Collected works of j s f.., p.37
Collected Works of J S Fletcher, page 37
In discourse like this Rose Lisle and I passed the afternoon, and I forgot the ache in my head in listening to her conversation. But as it drew near supper-time I was forced to leave her, and said good-bye to her with much regret, and she went down the lane into Wentbridge while I climbed the valley slope and went across the meadows home. And though I told Jacob Trusty about my tumble from the elm tree, yet I said nothing either to him or to my sister Lucy about Rose Lisle. Only I thought much about her, and wished that she was going to stay in our neighbourhood, so that Lucy and myself might take her with us when we went birds’-nesting, or blackberrying, or nutting.
Upon the next afternoon I set off again to the old sheepfold, determined to climb the elm with success. But I left Lucy at home, not being minded to let any one see me tumble down again. However, as fortune would have it, the storm-cock escaped once more; for I had no sooner got into the woods above Wentbridge Mill than I met Rose Lisle, who was once more gathering the primroses that were now springing up in every nook and corner. And so through the woods we went, as on the previous day, and rambled in and out all the afternoon until we came to the mill again, where we stood beside the stream and watched the bits of stick and twig race by.
While we stood there I became aware of some one calling to us, and looking across the stream saw a man on horseback, at sight of whom Rose raised a glad cry.
“’Tis my father!” said she. “Will Dale, ’tis my father. Let us run round by the mill-bridge.”
But I saw that the man was going to leap his horse across the stream, which is there about twenty feet in width. And calling to us to stand where we were, he turned his horse about and brought him at the Went, and the great brute tucked up his thighs and came clear across with a motion like a swallow flying. The man gave him an encouraging pat as he dismounted, and throwing the bridle loose, took Rose in his arms and lifted her up and kissed her.
“Well, my princess!” said he. “Here is thy father back again, safe and sound once more. Thy cheeks are the rosier, my beauty, for thy little outing.”
And then he kissed her again on both cheeks, and I saw his eyes sparkle as if it were a great delight to him to see Rose again. He was a tall, fine man, this Philip Lisle, and looked like the sort that order and command other men naturally. His greatness was not of the sort that I was familiar with, for he was not like my father — tall and broad and big in every way, but rather slender and elegantly fashioned, and more like a willow-wand than an oak-tree. Nevertheless, there was that in his face which gave an impression of power; and I could not help noticing that his hands, which were very white and shapely, were also tense as bands of steel when he grasped anything. Looking at him I no longer wondered that Rose was dark, for Philip Lisles hair and moustachios were like jet, and the eyes were black as the delicate eyebrows above them. He was dressed very much finer than most in our parts, and looked, in fact, like one of the gay cavaliers that sometimes rode by our gates along the Great North Road. His horse, too, was finely caparisoned, and there were two pistols peeping out of the holsters on each side of the saddle, which shone so in the sunlight that I was sure they were fashioned of silver.
“And who is this bonny lad?” said Philip Lisle, turning to me, with Rose still perched on his shoulder.
“It is William Dale, father, and he lives over the bend of the hill yonder,” said Rose, while I stood and stared at the man’s handsome face and fine clothes, and clean lost my tongue for admiration; “and he has shown me where the primroses grow best, and where the birds’-nests are, and where he fell down the crags from the jackdaws’ nest.”
“Ah, a Dale? Lad, I should have known thee. The Dales were always big men, as I have heard, though I never saw but two — thy grandfather and thy father. Thou wilt be a big man like them, Will.”
“Does my father know you then, sir?” I asked, being surprised to hear him speak thus familiarly of my family.
He laughed and stroked his horse’s neck, the creature having come up to him and pushed his nose under Philip Lisle’s arm.
