A BAG OF GOLD.
The Pitsea Manor Farm was a dull place enough now, even though the beautiful sunshine made Nature look at her best on this September afternoon; but Mr. Fenn and his wife seemed to have no longer any heart left for joy, and they had settled that there was to be no harvest-home on the farm, for ever since the disappearance of their son the worthy couple could do nothing but mourn. They had indeed gone through terrible sorrow, and their only comfort had been the long talks Mr. Aylett had had with them, and his firm belief that Harry had not run away, as the lad said he had once thought of doing, but that he had in truth been kidnapped.
Mr. Aylett, being the brother of a rich squire, had powerful friends, and he had done all in his power to find out news of Harry; but in those days news travelled but slowly; and though much was guessed, the truth had never been exactly ascertained.
At this moment Mr. Aylett was seen by the worthy Fenns to be walking towards the farm, and very soon he was sitting by the sad-looking yeoman in the great farm-hall, beginning as usual to talk of Harry.
'I've told the men I'll have naught to do with a harvest-home,' said Mr. Fenn, decidedly. 'I'll give them money for the feast, and they may go and dance their round reels on the green; but, now my poor boy is dead, I care not for sounds of music, and joy does but make me dizzy.'
'And yet the Bible tells us to "rejoice always," good neighbour,' said Mr. Aylett. 'Is it right to deprive others of joy when God has taken ours from us? Is not this somewhat selfish grief, and displeasing to God?'
'It is my whim, Mr. Aylett. I cannot feel like Job, for when I see the lads a-merrymaking I think of my poor Harry's goodly countenance, and my heart seems like to break.'
'The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away,' said Mrs. Fenn gently--'so I tell Mr. Fenn; but such an ado I have to be a-comforting him that sometimes I forget my own sore grief. It's a wonder I ever lived through that time; and now when I sit in a quiet coigne I fancy I'm another woman and in truth not Harry's mother. At this harvest-time I think of the new doublet I had always ready for him, and how handsome he looked. Lack-a-day!'
'Tut, tut, woman!' said her husband, who liked to think his grief was the greatest, 'the lad was more to me than to thee. You know how he would follow me about when he could but just toddle. Ay, ay, Mr. Aylett, you too know what he was like. It was a sight to see him riding about the farm; and now there's no one of my name as will inherit this place. And as for my cousin who has an eye to the place, i' faith he's but a poor creature--ay, a paltry ass.'
'The Lord can bring back your boy,' said the clergyman, with a quiet assurance that appeared to be galling to the yeoman.