feel nice to have the sharp edges of one'sduty a little softened off for one. 

He was no particular kind of a dog, but he was very smooth to stroke, and had a nice way of blinking with his eyes, which it was soothing tosee. There had been a difficulty about his name. The name of thehouse-dog before him was Faithful, and well it became him, as histombstone testified. The one before that was called Wolf. He was verywild, and ended his days on the gallows, for worrying sheep. The littlehouse-dog never chased anything, to the widow's knowledge. There was noreason whatever for giving him a bad name, and she thought of severalgood ones, such as Faithful, and Trusty, and Keeper, which are fineold-fashioned titles, but none of these seemed quite perfectly to suithim. So he was called So-so; and a very nice soft name it is. 

The widow was only a poor woman, though she contrived by her industry tokeep a decent home together, and to get now one and now another littlecomfort for herself and her child. 

One day she was going out on business, and she called her littledaughter and said to her, "I am going out for two hours. You are tooyoung to protect yourself and the house, and So-so is not as strong asFaithful was. But when I go, shut the house-door and bolt the big woodenbar, and be sure that you do not open it for any reason whatever till Ireturn. If strangers come, So-so may bark, which he can do as well as abigger dog. Then they will go away. With this summer's savings I havebought a quilted petticoat for you and a duffle cloak for myself againstthe winter, and if I get the work I am going after to-day, I shall buyenough wool to knit warm stockings for us both. So be patient till Ireturn, and then we will have the plumcake that is in the cupboard fortea. "

"Thank you, Mother. "

"Good-bye, my child. Be sure you do just as I have told you, " said thewidow. 

"Very well, Mother. "

Little Joan laid down her doll, and shut the house-door, and fastenedthe big bolt. It was very heavy, and the kitchen looked gloomy when shehad done it. 

"I wish Mother had taken us all three with her, and had locked the houseand put the key in her big pocket, as she has done before, " said littleJoan, as she got into the rocking-chair, to put her doll to sleep. 

"Yes, it would have done just as well, " So-so replied as he stretchedhimself on the hearth. 

By-and-bye Joan grew tired of hushabying the doll, who looked none thesleepier for it, and she took the three-legged stool and sat down infront of the clock to watch the hands. After a while she drew a deepsigh. 

"There are sixty seconds in every single minute, So-so, " said she. 

"So I have heard, " said So-so. He was snuffing in the back place, whichwas not usually allowed. 

"And sixty whole minutes in every hour, So-so. "

"You don't say so!" growled So-so. He had not found a bit, and the cakewas on the top shelf. There was not so much as a spilt crumb, though hesnuffed in every corner of the kitchen, till he stood snuffing under thehouse-door. 

"The air smells fresh, " he said. 

"It's a beautiful day, I know, " said little Joan. "I wish Mother hadallowed us to sit on the doorstep. We could have taken care of thehouse--"

"Just as well, " said So-so. 

Little Joan came to smell the air at the keyhole, and, as So-so hadsaid, it smelt very fresh. Besides, one could see from the window howfine the evening was. 

"It's not exactly what Mother told us to do, " said Joan, "but I dobelieve--"

"It would do just as well, " said So-so. 

By-and-bye little Joan unfastened the bar, and opened the door, and sheand the doll and So-so went out and sat on the doorstep. 

Not a stranger was to be seen. The sun shone delightfully. An eveningsun, and not too hot. All day it had been ripening the corn in the fieldclose by, and this glowed and waved in the breeze. 

"It does just as well, and better, " said little Joan, "for if anyonecomes we can see him coming up the field-path. "

"Just so, " said So-so, blinking in the sunshine. 

Suddenly Joan jumped up. 

"Oh!" cried she, "there's a bird, a big bird. Dear So-so, can you seehim? I can't, because of the sun. What a queer noise he makes. Crake!crake! Oh, I can see him now! He is not flying, he is running, and hehas gone into the corn. I do wish I were in the corn, I would catch him, and put him in a cage. "

"I'll catch him, " said So-so, and he put up his tail, and started off. 