“There are few, lad, that do not know me. However — But what thinkest thou of my horse, Will? Is’t not a beauty? Ye have no horse in all the three Ridings like this. Cæsar his name is, for he is the emperor of the horse race, as Cæsar was of the human. However, he, too, like Cæsar, may fall a victim to treachery. But thy master will be there, old friend, will not he? Yea, whenever death comes, let it be red death, or black death, in bed or afield, it will find thee and me together.”
The horse lifted its head and whinnied, and pushed its nose against the man’s face, and I stood dumb to see the marvellous understanding between them. For it seemed to comprehend exactly what he said, which was what I had never seen in a horse before, save that they learn and obey the few words of command by which men make known their desires.
“But what talk I of death,” said Philip Lisle, “with two such rosy faces before me? Children, would ye like a ride on horse Caesar’s back? Will, climb into my saddle, and I will put Rose behind thee. So, put thy feet in the stirrup-leathers. Thy legs are too short yet to reach the stirrups, though thou wilt quickly mend that matter. And now have no fear, but hold thy bridle tight; and Rose, my princess, cling firm to Will’s waist; and thou, Cæsar, remember what thou carriest, and be on thy best behaviour. And now, off!”
And away we went over the ground on Cæsar’s back at a swift canter, and yet travelling as safely as if we had been in an easy chair. For I had but to keep my knees well pressed to the saddle, as my father had taught me, and Rose had but to circle my waist with her dainty arms, and beyond that we had no trouble to take. But never before or since have I crossed a horse which went over the ground as that did. For it was like the motion of a greyhound, which runs straight and smooth and swift, and makes never a sound as the soft feet touch the ground and fly onward. And so we circled down the bank and turned, and came round again to where Philip Lisle stood. And he lifted us down and patted Cæsar’s neck.
“Thou hast never ridden horse like that, Will, eh?” said he. “Ah, this horse hath soul in him, and mind. Well, we must hence. Rose, I am going to take thee home. We shall sleep at Retford to-night, and so say good-bye to Will Dale.”
She came up to me where I stood silent and sad, and lifted up her little red rosebud of a mouth to kiss me. And, why I know not, I was so moved, that I put my arm about her neck and kissed her again and again, and then turned and cast down my eyes, and, I dare say, blushed as red as any June rose.
“Nay, lad,” said Philip Lisle, “be not ashamed. Alack, I wonder if ye will kiss next time ye meet? Who knows?”
“Oh, father,” cried Rose, “bring me again to see Will.”
“Wouldst like to see Rose again, Will?” he asked.
“Yes, sir, very much,” said I.
“Then thou shalt, but when I cannot say. Nevertheless thou shalt. And now farewell, Will. Stay, there is a guinea for thee. Put it in thy breeches pocket, lad.”
He swung into the saddle, and, stooping down, lifted Rose before him and put one arm round her. And again he cried, “Farewell, Will Dale,” and again Rose kissed the tips of her fingers to me, and he called to Cæsar, and the horse started forward like an arrow out of a bow, and away they went along the valley, and Rose’s voice came to me on the wind, crying, “Good-bye, dear Will, good-bye!” And then they were out of sight, and I turned away and climbed the hill, and went straight to Jacob Trusty, who was bedding down his twelve fat oxen for the night.
“Jacob,” said I, when I made sure that we were all alone in the straw shed, “Jacob, did you ever hear of a man called Philip Lisle?”
“Ay, marry,” said Jacob, sticking his fork into a great heap of straw, and lifting the latter on his back with a prodigious grunt. “Ay, marry, have I! What, man, and so hast thou. Did I never tell ‘ee of Black Phil?”
“What, Black Phil the highwayman? Is he the same as Philip Lisle?”
“Gd’s mercy, ay, and no other! Ay, Philip Lisle he was called once upon a time, but now Black Phil, by reason of his dark face. Natheless, ’tis a gentleman born, and hath rank and blood. But what matter — he is a highwayman, and must finally swing on gallow tree. For look ‘ee, William, boy, as you go through the world you will see one thing — namely, that if a man give himself to evil courses he may prosper for awhile, but ’tis the gallows in the end that rewardeth him, even as it saith in Holy Writ.”
