Joyce Morrell's Harvest Part 5

Well! _Milly_ saith nought never happens in this house. Lack-a-daisy!

but I would fain it were so!

One may love one's friends, and must one's enemies, _Father_ saith. But how should one feel towards them that be nowise enemies, for they mean right kindly, and yet not friends, seeing they make your life a burden unto you?

Now, all our lives have I known Master _Lewthwaite_, of _Mere Lea_, and Mistress _Lewthwaite_ his wife, and their lads and la.s.ses, _Nym, Jack_, and _Robin_, and _Alice_ and _Blanche_. Many a game at hunt the slipper and blind man's buff have we had at _Mere Lea_, and I would have said yet may, had not a thing happed this morrow which I would right fain should ne'er have happened while the world stood.

What in all this world should have made _Nym_ so to do cannot I so much as conceive. He might have found a deal fairer la.s.ses. Why, our _Milly_ and _Edith_ are ever so much better-favoured. But to want me!-- nor only that, but to come with so pitiful a tale, that he should go straight to ruin an' I would not wed with him; that I was the only maid in all the world that should serve against the same; and that if I refused, all his sins thereafter should be laid at my door! Heard any ever the like?

And I have no list to wed with _Nym_. I like him--as a dozen other lads: but that is all. And meseems that before I could think to leave _Father_ and _Mother_ and all, and go away with a man for all my life, he must be as the whole world to me, or I could never do it. I cannot think what _Nym_ would be at. And he saith it shall be my blame and my sin, if I do it not. _Must_ I wed _Nym Lewthwaite_?

I sat and pondered drearily o'er my trouble for a season, and then went to look for Aunt _Joyce_, whom I found in the long gallery, at her sewing in a window.

"Well, _Nell_, what hast ado, maid?" saith she.

"Pray you, Aunt _Joyce_, tell me a thing," said I.

"That will I, with a very good will, my maid," saith she.

"Aunt _Joyce_, if a man were to come to you and entreat you to wed with him, by reason that he could not (should he say) keep in the right way without you did help him, and that, you refusing, you should be blameworthy of all his after sins--what should you say to him?"

I listened right earnestly for her answer. I was woeful 'feared she should say, "Wed with him, _Nell_, for sure, and thus save him."

"Say?" quoth Aunt _Joyce_, looking up, with (it seemed me) somewhat like laughter in her eyes. "Fetch him a good buffet of his ear, forsooth, and ask at him by what right he called himself a man."

"Then you should not think you bound to save him, _Aunt_?"

"Poor weak creature! Not I," saith Aunt _Joyce_. "But whatso, Nell?

Hast had any such a simpleton at thee?"

"_Aunt_," said I, "'tis _Nym Lewthwaite_, who saith an' I wed him not, he shall go straight to ruin, and that I must answer unto G.o.d for all his sins if so be."

"Ask him where he found that in the Bible," saith Aunt _Joyce_. "Take no thought about him, _Nell_. Trust me, if a man cannot keep straight without thee, he will not keep straight with thee. Poor limping soul!

to come halting up and plead with a weak woman to leave him put his hand on her shoulder, to help him o'er the stones! 'Carry me, prithee, good Mistress, o'er this rough place.' Use thine own two legs, would I say to him, and be ashamed of thy meanness. And I dare be sworn he calls himself one of the n.o.bler s.e.x," ends Aunt _Joyce_ with a snort of scorn.

"O _Aunt_, I am so thankful you see it thus!" said I, drawing a long breath. "I was so afeard you should bid me do as _Nym_ would."

"Nay, not this while," quoth she, of her dry fas.h.i.+on. "When we lack stuff for to mend the foul roads, _Nell_, we'll find somewhat fitter to break up than thee. If young _Lewthwaite_ harry thee again, send him to me. He'll not want to see me twice, I'll warrant."

"I was 'feared I was wicked to shrink from it, _Aunt_," I made answer.

"_Nym_ said so. He said 'twas all self-loving and seeking of mine ease that alone did make me for to hesitate; and that if I had loved G.o.d and my neighbour better than myself, I would have strake hands with him at once. And I was 'feared lest it should be true."

"Ay, it is none so difficult to paint black white," saith Aunt _Joyce_.

"'Tis alway the self-lovers that cry out upon the unkindliness of other folks. And thou art one of them, _Nell_, my maid, that be p.r.o.ne to reckon that must needs be right which goes against the grain. There be that make self-denial run of all fours in that fas.h.i.+on. They think duty and pleasure must needs be enemies. Why, child, they are the best friends in the world. Only _Duty_ is the elder sister, and is jealous to be put first. Run thou after _Duty_, and see if _Pleasure_ come not running after thee to beseech thee of better acquaintance. But run after _Pleasure_, and she'll fly thee. She's a rare bashful one."

"Then you count it not wrong that one should desire to be happy, _Aunt_?"