"No, no!" cried Joan. "You are not to go. You mast stay and take care ofthe house, and bark if any one comes. "

"You could scream, and that would do just as well, " replied So-so, withhis tail still up. 

"No, it wouldn't, " cried little Joan. 

"Yes, it would, " reiterated So-so. 

Whilst they were bickering, an old woman came up to the door; she had abrown face, and black hair, and a very old red cloak. 

"Good evening, my little dear, " said she. "Are you all at home this fineevening?"

"Only three of us, " said Joan; "I, and my doll, and So-so. Mother' hasgone to the town on business, and we are taking care of the house, butSo-so wants to go after the bird we saw run into the corn. "

"Was it a pretty bird, my little dear?" asked the old woman. 

"It was a very curious one, " said Joan, "and I should like to go afterit myself, but we can't leave the house. "

"Dear, dear! Is there no neighbor would sit on the doorstep for you andkeep the house till you just slip down to the field after the curiousbird?" said the old woman. 

"I'm afraid not, " said little Joan. "Old Martha, our neighbor, is nowbedridden. Of course, if she had been able to mind the house instead ofus, it would have done just as well. "

"I have some distance to go this evening, " said the old woman, "but I donot object to a few minutes' rest, and sooner than that you should losethe bird I will sit on the doorstep to oblige you, while you run down tothe cornfield. "

"But can you bark if any one comes?" asked little Joan. "For if youcan't, So-so must stay with you. "

"I can call you and the dog if I see any one coming, and that will dojust as well, " said the old woman. 

"So it will, " replied little Joan, and off she ran to the cornfield, where, for that matter, So-so had run before her, and was bounding andbarking and springing among the wheat stalks. 

They did not catch the bird, though they stayed longer than they hadintended, and though So-so seemed to know more about hunting than wassupposed. 

"I dare say mother has come home, " said little Joan, as they went backup the field-path. "I hope she won't think we ought to have stayed inthe house. "

"It was taken care of, " said So-so, "and that must do just as well. "

When they reached the house, the widow had not come home. 

But the old woman had gone, and she had taken the quilted petticoat andthe duffle cloak, and the plum-cake from the top shelf away with her;and no more was ever heard of any of the lot. 

"For the future, my child, " said the widow, "I hope you will always dojust as you are told, whatever So-so may say. "

"I will, Mother, " said little Joan (And she did. ) But the house-dog satand blinked. He dared not speak, he was in disgrace. 

I do not feel quite sure about So-so. Wild dogs often amend their waysfar on this side of the gallows, and the faithful sometimes fall; butwhen any one begins by being only So-so, he is very apt to be So-so tothe end. So-sos so seldom change. 

But this one was _very_ soft and nice, and he got no cake thattea-time. On the whole, we will hope that he lived to be a good dog everafter. 

THE TRINITY FLOWER. 

A LEGEND. 

 "Break forth, my lips, in praise, and own The wiser love severely kind: Since, richer for its chastening grown, I see, whereas I once was blind. " _The Clear Vision, J. G. Whittler_

In days of yore there was once a certain hermit, who dwelt in a cell, which he had fashioned for himself from a natural cave in the side of ahill. 

Now this hermit had a great love for flowers, and was moreover learnedin the virtues of herbs, and in that great mystery of healing which lieshidden among the green things of God. And so it came to pass that thecountry people from all parts came to him for the simples which grew inthe little garden which he had made before his cell. And as his famespread, and more people came to him, he added more and more to the platwhich he had reclaimed from the waste land around. 

But after many years there came a spring when the colors of the flowersseemed paler to the hermit than they used to be; and as summer drew ontheir shapes became indistinct, and he mistook one plant for another;and when autumn came, he told them by their various scents, and by theirform, rather than by sight; and when the flowers were gone, and winterhad come, the hermit was quite blind. 

