Goody Parsons, too, had long since slipped away, although she had lived to see her dearest wish fulfilled as she watched the climbing rose cover the whole grey wall of her cottage. She had told Margeret, the day before she went, that she would be glad to be in Heaven, for she knew that it was “as like her own loved Hertfordshire as the dear Lord would permit.” Samuel Skerry had vanished, no man knew whither, nor how he had carried away the great locked chest that tradition said held his wealth. Roger Bardwell had always declared that once as he was walking through the narrow street of a Dutch seaport town, he had seen the shoemaker’s dark face peer out at him through a window. There was a certain sea captain, also, who claimed to have knowledge of where Skerry was to be found, so it was through him that Roger Bardwell sent the purchase money when he bought the shoemaker’s abandoned fields and widened the bounds of Master Simon’s garden. Beyond this, Hopewell heard no real news of the vanished cobbler, although the people of the village talked of him still and wondered as to which of the various terrible punishments that he deserved had overtaken him at last.
As Alisoun and Gilbert walked up to the house together a little later, they observed that Stephen had settled down to what was, for him, a very quiet game. It required a great deal of running to and fro and much laughter, but its activities were confined to the stretch of lawn nearest the big pine tree.
“They seem to be at something new,” said Gilbert, as he turned toward the gate, for an errand called him to Hopewell; “where did they learn to play that game?”
“I believe Amos Bardwell taught it to Stephen when he was here last month,” replied Alisoun. “What a gay time he and Stephen always have together, and how hard it is for them to part! I wish that Amos and his father did not bide in England.”
“A sailor like Amos hardly abides anywhere,” smiled Gilbert. “He and I have scarcely met for years, since, when one of us is not at sea, the other is. And you must remember that it is only through Amos and his father’s having become citizens of England and not of Massachusetts, that we are able to keep even a part of our vessels upon the sea.”
The foreign trade that Roger Bardwell had brought to such success had begun, latterly, to be much hampered by laws of England that bore heavily upon Colonial shipping. They must not carry certain commodities, they must not trade in other than British ports, since the merchants of England had become suddenly aware that the bold sailors from across the sea were beginning to take their profits from them. That was not to be endured for a moment! Therefore Amos’ father, Alisoun’s brother, had gone to live in London, and to manage as English owner such of Roger Bardwell’s ships as it was still worth while to send to sea. Gilbert Sheffield had in charge the smaller vessels that traded with the other Colonies, Virginia, New York, and the Carolinas. Alisoun often wondered what her father would have said had he known of these restricting laws and had he seen his dearly-loved ships lying idle in the harbour of Hopewell. But of such troubled matters Roger Bardwell had never dreamed when he had laid down the burden of his labours seven years before.
Gilbert hurried away up the lane and Alisoun walked back alone and entered the house. Stephen, she observed as she passed, was having much difficulty in teaching the new game to his sisters and the three neighbour’s children. Some of his pupils were apt and some were not, while five-year-old Peter from across the way was always singing loudly the wrong words and trailing behind when he should have been marching ahead. Alisoun, as she closed the door, could hear their gay cries and laughing calls to one another.
“Hurry, Stephen, hurry, it is your turn!”
“No, Elizabeth, it is yours. Stand up and make Peter come into the row. Now, throw down your hats and begin again.”
Then the irregular procession would form once more, marching with measured tread and to music sung by voices some loud and tuneful, some very uncertain and squeaky: