"And then?"

"Why, I might as well be a king, while I went about it."

"Quite as well. I am astonished thou hast come thither no sooner. And then?"

"Well,--I know not what then. You drive one on, Aunt _Joyce_.

Methinks, then, I would come home and see you all, and recount mine aventures."

"Oh, mightily obliged to your Highness!" quoth Aunt _Joyce_. "I had thought, when your Majesty were thus up at top of the tree, you should forget utterly so mean a place as _Selwick_ Hall, and the contemptible things that inhabit there. And then?"

"Come, I will make an end," saith _Milly_, laughing. "I reckon I should be a bit wearied by then, and fain to bide at home and take mine ease."

"And pray, what hindereth that your Grace should do that now?" saith Aunt _Joyce_, looking up with a comical face.

"Well, but I am not aweary, and have no aventures to tell," _Milly_ makes answer.

"Go into the garden and jump five hundred times, _Milly_, and I will warrant thee to be aweary and thankful for rest. And as to aventures,-- eh, my maid, my maid!" And Aunt _Joyce_ and _Mother_ smiled one upon the other.

"Now, _Mother_ and _Aunt_, may I say what I think?" cries Milly.

"Prithee, so do, my maid."

"Then, why do you folks that be no longer young, ever damp and chill young folks that would fain see the world and have some jollity?"

"By reason, _Milly_, that we have been through the world, and we know it to be a damp place and a cold."

"But all folks do not find it so?"

"G.o.d have mercy on them that do not!"

"Now, _Aunt_, what mean you?"

"Dear heart, the brighter the colour of the poisoned sweetmeat, the more like is the babe to put in his mouth."

"Your parable is above me, Aunt _Joyce_."

"_Milly_, a maiden must give her heart to something. The Lord's word unto us all is, Give Me thine heart. But most of us will try every thing else first. And every thing else doth chill and disappoint us.

Yet thou never sawest man nor Woman that had given the heart to G.o.d, which could ever say with truth that disappointment had come of it."

"I reckon they should be unready to confess the same," saith she.

"They be ready enough to confess it of other things," quoth Aunt _Joyce_. "But few folks will learn by the blunders of any but their own selves. I would thou didst."

"By whose blunders would you have me learn, _Aunt_?" saith _Milly_ in her saucy fashion that is yet so bright and coaxing that she rarely gets flitten [scolded] for the same.

"By those of whomsoever thou seest to blunder," quoth she.

"That must needs be thee, _Edith_," saith _Milly_ in a demure voice.

"For it standeth with reason, as thou very well wist, that I shall never see mine elders to make no blunders of no sort whatever."

"Thou art a saucy baggage, _Milly_," quoth Aunt _Joyce_. "That shall cost thee six pence an' it go down in the chronicle."

"Oh, 'tis not yet my turn for to write, _Aunt_. And I am well a.s.sured _Nell_ shall pay no sixpences."

"Fewer than thou, I dare guess," saith Aunt _Joyce_. "Who has been to visit old _Jack Benn_ this week?"

"Not I, _Aunt_," quoth _Edith_, somewhat wearily, as if she feared Aunt _Joyce_ should bid her go.

"Oh, I'll go and see him!" cries _Milly_. "There is nought one half so diverting in all the vale as old _Jack_. _Aunt_, be all _Brownists_ as queer as he?"

"Nay, I reckon _Jack_ hath some queer notions of his own, apart from his _Brownery_," quoth she. "But, _Milly_,--be diverted as much as thou wilt, but let not the old man see that thou art a-laughing at him."

"All right, _Aunt_!" saith _Milly_, cheerily. "Come, _Nell_. _Edith_ shall bide at home, that can I see."

So _Milly_ and I set forth to visit old _Jack_, and _Mother_ gave us a bottle of cordial water, and a little basket of fresh eggs, for to take withal.

He dwells all alone, doth old _Jack_, in a mud cot part-way up the mountain, that he did build himself, ere the aches in his bones 'gan trouble him, that he might scantly work. He is one of those queer folk that call themselves _Brownists_, and would fain have some better religion than they may find at church. _Jack_ is nigh alway reading of his Bible, but never no man could so much as guess the strange meanings he brings forth of the words. I reckon, as Aunt _Joyce_ saith, there is more _Jack_ than _Brownist_ in them.

We found _Jack_ sitting in the porch, his great Bible on his knees. He looked up when he heard our voices.

"Get out!" saith he. "I never want no women folk."

'Tis not oft we have fairer greeting of _Jack_.

"Nay, truly, _Jack_," saith _Milly_ right demurely. "They be a rare bad handful,--nigh as ill as men folk. What thou lackest is eggs and cordial water, the which women can carry as well as jacka.s.ses."

She held forth her basket as she spake.

"Humph!" grunts old _Jack_. "I'd liever have the jacka.s.ses."

"I am a.s.sured thou wouldst," quoth _Milly_. "Each loveth best his own kind."

Old _Jack_ was fingering of the eggs.

"They be all hens' eggs!"

"So they be," saith _Milly_. "I dare guess, thou shouldst have loved goose eggs better."

"Ducks'," answereth old _Jack_.

"The ducks be gone a-swimming," saith she.

I now drew forth my bottle of cordial water, the which the old man took off me with never a thank you, and after smelling thereto, set of the ground at his side.

"What art reading, _Jack_?" saith _Milly_.

"What _Paul's_ got to say again' th' law," quoth he. "'Tis a rare ill thing th' law, Mistress _Milisent_. And so be magistrates, and catchpolls [constables] and all the lawyer folk. Rascals, Mistress _Milisent_,--all rascals, every man Jack of 'em. Do but read _Paul_, and you shall see so much."

"Saith the Apostle so?" quoth _Milly_, and gave me a look which nigh o'erset me.