And Jacob went down the fold with his straw, and into the beast-place, and there made such a rattling and shouting amongst the fat oxen, that the whole place shook again. Which done, he came leisurely across the fold, picking up a fork full of straw here and there, and coming into the straw-shed again, continued his discourse.
“This trade of highwayman, William, boy, is a parlous one, and many a man that hath gone into it hath oft wished he could get out on’t as easy as he went in. For look you, lad, your highwayman, though he ride a good horse and wear fine clothes, doth neither at his own expense, but rather at the cost of them whom he robbeth. Likewise he is against the law, which is a bad matter for any man. Howbeit, I had liefer be robbed by a highwayman than a lawyer, for your lawyer laughs in your face while he turns out your pockets, but your highwayman is as courtly as any fine court-madam. These things have I noticed, William, boy, in going through the world; for, though I be of this parish born and bred, I have travelled, yea, I have travelled even to the city of Lincoln, and again as far as Brough Hill in the county of Westmoreland, which last is as heathen a land as ever man knew, and full of high mountains and deep precipices. But as for this Black Phil now— ’tis a good heart, and the poor folk do think a deal of him. For if he rob a lord, or maybe a bishop, riding along the road in his own carriage, what doth he do but gallop off to some place where there is a hard winter or griping times, and there share the money? So that there is not a poor man ‘twixt York and London that would not give Black Phil shelter and help if he were pursued by king’s officers. However, he hath not ridden in these parts this five year. And now, William, lad, go beg a mug of small beer from thy good mother, for my mouth is as dry as any limekiln.”
When I had carried Jacob his mug of small ale, I left him and went and walked by myself in the garden. And there I thought over the events of the past two days, which had been more astonishing than any that had ever come into my young life previously. I had seen a real highwayman, and had talked with him, and he spoke like other men, and was habited like a gentleman, and was, I was sure, a man of kind heart, by the way he caressed his daughter and spoke to me. And I felt very sorry for Philip Lisle, and wondered what little Rose would do when they hanged her father, as they would do in the end, because Jacob Trusty said so. However, I decided that in that case I would beg my father to let Rose live with us, knowing that she and Lucy would agree well. And I further thought that in that case Philip Lisle would leave me his horse Cæsar, with the two silver pistols and fine saddle, but I did not wish the kings officers to catch him for all that.
Now, while I walked round the garden with my hands in my pockets, I found my fingers clinging round Philip Lisle’s guinea, and fell a-wondering what I should do with it. I was very shy of speaking to any one about my two new friends, and I knew that if I showed my money I should have to tell how I had come by it. It was not probable, I knew, that I should be allowed to keep the guinea if my mother knew whence it came. But, though I set no store by money, having no occasion for it, I was not minded to give up my guinea, for Philip Lisle had spoken kindly to me in giving it, and it might be that it really was his own to give. So I went into the house, and found a little leaden box which Jacob Trusty had once bestowed upon me and I wrapped up the guinea within a sheet of paper, inside which I placed a primrose that Rose Lisle had pinned in my coat that afternoon, and I put the paper in the leaden box, and fetched a spade and dug a hole in the corner of my own patch of garden, and buried the leaden box two feet deep, and put stones above and below it, and stamped the earth well in, and so hid out of sight the connecting link ‘twixt me and Philip Lisle.
CHAPTER V.
OF MY FIRST GOING TO SCHOOL.
UPON the very evening of the day whereon I had buried Philip Lisle’s guinea in a corner of my garden, there came to our house Parson Drumbleforth, who had walked along the highway from Darrington to hold converse with my father and mother. And our Lucy, seeing him approach from afar off, ran quickly indoors, and told my mother, who immediately caused a fire to be lighted in the best parlour, the spring evenings being ofttimes chilly for old bones, and Parson Drumbleforth having got past his vigour. So presently he came in sight, and advanced along the garden walks, and was met at the door by my mother with a respectful courtesy. But he would have naught of the best parlour.