Now in the hamlet below there lived a boy who had become known to thehermit on this manner. On the edge of the hermit's garden there grew twocrab trees, from the fruit of which he made every year a certainconfection which was very grateful to the sick. One year many of thesecrab-apples were stolen, and the sick folk of the hamlet had very littleconserve. So the following year, as the fruit was ripening, the hermitspoke every day to those who came to his cell, saying:--

"I pray you, good people, to make it known that he who robs these crabtrees, robs not me alone, which is dishonest, but the sick, which isinhuman. "

And yet once more the crab-apples were taken. 

The following evening, as the hermit sat on the side of the hill, heoverheard two boys disputing about the theft. 

"It must either have been a very big man, or a small boy to do it, " saidone. "So I say, and I have my reason. "

"And what is thy reason, Master Wiseacre?" asked the other. 

"The fruit is too high to be plucked except by a very big man, " said thefirst boy. "And the branches are not strong enough for any but a childto climb. "

"Canst thou think of no other way to rob an apple-tree but by standinga-tip-toe, or climbing up to the apples, when they should come down tothee?" said the second boy. "Truly thy head will never save thy heels;but here's a riddle for thee:

 "Riddle me riddle me re, Four big brothers are we; We gather the fruit, but climb never a tree. 

"Who are they?"

"Four tall robbers, I suppose, " said the other. 

"Tush!" cried his comrade. "They are the four winds; and when theywhistle, down falls the ripest. But others can shake besides the winds, as I will show thee if thou hast any doubts in the matter. "

And as he spoke he sprang to catch the other boy, who ran from him; andthey chased each other down the hill, and the hermit heard no more. 

But as he turned to go home he said, "The thief was not far away whenthou stoodst near. Nevertheless, I will have patience. It needs not thatI should go to seek thee, for what saith the Scripture? _Thy sin_will find thee out. " And he made conserve of such apples as were left, and said nothing. 

Now after a certain time a plague broke out in the hamlet; and it was sosore, and there were so few to nurse the many who were sick, that, though it was not the wont of the hermit ever to leave his place, yet intheir need he came down and ministered to the people in the village. Andone day, as he passed a certain house, he heard moans from within, andentering, he saw lying upon a bed a boy who tossed and moaned in fever, and cried out most miserably that his throat was parched and burning. And when the hermit looked upon his face, behold it was the boy who hadgiven the riddle of the four winds upon the side of the hill. 

Then the hermit fed him with some of the confection which he had withhim, and it was so grateful to the boy's parched palate, that he thankedand blessed the hermit aloud, and prayed him to leave a morsel of itbehind, to soothe his torments in the night. 

Then said the hermit, "My Son, I would that I had more of thisconfection, for the sake of others as well as for thee. But indeed Ihave only two trees which bear the fruit whereof this is made; and intwo successive years have the apples been stolen by some thief, therebyrobbing not only me, which is dishonest, but the poor, which isinhuman. "

Then the boy's theft came back to his mind, and he burst into tears, andcried, "My Father, I took the crab-apples!"

And after awhile he recovered his health; the plague also abated in thehamlet, and the hermit went back to his cell. But the boy wouldthenceforth never leave him, always wishing to show his penitence andgratitude. And though the hermit sent him away, he ever returned, saying, "Of what avail is it to drive me from thee, since I am resolved to servethee, even as Samuel served Eli, and Timothy ministered unto St. Paul?"

But the hermit said, "My rule is to live alone, and without companions;wherefore begone. "

And when the boy still came, he drove him from the garden. 

Then the boy wandered far and wide, over moor and bog, and gathered rareplants and herbs, and laid them down near the hermit's cell. And whenthe hermit was inside, the boy came into the garden, and gathered thestones and swept the paths, and tied up such plants as were drooping, and did all neatly and well, for he was a quick and skilful lad. Andwhen the hermit said, "Thou hast done well, and I thank thee; but now begone, " he onlyanswered, "What avails it, when I am resolved to serve thee?"

