“As easy in their minds, so far as looks went, as if it had been my Lord himself. Didn’t seem to care half a straw.”
“Sweet Saint Frideswide! I do hope they aren’t witches themselves,” whispered Isel in some perturbation.
To open one’s house for the reception of passing strangers was not an unusual thing in that day; but the danger of befriending—and yet more of offending—those who were in league with the Evil One, was an ever-present fear to the minds of men and women in the twelfth century.
The leader overheard the whisper.
“Good friends,” he said, addressing Isel, “suffer me to set your minds at rest with a word of explanation. We are strangers, mostly of Teutonic race, that have come over to this land on a mission of good and mercy. Indeed we are not witches, Jews, Saracens, nor any evil thing: only poor harmless peasants that will work for our bread and molest no man, if we may be suffered to abide in your good country for this purpose. This is my wife—” he laid his hand on the shoulder of the baby’s mother—“her name is Agnes, and she will soon learn your tongue. This is my young sister, whose name is Ermine; and my infant son is called Rudolph. Mine own name is Gerhardt, at your service. I am a weaver by trade, and shall be pleased to exercise my craft in your behalf, thus to return the kindness you have shown us.”
“Well, I want some new clothes ill enough, the saints know,” said Isel in answer; “and if you behave decent, and work well, and that, I don’t say as I might be altogether sorry for having taken you in. It’s right, I suppose, to help folks in trouble—though it’s little enough help I ever get that way, saints knows!—and I hope them that’s above ’ll bear it in mind when things come to be reckoned up like.”
That was Isel’s religion. It is the practical religion of a sadly large number of people in this professedly Christian land.
Agnes turned and spoke a few words in a low voice to her husband, who smiled in answer.
“My wife wishes me to thank you,” he said, “in her name and that of my sister, for your goodness in taking us strangers so generously into your home. She says that she can work hard, and will gladly do so, if, until she can speak your tongue, you will call her attention, and do for a moment what you wish her to do. Ermine says the same.”
“Well, that’s fair-spoken enough, I can’t deny,” responded Isel; “and I’m not like to say I shan’t be glad of a rest. There’s nought but hard work in this world, without it’s hard words: and which is the uglier of them I can’t say. It’ll be done one of these days, I reckon.”