Paul the Minstrel | Page 4

all care. But Mistress
Alison was not to be dismayed by poverty; she was a tranquil and

loving woman, who had never married; but who, as if to compensate
her for the absence of nearer ties, had a simple and wholesome love of
all created things. She was infirm now, but was quite content, when it
was fine, to sit for long hours idle for very love, and look about her
with a peaceful and smiling air; she prayed much, or rather held a sweet
converse in her heart with God; she thought little of her latter end,
which she knew could not be long delayed, but was content to leave it
in the hands of the Father, sure that He, who had made the world so
beautiful and so full of love, would comfort her when she came to enter
in at the dark gate.
There was also an old and silent man who looked after the cattle and
the few hens that the household kept; at the back of the house was a
thatched timbered grange, where he laid his tools; but he spent his time
mostly in the garden, which sloped down to the fishpond, and was all
bordered with box; here was a pleasant homely scent, on hot days, of
the good herbs that shed their rich smell in the sun; and here the flies,
that sate in the leaves, would buzz at the sound of a footfall, and then
be still again, cleaning their hands together in their busy manner.
The only other member of the quiet household was the boy Paul, who
was distantly akin to Mistress Alison. He had neither father nor mother,
and had lived at Heritage all of his life that he could remember; he was
a slender, serious boy, with delicate features, and large grey eyes that
looked as if they held a secret; but if they had, it was a secret of his
forefathers; for the boy had led a most quiet and innocent life; he had
been taught to read in a fashion, but he had no schooling; sometimes a
neighbouring goodwife would say to Mistress Alison that the boy
should be sent to school, and Mistress Alison would open her peaceful
eyes and say, "Nay, Paul is not like other boys--he would get all the
hurt and none of the good of school; when there is work for him he will
do it--but I am not for making all toil alike. Paul shall grow up like the
lilies of the field. God made not all things to be busy." And the
goodwife would shake her head and wonder; for it was not easy to
answer Mistress Alison, who indeed was often right in the end.
So Paul grew up as he would; sometimes he would help the old

gardener, when there was work to be done; for he loved to serve others,
and was content with toil if it was sweetened with love; but often he
rambled by himself for hours together; he cared little for company,
because the earth was to him full of wonder and of sweet sights and
sounds. He loved to climb the down, and lie feasting his eyes on the
rich plain, spread out like a map; the farms in their closes, the villages
from which went up the smoke at evening, the distant blue hills, like
the hills of heaven, the winding river, and the lake that lay in the winter
twilight like a shield of silver. He loved to see the sun flash on the
windows of the houses so distant that they could not themselves be
seen, but only sparkled like stars. He loved to loiter on the edge of the
steep hanging woods in summer, to listen to the humming of the flies
deep in the brake, and to catch a sight of lonely flowers; he loved the
scent of the wind blowing softly out of the copse, and he wondered
what the trees said to each other, when they stood still and happy in the
heat of midday. He loved, too, the silent night, full of stars, when the
wood that topped the hill lay black against the sky. The whole world
seemed to him to be full of a mysterious and beautiful life of which he
could never quite catch the secret; these innocent flowers, these
dreaming trees seemed, as it were, to hold him smiling at arm's length,
while they guarded their joy from him. The birds and the beasts seemed
to him to have less of this quiet joy, for they were fearful and careful,
working hard to find a living, and dreading the sight of man; but
sometimes in the fragrant eventide the nightingale would say a little of
what was in her heart. "Yes,"