So at last there came a day when the hermit said, "It may be that it isordained; wherefore abide, my Son. "

And the boy answered, "Even so, for I am resolved to serve thee. "

Thus he remained. And thenceforward the hermit's garden throve as it hadnever thriven before. For, though he had skill, the hermit was old andfeeble; but the boy was young and active, and he worked hard, and it wasto him a labor of love. And being a clever boy, he quickly knew thenames and properties of the plants as well as the hermit himself. Andwhen he was not working, he would go far afield to seek for new herbs. And he always returned to the village at night. 

Now when the hermit's sight began to fail, the boy put him right if hemistook one plant for another; and when the hermit became quite blind, he relied completely upon the boy to gather for him the herbs that hewanted. And when anything new was planted, the boy led the old man tothe spot, that he might know that it was so many paces in such adirection from the cell, and might feel the shape and texture of theleaves, and learn its scent. And through the skill and knowledge of theboy, the hermit was in no wise hindered from preparing his accustomedremedies, for he knew the names and virtues of the herbs, and whereevery plant grew. And when the sun shone, the boy would guide hismaster's steps into the garden, and would lead him up to certainflowers; but to those which had a perfume of their own the old man couldgo without help, being guided by the scent. And as he fingered theirleaves and breathed their fragrance, he would say, "Blessed be GOD forevery herb of the field, but thrice blessed for those that smell. "

And at the end of the garden was a set bush of rosemary. "For, " said thehermit, "to this we must all come. " Because rosemary is the herb theyscatter over the dead. And he knew where almost everything grew, andwhat he did not know the boy told him. 

Yet for all this, and though he had embraced poverty and solitude withjoy, in the service of GOD and man, yet so bitter was blindness to him, that he bewailed the loss of his sight, with a grief that neverlessened. 

"For, " said he, "if it had pleased our Lord to send me any otheraffliction, such as a continual pain or a consuming sickness, I wouldhave borne it gladly, seeing it would have left me free to see theseherbs, which I use for the benefit of the poor. But now the sick sufferthrough my blindness, and to this boy also I am a continual burden. "

And when the boy called him at the hours of prayer, saying, "My Father, it is now time for the Nones office, for the marygold is closing, " or"The Vespers bell will soon sound from the valley, for the bindweedbells are folded, " and the hermit recited the appointed prayers, healways added, "I beseech Thee take away my blindness, as Thou didst heal Thy servantthe son of Timaeus. "

And as the boy and he sorted herbs, he cried, "Is there no balm in Gilead?"

And the boy answered, "The balm of Gilead grows six full paces from thegate, my Father. "

But the hermit said, "I spoke in a figure, my son I meant not that herb. But, alas! Is there no remedy to heal the physician? No cure for thecurer?"

And the boy's heart grew heavier day by day, because of the hermit'sgrief. For he loved him. 

Now one morning as the boy came up from the village, the hermit met him, groping painfully with his hands, but with joy in his countenance, andhe said, "Is that thy step, my son? Come in, for I have somewhat to tellthee. "

And he said, "A vision has been vouchsafed to me, even a dream. Moreover, I believe that there shall be a cure for my blindness. " Thenthe boy was glad, and begged of the hermit to relate his dream, which hedid as follows:--

"I dreamed, and behold I stood in the garden--thou also with me--andmany people were gathered at the gate, to whom, with thy help, I gaveherbs of healing in such fashion as I have been able since thisblindness came upon me. And when they were gone, I smote upon myforehead, and said, 'Where is the herb that shall heal my affliction?'And a voice beside me said, 'Here, my son, ' And I cried to thee, 'Whospoke?' And thou saidst, 'It is a man in pilgrim's weeds, and lo, hehath a strange flower in his hand. ' Then said the Pilgrim, 'It is aTrinity Flower. Moreover, I suppose that when thou hast it, thou wiltsee clearly. ' Then I thought that thou didst take the flower from thePilgrim and put it in my hand. And lo, my eyes were opened, and I sawclearly. And I knew the Pilgrim's face, though where I have seen him Icannot yet recall. But I believed him to be Raphael the Archangel--hewho led Tobias, and gave sight to his father. And even as it came to meto know him, he vanished; and I saw him no more. "

"And what was the Trinity Flower like, my Father?" asked the boy. 

