Loveday's history

by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

"I had traded with them before now, and could speak their language, after a fashion," continued my cousin Garrett. "I had once been able to do some service to a merchant of Tripoli, and I thought if I could get speech of him, he might do me a good turn. At last, after long waiting, I succeeded in sending him word, and in a few days I found myself in his house and treated with all kindness. He found means for me to go to Smyrna, and from thence the way home was easy."

"It was well you fell into the hands of the Moors, and not into the claws of the Inquisition," said my uncle. "Strange that one should find better treatment at the hands of heathens and infidels than of those who call themselves Christians."

"We may find those same claws clutching at our throats even here, and that before we know it," observed Garrett. "I can tell you, father, I like not the signs of the times. But will you walk to the warehouse with me, and I will see that our fair cousin here hath her finery sent home safely."

"'Tis but little finery the poor maid hath brought with her," answered my uncle, smiling. "Our flight was too secret and sudden for that. But I will walk with you, and we will leave the women to gossip to their heart's content."

"As if they would not gossip worse than any women when they get two or three together," said Avice, laughing. "But sit you down, and rest, Loveday. I will but give some orders, and be with you again directly."

She set an arm-chair for me as she spoke, and I was not sorry to be left alone a few minutes, for my head was fairly whirling.

The room where I sat was wide and high, handsomer than any in Suffolk house, and fairly crowded with carved and inlaid cabinets, damask-covered chairs and little tables. The projecting window was partly veiled by broad white curtains, and just above it was an arrangement of bright mirrors, jointed curiously together, whereof I could not at first perceive the use, but I presently discovered that by it one was enabled to see, without being seen, all that went on in the street. The little square or place before the house was green as emerald, and not a speck or stick was to be seen on its surface, while a pond in the midst gave entertainment to a pair of swans and some white ducks. On the highest chimney of a fine house across the square was a pile of rubbish, at which I was wondering, when I saw a long-legged and long-billed bird alight near it, and begin strutting up and down in a pompous way, that reminded me of the old beadle in our parish church in London.

"What is that bird?" I asked of Aunt Joyce, who just then entered the room.

"Why 'tis a stork, child. The people here treat them as a kind of sacred animal, and the man who should kill one would be looked upon as a murderer. 'Tis counted a very lucky thing to have a stork's nest on one's house. We have a fine one. 'Tis said that the young birds will carry their old parents on their shoulders, and that the parents will perish in the fire rather than desert their young. Every one is glad to see the storks come back in the spring."

"No wonder, if they are such good creatures. But, aunt, are all the people here as neat in their ways as my cousin? The house is so clean, I am almost afraid to move for fear of soiling something."