St. George and St. Michael | Page 8

thee, so far as my judgment will reach.'
'I thank you, father, In the meantime I am as one who knocks, and the
door is not opened unto him.'
'Rather art thou as one who loiters on the door-step, and lifts up neither
ring nor voice.'
'Surely, sir, I must first know the news.'
'Thou hast ears; keep them open. But at least you know, my son, that on
the twelfth day of May last my lord of Strafford lost his head.'
'Who took it from him, sir? King or parliament?'
'Even that might be made a question; but I answer, the High Court of
Parliament, my son.'
'Was the judgment a right one or a wrong, sir? Did he deserve the
doom?'
'Ah, there you put a question indeed! Many men say RIGHT, and many
men say WRONG. One man, I doubt me much, was wrong in the share
HE bore therein.'
'Who was he, sir?'
'Nay, nay, I will not forestall thine own judgment. But, in good sooth, I
might be more ready to speak my mind, were it not that I greatly doubt
some of those who cry loudest for liberty. I fear that had they once the
power, they would be the first to trample her under foot. Liberty with
some men means MY liberty to do, and THINE to suffer. But all in

good time, my son! The dawn is nigh.'
'You will tell me at least, father, what is the bone of contention?'
'My son, where there is contention, a bone shall not fail. It is but a
leg-bone now; it will be a rib to-morrow, and by and by doubtless it
will be the skull itself.'
'If you care for none of these things, sir, will not master Flowerdew
have a hard name for you? I know not what it means, but it sounds of
the gallows,' said Richard, looking rather doubtful as to how his father
might take it.
'Possibly, my son, I care more for the contention than the bone, for
while thieves quarrel honest men go their own ways. But what
ignorance I have kept thee in, and yet left thee to bear the reproach of a
puritan!' said the father, smiling grimly. 'Thou meanest master
Flowerdew would call me a Gallio, and thou takest the Roman
proconsul for a gallows-bird! Verily thou art not destined to prolong
the renown of thy race for letters. I marvel what thy cousin Thomas
would say to the darkness of thy ignorance.'
'See what comes of not sending me to Oxford, sir: I know not who is
my cousin Thomas.'
'A man both of learning and wisdom, my son, though I fear me his diet
is too strong for the stomach of this degenerate age, while the dressing
of his dishes is, on the other hand, too cunningly devised for their
liking. But it is no marvel thou shouldest be ignorant of him, being as
yet no reader of books. Neither is he a close kinsman, being of the
Lincolnshire branch of the Heywoods.'
'Now I know whom you mean, sir; but I thought he was a writer of
stage plays, and such things as on all sides I hear called foolish, and
mummery.'
'There be among those who call themselves the godly, who will endure
no mummery but of their own inventing. Cousin Thomas hath written a
multitude of plays, but that he studied at Cambridge, and to good
purpose, this book, which I was reading when you entered, bears good
witness.'
'What is the book, father?'
'Stay, I will read thee a portion. The greater part is of learning rather
than wisdom--the gathered opinions of the wise and good concerning
things both high and strange; but I will read thee some verses bearing

his own mind, which is indeed worthy to be set down with theirs.'
He read that wonderful poem ending the second Book of the Hierarchy,
and having finished it looked at his son.
'I do not understand it, sir,' said Richard.
'I did not expect you would,' returned his father. 'Here, take the book,
and read for thyself. If light should dawn upon the page, as thou readest,
perhaps thou wilt understand what I now say--that I care but little for
the bones concerning which king and parliament contend, but I do care
that men--thou and I, my son--should be free to walk in any path
whereon it may please God to draw us. Take the book, my son, and
read again. But read no farther save with caution, for it dealeth with
many things wherein old Thomas is too readily satisfied with hearsay
for testimony.'
Richard took the small folio and carried it to his own chamber, where
he read and partly understood the poem. But he was not