"It was about the size of Herb Paris, my son, " replied the hermit. "Butinstead of being fourfold every way, it numbered the mystic Three. Everypart was threefold. The leaves were three, the petals three, the sepalsthree. The flower was snow-white, but on each of the three parts it wasstained with crimson stripes, like white garments dyed in blood. "[Footnote: _Trillium erythrocarpum. _ North America. ]

Then the boy started up, saying, "If there be such a plant on the earthI will find it for thee. "

But the hermit laid his hand on him, and said, "Nay, my son, leave menot, for I have need of thee. And the flower will come yet, and then Ishall see. "

And all day long the old man murmured to himself, "Then I shall see. "

"And didst thou see me, and the garden, in thy dream, my Father?" askedthe boy. 

"Ay, that I did, my son. And I meant to say to thee that it muchpleaseth me that thou art grown so well, and of such a strangely faircountenance. Also the garden is such as I have never before beheld it, which must needs be due to thy care. But wherefore didst thou not tellme of those fair palms that have grown where the thorn hedge was wont tobe? I was but just stretching out my hand for some, when I awoke. "

"There are no palms there, my Father, " said the boy. 

"Now, indeed it is thy youth that makes thee so little observant, " saidthe hermit. "However, I pardon thee, if it were only for that goodthought which moved thee to plant a yew beyond the rosemary bush; seeingthat the yew is the emblem of eternal life, which lies beyond thegrave. "

But the boy said, "There is no yew there, my Father. "

"Have I not seen it, even in a vision?" cried the hermit. "Thou wilt saynext that all the borders are not set with heart's-ease, which indeedmust be through thy industry; and whence they come I know not, but theyare most rare and beautiful, and my eyes long sore to see them again. "

"Alas, my Father!" cried the boy, "the borders are set with rue, andthere are but a few clumps of heart's-ease here and there. "

"Could I forget what I saw in an hour?" asked the old man, angrily. "Anddid not the holy Raphael himself point to them, saying, 'Blessed are theeyes that behold this garden, where the borders are set withheart's-ease, and the hedges crowned with palm!' But thou wouldst knowbetter than an archangel, forsooth. "

Then the boy wept; and when the hermit heard him weeping, he put his armround him and said, "Weep not, my dear son. And I pray thee, pardon me that I spoke harshlyto thee. For indeed I am ill-tempered by reason of my infirmities; andas for thee, GOD will reward thee for thy goodness to me, as I nevercan. Moreover, I believe it is thy modesty, which is as great as thygoodness, that hath hindered thee from telling me of all that thou hastdone for my garden, even to those fair and sweet everlasting flowers, the like of which I never saw before, which thou hast set in the eastborder, and where even now I hear the bees humming in the sun. "

Then the boy looked sadly out into the garden, and answered, "I cannotlie to thee. There are no everlasting flowers. It is the flowers of thethyme in which the bees are rioting. And in the hedge bottom therecreepeth the bitter-sweet. "

But the hermit heard him not. He had groped his way out into thesunshine, and wandered up and down the walks, murmuring to himself, "Then I shall see. "

Now when the Summer was past, one autumn morning there came to thegarden gate a man in pilgrim's weeds; and when he saw the boy hebeckoned to him, and giving him a small tuber root, he said, "Give this to thy master. It is the root of the Trinity Flower. "

And he passed on down towards the valley. 

Then the boy ran hastily to the hermit; and when he had told him, andgiven him the root, he said, "The face of the pilgrim is known to me also, O my Father! For Iremember when I lay sick of the plague, that ever it seemed to me as ifa shadowy figure passed in and out, and went up and down the streets, and his face was as the face of this pilgrim. But--I cannot deceivethee--methought it was the Angel of Death. "

Then the hermit mused; and after a little space he answered, "It was then also that I saw him. I remember now. Nevertheless, let usplant the root, and abide what GOD shall send. "

And thus they did. 

