The Kings Daughters | Page 5

the coals. No angel would dream of stopping to think whether such work degraded him. It is only men who stoop low enough for that. The highest work possible to men or angels is just doing the will of God: and God was the Father of these little ones.
"What is their Father?" asked Alice Mount.
"Johnson? Oh, he is a labouring man--a youngish man, only four-and-thirty: his mistress died a matter of six months back, and truly I know not how those bits of children have done since."
"They have had `God and Father,'" said Alice "Well, I've no doubt he's a good father," answered Margaret. "John Johnson is as good a man as ever stepped, I'll say that for him: and so was Helen a rare good woman. I knew her well when we were maids together. Those children have been well fetched up, take my word for it."
"It must have been a sad matter to lose such a wife," said Alice.
"Well, what think you?" answered Margaret, dropping her voice. "Agnes Love told me--Jack Love's wife, that dwells on the Heath--you'll maybe know her?"
"Ay, I know her, though not well."
"I've known her ever since she was a yard long. Well, she told me, the even it happed came Jack Johnson to their house, and when she oped the door, she was fair feared of him, he looked so strange--his face all white, and such a glitter of his eyes--she marvelled what had taken him. And says he, `Agnes, my Helen's gone.' `Gone? oh dear!' says she. `Ay, she's gone, thank God!' says he. Well, Agnes thought this right strange talk, and says she, `Jack Johnson, what can you mean? Never was a better woman than your Helen, and you thanking God you've lost her!' `Nay, Agnes, could you think that?' says he. `I'm thanking God because now I shall never see her stand up on the waste by Lexden Road,' says he. `She's safe from that anguish for evermore!' And you know what that meant."
Yes, Alice Mount knew what that meant--that allusion to the waste ground by Colchester town wall on the road to Lexden, where the citizens shot their rubbish, and buried their dead animals, or threw them unburied, and burned their martyrs. It was another way of saying what the Voice from Heaven had cried to the Apostle--"Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord from henceforth!"
"It's a marvel they haven't done somewhat to them Loves afore now," said Margaret, after a minute's silence.
"I thought they had?" replied Alice. "Wasn't John Love up afore the Sheriff once at any rate?"
"Oh, ay, they've had him twice o'er; don't you mind they gat them away in the night the last time, and all his goods was taken to the Queen's use? But now, see, he's come back, and they let him alone. They've done all they mean to do, I reckon."
"God grant it!" said Alice, with a sigh. "Meg, I cannot forget last August. Twenty-two of us had up afore the Bishop, and we only escaped by the very skin of our teeth, as saith Job. Ay me! I sometimes marvel if we did well or no, when we writ our names to that submission."
"Truly, neighbour, so have I," replied Margaret rather bluntly. "I would not have set mine thereto, I warrant you."
Alice sighed heavily. "God knoweth we meant not to deny His truth," said she; "and He looketh on the heart."
After that they were silent till they came to Much Bentley. Turning down the lane which led to Thorpe, they came in sight of a girl of twenty years, sitting on a low stool at the door of the third cottage in the lane, weaving worsted lace on a pillow with bobbins. Over the door hung a signboard bearing a bell painted blue. The lace-maker was a small-built girl, not in any way remarkable to look at, with smooth dark hair, nicely kept, and a rosy face with no beauty about it, but with a bright, kind-hearted expression 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.