CHAPTER FOUR.
ON THE WAY TO THORPE.
"Please, we're come," said Cissy. "We've been a good while gettinghere, but we--Oh, it isn't you!"
"What isn't me?" said Rose, laughing--for people said _me_ where itshould have been I, then, as they do still. "I rather think it is me;don't you?"
"Yes, but you are not she that spake to us on the road," said Cissy."Somebody told us to call here as we went down the lane, and herdaughter should go home with us, and help us to carry the big jar.Perhaps you're the daughter?"
"Well, I guess I am," answered Rose. "Where's home?"
"It's at the further end of Thorpe."
"All right. Come in and rest you, and I'll fetch a sup of something todo you good, poor little white faces."
Rose took a hand of each and led them forward.
"Mother, here be two bits of Maypoles," said she, "for they be scarcefatter; and two handfuls of snow, for they be scarce rosier--that sayyou promised them that I should go home with them and bear their jar ofmeal."
"So I did, Rose. Bring them in, and let them warm themselves," answeredMrs Mount. "Give them a sup of broth or what we have, to put a bit oflife in them; and at after thou shalt bear them company to Thorpe. Poorlittle souls! they have no mother, and they say God looks after themonly."
"Then I shall be in His company too," said Rose softly. Then, droppingher voice that the children might not hear, she added, "Mother, there'sonly that drop of broth you set aside for breakfast; and it's scarceenough for you and father both. Must I give them that?"
Alice Mount thought a moment. She had spoken before almost withoutthinking.
"Daughter," she said, "if their Father, which is also ours, had comewith them visible to our eyes, we should bring forth our best for Him;and He will look for us to do it for the little ones whose angels seeHis Face. Ay, fetch the broth, Rose."
Perhaps Cissy had overheard a few words, for wheel the bowl of broth wasput into her hands, she said, "Can you spare it? Didn't you want it forsomething else than us?"
"We can spare it, little maid," said Alice, with a smile.
"Sup it up," added Rose, laying her hand on the child's shoulder; "andmuch good may it do thee! Then, when you are both warmed and rested,I'll set forth with you."
Cissy did not allow that to be long. She drank her broth, admonishedWill by a look to finish his--for he was disposed to loiter,--and aftersitting still for a few minutes, rose and put down the bowl.
"We return you many thanks," she said in her prim little way, "and Ithink, if you please, we ought to go home. Father 'll be back by thetime we get there; and I don't like to be away when he comes. Motherbade me not. She said he'd miss her worse if he didn't find me. Yousee, I've got to do for Mother now, both for Father and the children."
Alice Mount thought it very funny to hear this little mite talking about"the children," as if she were not a child at all.
"Well, tarry a minute till I tie on my hood," said Rose. "I'll be readybefore you can say, `This is the house that Jack built.'"
"What do you with the babe, little maid, when you go forth?" askedAlice.
"Baby?" said Cissy, looking up. "Oh, we leave her with Ursula Felstede,next door. She's quite safe till we come back."
Rose now came in from the inner room, where she had been putting on herhood and mantle. There were no bonnets then. What women called bonnetsin those days were close thick hoods, made of silk, velvet, fur, orwoollen stuff of some sort. Nor had they either shawls or jackets--onlyloose mantles, for out-door wear. Rose took up the jar of meal.
"Please, I can carry it on one side," said Cissy rather eagerly.
"Thou mayest carry thyself," said Rose. "That's plenty. I haven'twalked five miles to-day. I'm a bit stronger than thou, too."
Little Will had not needed telling that he was no longer wanted to carrythe jar; he was already off after wild flowers, as if the past fivemiles had been as many yards, though he had assured Cissy at least adozen times as they came along that he did not know how he was ever toget home, and as they were entering Bentley had declared himself unableto take another step. Cissy shook her small head with the air of aprophetess.
"Will shouldn't say such things!" said she. "He said he couldn't walk abit further--that I should have to carry him as well as the jar--and Idon't know how I could, unless I'd poured the meal out and put him in,and he'd never have gone, I'm sure; and now, do but look at him afterthose buttercups!"
"He didn't mean to tell falsehoods," said Rose. "He was tired, I daresay. Lads will be lads, thou knowest."
"Oh dear, I don't know how I'm to bring up these children to be goodpeople!" said Cissy, as gravely as if she had been their grandmother."Ursula says children are great troubles, and I'm sure it's true. Ifthere's any place where Will should be, that's just where he alwaysisn't; and if there's one spot where he shouldn't be, that's the placewhere you commonly find him. Baby can't walk yet, so she's safe; butwhatever I shall do when she can, I'm sure I don't know! I can't be inall the places at once where two of them shouldn't be."
Rose could not help laughing.
"Little maid," she said kindly, "thy small shoulders will never hold theworld, nor even thy father's cottage. Hast thou forgot what thou saidstnot an half-hour gone, that God takes care of you all?"
"Oh yes, He takes big care of us," was Cissy's answer. "He'll see thatwe have meat and clothes and so forth, and that Father gets work. ButHe'll hardly keep Will and Baby out of mischief, will He? Isn't thattoo little for Him?"
"The whole world is but a speck, little Cicely, compared with Him. IfHe will humble Himself to see thee and me at all, I reckon He is as liketo keep Will out of mischief as to keep him alive. It is the verygreatness of God that _He_ can attend to all the little things in theworld at once. They are all little things to Him. Hast thou not heardthat the Lord Jesus said the very hairs of our heads be numbered?"
"Yea, Sir Thomas read that one eve at Ursula's."
Sir Thomas Tye was the Vicar of Much Bentley.
"Well," said Rose, "and isn't it of more importance to make Will a goodlad than to know how many hairs he's got on his head? Wouldn't thyfather think so?"
"For sure he would," said Cissy earnestly.
"And isn't God thy Father?"
Just as Rose asked that, a tall, dark figure turned out of a lane theywere passing, and joined them. It was growing dusk, but Rose recognisedthe Vicar of whom they had just been speaking. Most priests were called"Sir" in those days.
"Christ bless you, my children!" said the Vicar.
Both Rose and Cissy made low courtesies, for great respect was then paidto a clergyman. They called them priests, for very few could read theBible, which tells us that the only priest is our Lord Jesus Christ. Apriest does not mean the same thing as a clergyman, though too manypeople thoughtlessly speak as if it did. A priest is a man who offers asacrifice of some living thing to God. So, as Jesus Christ, who offeredHimself, is our sacrifice, and there can never be any other, therecannot be any priests now. There are a great many texts which tell usthis, but I will only mention one, which you can look out in your Biblesand learn by heart: the tenth verse of the tenth chapter of the Epistleto the Hebrews. It is easy to remember two tens.
Cissy was a little frightened when she saw that Sir Thomas walked onwith them; but Rose marched on as if she did not care whether he came ornot. For about a year after Queen Mary's accession Sir Thomas had comepretty regularly to the prayer-meetings which were held sometimes at theBlue Bell, and sometimes at Ursula Felstede's at Thorpe, and alsosometimes at John Love's on the Heath. He often read the Bible to them,and gave them little sermons, and seemed as kind and pleasant aspossible. But when Queen Mary had been about a year on the throne, andit could be plainly seen which way things were going--that is, that shewould try to bring back the Popish religion which her brother had castoff--Sir Thomas began to come less often. He found it too far to JohnLove's and to Thorpe;
and whenever the meeting was at the Blue Bell,which was only a few hundred yards from the Vicarage,--well, itcertainly was odd that Sir Thomas was always poorly on that night.Still, nobody liked to think that he was making believe; but Alice Mountsaid so openly, and Rose had heard her.