"The Lord seems not to count it so, _Nell_. He had scarce, methinks, told us so much touching the happiness of Heaven, had He meant us to think it ill to be happy. But remember, maid, she that findeth her happiness in G.o.d hath it alway ready to her hand; while she that findeth her happiness in this world must wait till it come to seek her."

"I would I were as good as _Father_!" said I; and I believe I fetched a sigh.

"Go a little higher, _Nell_, while thou art a-climbing," quoth Aunt _Joyce_. "'I would I were as good as _Christ_.'"

"Eh, _Aunt_, but who could?" said I.

"None," she made answer. "But, _Nell_, he that shoots up into the sky is more like to rise than he that aims at a holly-bush."

"Methinks _Father_ is higher than I am ever like to get," said I.

"And if thou overtop him," she made answer, "all shall see it but thyself. Climb on, _Nell_. Thou wilt not grow giddy so long as thine eyes be turned above."

I am so glad that Aunt _Joyce_ seeth thus touching _Nym_!

SELWICK HALL, OCTOBER YE II.

There goeth my first two pence for a blank week. In good sooth, I have been in ill case to write. This weary _Nym_ would in no wise leave me be, but went to _Anstace_ and _Hal_, and gat their instance [persuaded them to intercede] unto _Father_ and _Mother_. Which did send for me, and would know at me if I list to wed with _Nym_ or no. And verily, so bashful am I, and afeared to speak when I am took on the sudden thus, that I count they gat not much of me, but were something troubled to make out what I would be at. Nor wis I what should have befallen (not for that _Father_ nor _Mother_ were ever so little hard unto me, good lack! but only that I was stupid), had not Aunt _Joyce_ come in, who no sooner saw how matters stood than she up and spake for me.

"Now, _Aubrey_ and _Lettice_," saith she, "both of you, fall a-catechising me in the stead of _Nell_. The maid hath no list to wed with _Nym Lewthwaite_, and hath told me so much aforetime. Leave her be, and send him away the other side of _Jericho_, where he belongs, and let him, an' he list, fetch back a _Syrian_ maiden with a horn o'er her forehead and a ring of her nose."

"Wherefore didst thou not tell us so much, _Nell_, my la.s.s?" saith _Father_ right kindlily, laying of his hand on my shoulder.

But in the stead of answering him thankfully, as a dutiful daughter should, what did I but burst forth o' crying, as though he had been angered with me: yea, nor might I stop the same, but went on, truly I knew not wherefore, till _Mother_ came up and put her arms around me, and hushed me as she wont to do when I was a little child.

"The poor child is o'erwrought," quoth she, tenderly. "Let us leave her be, _Aubrey_, till she calms down.--There, come to me and have it out, my _Nelly_, and none shall trouble thee, trust me."

Lack-a-daisy! I sobbed all the harder for a season, but in time I calmed down, as _Mother_ says, and when so were, I prayed her of pardon for that I could be so foolish.

"Nay, my la.s.s," saith she, "we be made of body and soul, and either comes uppermost at times. 'Tis no good trying to live with one, which so it be."

"Ah, the old monks made that blunder," saith _Father_, "and thought they could live with souls only, or well-nigh so. And there be scores of other that essay to live with nought but bodies. A man that starves his body is ill off, but a man that starves his soul is yet worser. No is it thus, _Mynheer_?"

Mynheer van _Stuyvesant_ had come in while _Father_ was a-speaking.

"Ah!" saith he, "there be in my country certain called _Mennonites_, that do starve their natures of yonder fas.h.i.+on."

"Which half of them,--body or soul?" saith _Father_.

"Nay, I would say both two," he makes answer. "They run right to the further end of every matter. Because they read in their Bibles that 'in the mult.i.tude of words there wanteth not sin,' therefore they do forbid all speech that is not of very necessity,--even a word more than needful is sin in their eyes. If you shall say, 'Sit you down in that chair to your comfort,' there are eight words more than you need. You see?-- there are eight sins. 'Sit' were enough. So, one mouthful more bread than you need--no, no!--that is a sin. One drop of syrup to your bread--not at all! You could eat your bread without syrup. All that is joyous, all that is comfortable, all that you like to do--all so many sins. Those are the _Mennonites_."

"What sinful men they must be!" saith _Father_.

"Good lack, Master _Stuyvesant_, but think you all those folks tarried in _Holland_?" saith Aunt _Joyce_. "Marry, I could count you a round dozen I have met in this country. And they _be_ trying, I warrant you.

My fingers have itched to shake them ere now."

"How do they serve them when they would get them wed?" saith _Father_.

"Quoth Master _John_ to Mistress _Bess_, 'Wed me' and no more?--and saith she, 'Ay' and no more? A kiss, I ween, shall be a sin, for 'tis no wise necessary."

I could not help to laugh, and so did Aunt _Joyce_ and _Mother_.

"Wed!" makes answer _Mynheer_, "the _Mennonites_ wed? Why, 'tis the biggest of all their sins, the wedding."