"Ah, dear, 'taint for we to be frightened at anything God sends! Do'ent He hold the storms in the hollow of His hand? And thou, dear maid, what's wind and tempest that's only 'fulfilling His word' compared wi' life's storms that will gather over thy sunny head one day, sure as sure?" Mrs. Barbara, the professor's ancient housekeeper, laid her knotted hand on the golden curls on her lap.
But "thou, dear maid" could not look ahead so far. It was more than enough for Jinty that Nature's waves and storms were passing over her at the moment.
"Sit beside my bed, and talk me to sleep, please, Mrs. Barbara, dear!" entreated the little girl, clutching tightly at the old lady's skirts.
So Mrs. Barbara seated herself, knitting in hand, by the little white bed, and Jinty listened to the stories she loved best of all, those of the days when her father was a little boy and played under the great elms of Old Studley with Mike, the ancient raven, that some people declared was a hundred years old at least. He was little more than a dream-father, for he had been for most of Jinty's little life away in far-off China in the diplomatic service. Her sweet, young, gentle mother Jinty did not remember at all, for she dwelt in a land that is far-and-away farther off than China, a land:
| "Where loyal hearts and true |
| Stand ever in the light, |
| All rapture through and through |
| In God's most holy sight." |
"And, really and truly, Mrs. Barbara, was it the very same Mike and not another raven that pecked at father's little legs same's he pecks at mine?" Jinty inquired sleepily.
"The very self-same. Thief that he is and was!" wrathfully said Mrs. Barbara, who detested the venerable raven, a bird that gave himself the airs of being one of the family of Old Studley, and stirred up more mischief than a dozen human boys even.
"Why," grumbled on the old lady, "there's poor Sally Bent, the henwife, she's driven distracted with Mike's thievish tricks. This week only he stole seven eggs, three on 'em turkey's eggs no less. He set himself on the watch, he did, and as soon as an egg was laid he nipped it up warm, and away with it! If 'twasn't for master's anger I'd strangle that evil bird, I should. Why, bless her! The little maid's asleep, she is!"
And Mrs. Barbara crept away to see after her other helpless charge, the good old professor who lived so far back in the musty-fusty past that he would never remember to feed his body, so busy was he in feasting his mind on the dead languages.
Next morning the tearing winds had departed, the stately elms were motionless at rest, and the sun beat down with a fierce radiance, upon the red brick walls of Old Studley.