Chapter Forty Two.

What they found at the King’s Head.

Mr Ewring had stayed at the gate, guessing that Dorothy would not be long in fulfilling her errand. He cast the reins on the neck of his old bay horse, and allowed it to crop the grass while he waited. Many a short prayer for the success of the journey went up as he sat there. At last the gate was opened, and a boy of seven years old bounded out of it and ran up to the cart.

“Master Ewring, is that you? I’m glad to see you. We’re all coming. Is that old Tim?”

“That’s old Tim, be sure,” said the miller. “Pat him, Will, and then give me your hand and make a long jump.”

Will obeyed, just as the gate opened again, and Dorothy came out of it with the two little girls. Little Nell—no longer Baby—could walk now, and chatter too, though few except Cissy understood what she said. She talked away in a very lively manner, until Dorothy lifted her into the cart, when the sight of Mr Ewring seemed to exert a paralysing effect upon her, nor was she reassured at once by his smile.

“Dear heart, but it ’ll be a close fit!” said Dorothy. “How be we to pack ourselves?”

“Cissy must sit betwixt us,” answered the miller; “she’s not quite so fat as a sack of flour. Take the little one on your knees, Dorothy; and Will shall come in front of me, and take his first lesson in driving Tim.”

They settled themselves accordingly, Will being highly delighted at his promotion.

“Well, I reckon you are not sorry to be forth of that place?” suggested Mr Ewring.

“Oh, so glad!” said Cissy, under her breath.

“And how hath Will stood out?” was the next question, which produced profound silence for a few seconds. Then Will broke forth.

“I haven’t, Master Ewring—at least, it’s Cissy’s doing, and she’s had hard work to make me stick. I should have given up ever so many times if she’d have let me. I didn’t think I could stand it much longer, and it was only last night I told her so, and she begged and prayed me to hold on.”

“That’s an honest lad,” said Mr Ewring.

“And that’s a dear maid,” added Dorothy.

“Then Cissy stood out, did she?”

“Cissy! eh, they’d never have got her to kneel down to their ugly images, not if they’d cut her head off for it. She’s just like a stone wall. Nell did, till Cissy got hold of her and told her not; but she didn’t know what it meant, so I hope it wasn’t wicked. You see, she’s so little, and she forgets what is said to her.”

“Ay, ay; poor little dear!” said Dorothy. “And what did they to you, my poor dears, when you wouldn’t?”

“Oh, lots of things,” said Will. “Beat us sometimes, and shut us in dark cupboards, and sent us to bed without supper. One night they made Cissy—”

“Never mind, Will,” said Cissy blushing.

“But they’d better know,” said Will stoutly. “They made Cissy kneel all night on the floor of the dormitory, tied to a bed-post. They said if she wouldn’t kneel to the saint, she should kneel without it. And Sister Mary asked her how she liked saying her prayers to the moon.”

“Cruel, hard-hearted wretches!” exclaimed Dorothy.

“Then they used to keep us several hours without anything to eat, and at the end of it they would hold out something uncommon good, and just when we were going to take it they’d snatch it away.”

“I’ll tell you what, if I had known that a bit sooner, they’d have had a piece of my mind,” said Dorothy.

“With some thorns on it, I guess,” commented the miller.

“Eh, dear, but I marvel if I could have kept my fingers off ’em! And they beat thee, Will?”

“Hard,” said Will.

“And thee, Cissy?”

“Yes—sometimes,” said Cissy quietly. “But I did not care for that, if they’d have left alone harassing Will. You see, he’s younger than me, and he doesn’t remember Father as well. If there hadn’t been any right and wrong about it, I could not have done what would vex Father.”

Tim trotted on for a while, and Will was deeply interested in his driving lesson. About a mile from Colchester, Mr Ewring rather suddenly pulled up.

“Love! is that you?” he said.

John Love, who was partly hidden by some bushes, came out and showed himself.

“Ay, and I well-nigh marvel it is either you or me,” said he significantly.

“Truly, you may say so. I believe we were aforetime the best noted ‘heretics’ in all Colchester. And yet here we be, on the further side of these five bitter years, left to rejoice together.”

