Chapter Thirty Three.
What they could.
A month had passed since the burning of the Canterbury martyrs. The Bishop of Dover had gone on a visit to London, and the land had rest in his absence. It may be noted here, since we shall see no more of him, that he did not long survive the event. He was stricken suddenly with palsy, as he stood watching a game at bowls on a Sunday afternoon, and was borne to his bed to die. The occupation wherein the “inevitable angel” found him, clearly shows what manner of man he was.
In Roger Hall’s parlour a little conclave was gathered for discussion of various subjects, consisting of the handful of Gospellers yet left in Staplehurst. Various questions had been considered, and dismissed as settled, and the conversation flagged for a few seconds, when Tabitha suddenly flung a new topic into the arena.
“Now, what’s to be done for that shiftless creature, Collet Pardue? Six lads and two lasses, and two babes of Sens Bradbridge’s, and fewer wits than lads, and not so many pence as lasses. Won’t serve to find ’em all dead in the gutter. So what’s to be done? Speak up, will you, and let’s hear.”
“I can’t speak on those lines, Tabitha,” replied her brother-in-law. “Collet is no wise shiftless, for she hath brought up her children in a good and godly fashion, the which a woman with fewer brains than lads should ne’er have done. But I verily assent with you that we should do something to help her. And first—who will take to Sens Bradbridge’s maids?”
“I will, if none else wants ’em. But they’ll not be pampered and stuffed with cates, and lie on down beds, and do nought, if they dwell with me. I shall learn ’em to fare hard and be useful, I can tell you.”
“Whether of the twain call you them syllabubs and custard pies as you set afore us when we supped last with you, Mistress Hall?” quietly asked Ursula Final. “Seemed to me I could put up with hard fare o’ that sort metely well.”