The Kings Daughters | Page 6

which was better than outside beauty. If
a person accustomed to read faces had been there, he might perhaps
have said that the small prominent chin, and the firm setting of the lips,
suggested that Rose Allen occasionally had a will of her own. The
moment that Rose saw who was coming, she left her stool with a bright
smile which lighted up all her face, and carrying the stool in one hand,

and her lace pillow in the other, disappeared within the house.
"She's quick at her work, yonder maid," said Margaret.
"Ay, she's a good lass, my Rose!" was her mother's answer. "You'll
come in and sit a bit, neighbour?"
"Well, thank you, I don't mind if I do--at any rate till them children
comes up," responded Margaret, with a little laugh. "Will you have me
while then?"
"Ay, and as long after as you've a mind," said Alice heartily, leading
the way into her cottage.
As Margaret had a mile yet to walk, for she lived midway between
Much Bentley and Thorpe, she was glad of a rest. In the kitchen they
found Rose, very busy with a skillet over the fire. There was no tea in
those days, so there was no putting on of the kettle: and Rose was
preparing for supper a dish of boiled cabbage, to which the only
additions would be bread and cheese. In reply to her mother's questions,
she said that her step-father had been in, but finding his wife not yet
come from market, he had said that he would step into the next
neighbour's until she came, and Rose was to call him when supper was
ready.
William Mount, the second husband of Alice, was twenty years older
than his wife, their ages being sixty-one and forty-one. He was a tall,
grey, grave-looking man,--a field labourer, like most of the dwellers in
Much Bentley. This was but a small place, nestling at one corner of the
large park of the Earl of Oxford, the owner of all the property for some
distance round. Of course he was the great man in the esteem of the
Much Bentley people. During the reign of Edward the Sixth, when
Protestantism was in favour at Court, Lord Oxford had been a
Protestant like other people; but, also like many other people, he was
one of those of whom it has been well said that:
"He's a slave who dare not be In the right with two or three."

Lord Oxford was a slave in this sense--a slave to what other people said
and thought about him--and very sad slavery it is. I would rather sweep
a crossing than feel that I did not dare to say what I believed or
disbelieved, what I liked or did not like, because other people would
think it strange. It is as bad as being in Egyptian bondage. Yet there are
a great many people quite contented to be slaves of this kind, who have
not half so much excuse as Lord Oxford. If he went against the priests,
who then were masters of everything, he was likely to lose his liberty
and property, if not his life; while we may say any thing we like
without need to be afraid. It is not always an advantage to have a great
deal to lose. The poor labourers of Much Bentley, who had next to no
property at all, and could only lose liberty and life, were far braver than
the Earl whom they thought such a grand man, and who carried a
golden wand before the Queen.
Supper was over at the Blue Bell, and Margaret Thurston was thinking
about going home, when a little faint rap came on the door of the
cottage. Rose opened it, and saw a big jar standing on the door-sill, a
little boy sitting beside it, and an older girl leaning against the wall.
"Please, we're come," said Cissy.
CHAPTER FOUR.
ON THE WAY TO THORPE.
"Please, we're come," said Cissy. "We've been a good while getting
here, but we--Oh, it isn't you!"
"What isn't me?" said Rose, laughing--for people said me where it
should have been I, then, as they do still. "I rather think it is me; don't
you?"
"Yes, but you are not she that spake to us on the road," said Cissy.
"Somebody told us to call here as we went down the lane, and her
daughter should go home with us, and help us to carry the big jar.
Perhaps you're the daughter?"

"Well, I guess I am," answered Rose. "Where's home?"
"It's at the further end of Thorpe."
"All right. Come in and rest you, and I'll fetch a sup of something to do
you good, poor little white faces."
Rose took a hand of each and