“Love, I would your Agnes would look in on me a time or two,” said Dorothy. “I have proper little wit touching babes, and she might help me to a thing or twain.”

“You’ll have as much as the nuns, shouldn’t marvel,” said Love, smiling. “But I’ll bid Agnes look in. You’re about to care for the little ones, then?”

“Ay, till they get better care,” said Dorothy, simply.

“You’ll win the Lord’s blessing with them. Good den! By the way, have you heard that Jack Thurston’s still Staunch?”

“Is he so? I’m right glad.”

“Ay, they say—Bartle it was told a neighbour of mine—he’s held firm till the priests were fair astonied at him; they thought they’d have brought him round, and that was why they never burned him. He’ll come forth now, I guess.”

“Not a doubt of it. There shall be some right happy deliverances all over the realm, and many an happy meeting,” said Mr Ewring, with a faint sigh at the thought that no such blessedness was in store for him, until he should reach the gate of the Celestial City. “Good den, Jack.”

They drove in at the North Gate, down Balcon Lane, with a passing greeting to Amy Clere, who was taking down mantles at the shop door, and whose whole face lighted up at the sight, and turned through the great archway into the courtyard of the King’s Head. The cat came out to meet them, with arched back and erect tail, and began to mew and rub herself against Dorothy, having evidently some deeply interesting communication to make in cat language; but what it was they could not even guess until they reached the kitchen.

“Sure,” said Dorothy, “there’s somebody here beside Barbara. Run in, my dears,” she added to the children. “Methinks there must be company in the kitchen, and if Bab be all alone to cook and serve for a dozen, she’ll be fain to see me returned. Tell her I’m come, and will be there in a minute, only I’d fain not wake the babe, for she’s weary with unwonted sights.”

Little Helen had fallen asleep in Dorothy’s arms. Cissy and Will went forward into the kitchen. Barbara was there, but instead of company, only one person was seated in the big carved chair before the fire, furnished with red cushions. That was the only sort of easy chair then known.

“Ah, here they are!” said an unexpected voice. “The Lord be praised! I’ve all my family safe at last.”

Dorothy, coming in with little Helen, nearly dropped her in astonished delight.

“Mistress Wade!” cried Mr Ewring, following her. “Truly, you are a pleasant sight, and I am full fain to welcome you back. I trusted we should so do ere long, but I looked not to behold you thus soon.”

“Well, and you are a pleasant sight, Master Ewring, to her eyes that for fourteen months hath seen little beside the sea-coals (Note 1) in the Bishop of London’s coalhouse. That’s where he sets his prisoners that be principally (note 2) lodged, and he was pleased to account of me as a great woman,” said Mrs Wade, cheerily. “But we have right good cause to praise God, every one; and next after that to give some thanks to each other. I’ve heard much news from Bab, touching many folks and things, and thee not least, Doll. Trust me, I never guessed into how faithful hands all my goods should fall, nor how thou shouldst keep matters going as well as if I had been here mine own self. Thou shalt find in time to come that I know a true friend and an honest servant, and account of her as much worth. So you are to be my children now and henceforth?—only I hear, Master Ewring, you mean to share the little lad with me. That’s right good. What hast thou to say, little Cicely?”

“Please, Mistress Wade, I think God has taken good care of us, and I only hope He’s told Father.”

“Dear child, thy father shall lack no telling,” said Mr Ewring. “He is where no shade of mistrust can come betwixt him and God, and he knows with certainty, as the angels do, that all shall be well with you for ever.”

Cissy looked up. “Please, may we sing the hymn Rose did, when she was taken down to the dungeon?”

“Sing, my child, and we will join thee.”

“Praise God, from whom all blessings flow,
Praise Him, all creatures here below;
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host,
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!”

“Dear heart! but that’s sweet!” said Dorothy, wiping her eyes.

“Truth! but they sing it better there,” responded Mr Ewring softly.

Note 1. Coals.—all coal then came to London by sea.

Note 2. Principally: handsomely.

The End.