“Let me go into your own chamber, Mistress Dale,” said he, “where is, I know, such an easy-chair as would fit judge or bishop, let alone a humble clerk, and where the fire hath burnt all day. Your best parlour, sure, is very fine accommodation, but cold, mistress, cold.”
“Why, surely,” said my mother, “an I had known your Reverence was coming there should have been a fire lighted hours ago. However, my own parlour hath had a fire in it since noon.”
Whereupon she led him to the easy-chair in her own room, and Lucy and myself followed in and paid our respects to the Vicar, and admired his white bands and the silver buckles of his shoes, and looked at his staff, which was a clouded cane with a heavy silver knob of great value. And the Parson having stretched forth his hands to the blaze, and asked us how we did, and if we were faithful in our duties to our parents, I was sent forth into the yard to find my father, who had gone out awhile before to consult Timothy Grass and Jacob Trusty about certain yearlings which he had just bought at Wakefield fair. And finding him, he at once broke off his discourse and went into the house and greeted the Vicar, and brought forth tobacco and pipes, and they both smoked, and my mother went into the kitchen and made a pitcher of mulled ale, of which grateful drink Parson Drumbleforth was an admirer. And my father and the vicar discoursed of the weather, and the crop of lambs, and the prospect of the coming harvests, hay and corn, and Lucy and I listened and strove hard to behave ourselves with propriety. And the mulled ale having been brought in and the glasses filled, the Vicar pledged us all and commended the drink mightily, after which the pitcher was put on the hob to keep warm, and my mother sat down to her needle.
“Master and Mistress Dale,” presently said Parson Drumbleforth, “I am come here to-night on an important matter. Ye have here a great lad — stand up, William, my child, and let us look at thee; why, thou art nearly to my shoulder already! — ye have here, I say, a great lad, who is fast growing towards manhood.”
“Oh, sir!” cried my mother. “Manhood! Why, ’tis but a child.”
“Softly, softly, mistress. I say manhood, and rightly. For before ye see the change he will be a youth, and then a man, ay, and a bigger man than his father.”
“He will, he will,” said my father. “Ay, he will be an inch bigger than I am, all ways. However, I am six foot three in my stockings.”
“’Tis a fine lad, indeed,” said Parson Drumbleforth, measuring me with a critical eye. “Wherefore the greater responsibility resteth upon you.”
“Your own boy, sir, Master John, is a big-made boy, too,” said my mother, anxious to return the Vicar’s compliments.
“So, so. A sturdy knave is Jack, and strong enough, but rather broad than long. However, your mention of Jack, Mistress Dale, brings me back to where I set out from. It is time, Master Dale, that this great lad went to school.”
“He hath learnt from me, sir,” said my mother, looking anxiously at me. “What I could teach him he hath learnt, so that now he can read his Catechism in the Prayer-book, and knoweth his duty, and—”
“Mistress Dale,” interrupted Parson Drumbleforth, “I know well that you are a scholar, and able to impart knowledge to your children. As for this little maiden, let her continue to learn from her mother. But as for Will here, let him to school, where men will teach him, and he will mix with his fellows.”
“But, sir,” said my mother, “there is no school at hand. For it is too far for him to walk twice a day ‘twixt here and Pontefract.”
“Then he must board with the master, my good friend Dr. Parsons,” said Parson Drumbleforth. “He will not charge you overmuch for the lad’s eating and sleeping. On a Saturday let him come home, so that he may enjoy the benefit of my ministry on a Sunday, and on a Monday morning let him be off again bright and early.”
“He hath never slept away from home in his life,” said my mother. “And I always fear damp beds in strange houses. Our own, sir, if not slept in for awhile, are aired for days before we use them again, but all folks are not so particular.”