And as the Autumn and Winter went by, the hermit became very feeble, butthe boy constantly cheered him, saying, "Patience, my Father. Thou shaltsee yet!"

But the hermit replied, "My son, I repent me that I have not beenpatient under affliction. Moreover, I have set thee an ill example, inthat I have murmured at that which GOD--Who knowest best--ordained forme. "

And when the boy ofttimes repeated, "Thou shalt yet see, " the hermitanswered, "If GOD will. When GOD will. As GOD will. "

And when he said the prayers for the Hours, he no longer added what hehad added beforetime, but evermore repeated, "If THOU wilt. When THOUwilt. As THOU wilt!"

And so the Winter passed; and when the snow lay on the ground the boyand the hermit talked of the garden; and the boy no longer contradictedthe old man, though he spoke continually of the heart's-ease, and theeverlasting flowers, and the palm. For he said, "When Spring comes I maybe able to get these plants, and fit the garden to his vision. "

And at length the Spring came. And with it rose the Trinity Flower. Andwhen the leaves unfolded, they were three, as the hermit had said. Thenthe boy was wild with joy and with impatience. 

And when the sun shone for two days together, he would kneel by theflower, and say, "I pray thee, Lord, send showers, that it may waxapace. " And when it rained, he said, "I pray Thee, send sunshine, thatit may blossom speedily. " For he knew not what to ask. And he dancedabout the hermit, and cried, "Soon shalt them see. "

But the hermit trembled, and said, "Not as I will, but as THOU wilt!"

And so the bud formed. And at length one evening before he went down tothe hamlet, the boy came to the hermit and said, "The bud is almostbreaking, my Father. To-morrow thou shalt see. "

Then the hermit moved his hands till he laid them on the boy's head, andhe said, "The Lord repay thee sevenfold for all thou hast done for me, dearchild. And now I pray thee, my son, give me thy pardon for all in whichI have sinned against thee by word or deed, for indeed my thoughts ofthee have ever been tender. " And when the boy wept, the hermit stillpressed him, till he said that he forgave him. And as they unwillinglyparted, the hermit said, "I pray thee, dear son, to remember that, though late, I conformed myself to the will of GOD. "

Saying which, the hermit went into his cell, and the boy returned to thevillage. 

But so great was his anxiety, that he could not rest; and he returned tothe garden ere it was light, and sat by the flower till the dawn. 

And with the first dim light he saw that the Trinity Flower was inbloom. And as the hermit had said, it was white, and stained withcrimson as with blood. 

Then the boy shed tears of joy, and he plucked the flower and ran intothe hermit's cell, where the hermit lay very still upon his couch. Andthe boy said, "I will not disturb him. When he wakes he will find theflower. " And he went out and sat down outside the cell and waited. Andbeing weary as he waited, he fell asleep. 

Now before sunrise, whilst it was yet early, he was awakened by thevoice of the hermit crying, "My son, my dear son!" and he jumped up, saying, "My Father!"

But as he spoke the hermit passed him. And as he passed he turned, andthe boy saw that his eyes were open. And the hermit fixed them long andtenderly on him. 

Then the boy cried, "Ah, tell me, my Father, dost thou see?"

And he answered, _"I see now!"_ and so passed on down the walk. 

And as he went through the garden, in the still dawn, the boy trembled, for the hermit's footsteps gave no sound. And he passed beyond therosemary bush, and came not again. 

And when the day wore on, and the hermit did not return, the boy wentinto his cell. 

Without, the sunshine dried the dew from paths on which the hermit'sfeet had left no prints, and cherished the spring flowers bursting intobloom. But within, the hermit's dead body lay stretched upon his pallet, and the Trinity Flower was in his hand. 

THE KYRKEGRIM TURNED PREACHER. 

A LEGEND. 

It is said that in Norway every church has its own Niss, or Brownie. 

They are of the same race as the Good People, who haunt farm houses, anddo the maids' work for a pot of cream. They are the size of a year-oldchild, but their faces are the faces of aged men. Their common dress isof gray home-spun, with red peaked caps; but on Michaelmas Day they wearround hats. 

