“So I go on, not knowing—
I would not, if I might.
I would rather walk in the dark with God
Than go alone in the light:
I would rather walk with Him by faith
Than go alone by sight.”
Philip Bliss.
(In Edith’s handwriting.)
Selwick Hall, March the xvii.
Helen’s birthday. She is this morrow of the age of seven-and-twenty years, being eldest of all us save Anstace. Alice Lewthwaite counts it mighty late to tarry unwed, but I do misdoubt of mine own mind if Helen ever shall wed with any.
From Father she had gift of a new prayer-book, with a chain to hang at her girdle: and from Mother a comely fan of ostrich feathers, with a mirror therein set; likewise with a silver chain to hang from the girdle. Aunt Joyce shut into her hand, in greeting of her, five gold Spanish ducats,—a handsome gift, by my troth! But ’tis ever Aunt Joyce’s way to make goodly gifts. My Lady Stafford did give a pair of blue sleeves, (Note 1) broidered in silver, whereon I have seen her working these weeks past. Mistress Martin, a pair of lovesome white silk stockings (Note 2). Sir Robert, a silver pouncet-box (a kind of vinaigrette) filled with scent. Anstace, a broidered girdle of black silk; and Hal, a comfit-box with a little gilt spoon. Milisent, two dozen of silver buttons; and I, a book of the Psalms, the which I wist Helen desired to have (cost me sixteen pence). Ned diverted us all by making her present of a popinjay (parrot), the which he brought with him, and did set in care of Faith Murthwaite till Nell’s birthday came. And either Faith or Ned had well trained the same, for no sooner came the green cover off his cage than up goeth his foot to his head, with—
“Good morrow, Mistress Nell, and much happiness to you!”
All we were mighty taken (amused) with this creature, and I count Ned had no cause to doubt if Helen were pleased or no. Last came Walter, which bare in his hand a right pretty box of walnut-wood, lined of red taffeta, and all manner of cunning divisions therein. Saith he—
“Helen, dear heart, I would fain have had a better gift to offer thee, but being in the conditions I am, I thought it not right for me to spend one penny even on a gift. Howbeit, I have not spared labour nor thought, and I trust thou wilt accept mine offering, valueless though it be, for in very deed it cometh with no lesser love than the rest.”
“Why, Wat, dear heart!” crieth Nell, her cheeks all flushing, “dost think that which cost money, should be to me so much as half the value of thine handiwork, that had cost thee thought and toil! Nay, verily! thou couldst have given me nought, hadst thou spent forty pound, that should have been more pleasant unto me. Trust me, thy box shall be one of my best treasures so long as I do live, and I give thee hearty thanks therefor.”
Walter looked right pleased, and saith he, “Well, in very deed I feared thou shouldst count it worth nought, for even the piece of taffeta to line the same I asked of Mother.”