The Church Niss is called Kyrkegrim. His duty is to keep the churchclean, and to scatter the marsh-marigold flowers on the floor beforeservice. He also keeps order in the congregation, pinches those who fallasleep, cuffs irreverent boys, and hustles mothers with crying childrenout of church as quickly and decorously as possible. 

But his business is not with church-brawlers alone. 

When the last snow avalanche has slipped from the high-pitched roof, andthe gentian is bluer than the sky, and Baldur's Eyebrow blossoms in thehot Spring sun, pious folk are wont to come to church some time beforeservice, and to bring their spades, and rakes, and watering-pots withthem, to tend the graves of the dead. The Kyrkegrim sits on the LychGate and overlooks them. 

At those who do not lay by their tools in good time he throws pebbles, crying to each, _"Skynde dig!"_ (Make haste!), and so drives themin. And when the bells begin, should any man fail to bow to the churchas the custom is, the Kyrkegrim snatches his hat from behind, and hesees it no more. 

Nothing displeases the Kyrkegrim more than when people fall asleepduring the sermon. This will be seen in the following story. 

Once upon a time there was a certain country church, which was served bya very mild and excellent priest, and haunted by a most activeKyrkegrim. 

Not a speck of dust was to be seen from the altar to the porch, and thebehavior of the congregation was beyond reproach. 

But there was one fat farmer who slept during the sermon, and do whatthe Kyrkegrim would, he could not keep him awake. Again and again did hepinch him, nudge him, or let in a cold draught of wind upon his neck. The fat farmer shook himself, pulled up his neck-kerchief, and dozed offagain. 

"Doubtless the fault is in my sermons, " said the priest, when theKyrkegrim complained to him. For he was humble-minded. 

But the Kyrkegrim knew that this was not the case, for there was nobetter preacher in all the district. 

And yet when he overheard the farmer's sharp-tongued little wife speakof this and that in the discourse, he began to think it might be so. Nodoubt the preacher spoke somewhat fast or slow, a little too loud or toosoft. And he was not "stirring" enough, said the farmer's wife; afailing which no one had ever laid at her door. 

"His soul is in my charge, " sighed the good priest, "and I cannot evenmake him hear what I have got to say. A heavy reckoning will be demandedof me!"

"The sermons are in fault, beyond a doubt, " the Kyrkegrim said. "Thefarmer's wife is quite right. She's a sensible woman, and can use a mopas well as myself. "

"Hoot, hoot!" cried the church owl, pushing his head out of theivy-bush. "And shall she be Kyrkegrim when thou art turned preacher, andthe preacher sits on the judgment seat? Not so, little Miss! Dust thouthe pulpit, and leave the parson to preach, and let the Maker of soulsreckon with them. "

"If the preacher cannot keep the people awake, it is time that anothertook his place, " said the Kyrkegrim. 

"He is not bound to find ears as well as arguments, " retorted the owl, and he drew back into his ivy-bush. 

But the Kyrkegrim settled his red cap firmly on his head, and betookhimself to the priest, whose meekness (as is apt to be the case)encouraged the opposite qualities in those with whom he had to do. 

"The farmer must be roused somehow, " said he. "It is a disgrace to usall, and what, in all the hundreds of years I have been Kyrkegrim, neverbefell me before. It will be well if next Sunday you preach a stirringsermon on some very important subject. "

So the preacher preached on Sin--fair of flower, and bitter offruit!--and as he preached his own cheeks grew pale for other men'sperils, and the Kyrkegrim trembled as he sat listening in the porch, though he had no soul to lose. 

"Was that stirring enough?" he asked, twitching the sleeve of thefarmer's wife as she flounced out after service. 

"Splendid!" said she, "and must have hit some folk pretty hard too. "

"It kept your husband awake this time, I should think, " said theKyrkegrim. 

"Heighty teighty!" cried the farmer's wife. "I'd have you to know mygood man is as decent a body as any in the parish, if he does take a napon Sundays! He is no sinner if he is no saint, thank Heaven, and theparson knows better than to preach at him. "

"Next Sunday, " said the Kyrkegrim to the priest, "preach about somethingwhich concerns every one; respectable people as well as others. "

So the preacher preached of Death--whom tears cannot move, nor richesbribe, nor power defy. The uncertain interruption and the only certainend of all life's labors! And as he preached, the women sitting in theirseats wept for the dead whose graves they had been tending, and down theaged cheeks of the Kyrkegrim there stole tears of pity for poor men, whose love and labors are cut short so soon. 

But the farmer slept as before. 

"Do you not expect to die?" asked the Kyrkegrim. 

"Surely, " replied the farmer, "we must all die some day, and one doesnot need a preacher to tell him that. But it was a funeral sermon, mywife thinks. There has been bereavement in the miller's family. "

"Men are a strange race, " thought the Kyrkegrim; but he went to thepriest and said--"The farmer is not afraid of death. You must find somesubject of which men really stand in awe. "

So when Sunday came round again, the preacher preached of judgment--thatdread Avenger who dogs the footsteps of trespass, even now! That awfulharvest of whirlwind and corruption which they must reap who sow to thewind and to the flesh! Lightly regarded, but biding its time, till aman's forgotten follies find him out at last. 

But the farmer slept on. He did not wake when the preacher spoke ofjudgment to come, the reckoning that cannot be shunned, the trump of theArchangel, and the Day of Doom. 

"On Michaelmas Day I shall preach myself, " said the Kyrkegrim, "and if Icannot rouse him, I shall give up my charge here. "

This troubled the poor priest, for so good a Kyrkegrim was not likely tobe found again. 

Nevertheless he consented, for he was very meek, and when Michaelmas Daycame the Kyrkegrim pulled a preacher's gown over his homespun coat, andlaid his round hat on the desk by the iron-clamped Bible, and began hissermon. 

"I shall give no text, " said he, "but when I have said what seems goodto me, it is for those who hear to see if the Scriptures bear me out. "

This was an uncommon beginning, and most of the good folk pricked theirears, the farmer among them, for novelty is agreeable in church aselsewhere. 

"I speak, " said the Kyrkegrim, "of that which is the last result of sin, the worst of deaths, and the beginning of judgment--hardness of heart. "

The farmer looked a little uncomfortable, and the Kyrkegrim went bravelyon. 

"Let us seek examples in Scripture. We will speak of Pharaoh. "

But when the Kyrkegrim spoke of Pharaoh the farmer was at ease again. And by-and-bye a film stole gently before his eyes, and he nodded in hisseat. 

This made the Kyrkegrim very angry, for he did not wish to give up hisplace, and yet a Niss may not break his word. 

"Let us look at the punishment of Pharaoh, " he cried. But the farmer'seyes were still closed and the Kyrkegrim became agitated, and turnedhastily over the leaves of the iron-clamped Bible before him. 

"We will speak of the plagues, " said he. "The plague of blood, theplague of frogs, the plague of lice, the plague of flies--"

At this moment the farmer snored. 

For a brief instant, anger and dismay kept the Kyrkegrim silent. Thenshutting the iron clamps he pushed the Book on one side, and scramblingon to a stool, stretched his little body well over the desk, and said, "But these flies were as nothing to the fly that is coming in theturnip-crop!"

The words were hardly out of his mouth when the farmer sat suddenlyupright, and half rising from his place, cried anxiously, "Eh, what sir?What does he say, wife? A new fly among the turnips?"

"Ah, soul of clay!" yelled the indignant Kyrkegrim, as he hurled hisround hat at the gaping farmer. "Is it indeed for such as thee thatEternal Life is kept in store?"

And drawing the preacher's gown over his head, he left it in the pulpit, and scrambling down the steps hastened out of church. 

 * * * * *

As he had been successful in rousing the sleepy farmer the Kyrkegrim didnot abandon his duties; but it is said that thenceforward he kept tothem alone, and left heavier responsibilities in higher hands. 

 * * * * *