CHAPTER VI.

A FALL AND A NEW FRIEND.

Long after old Margery had retired to her chamber wondering at her master's unusual waste of candle-light, did the other two inmates of the cottage sit listening with rapt attention while Master Fleming read and expounded the Holy Book, or told them tales of the deeds and sufferings of the friends of the Gospel at home and abroad.

At last, in a pause of the conversation, Jack exclaimed—

"Oh, if I could but go with you and help you in this great work, how gladly would I give all my time and strength to the spread of God's Word among the people! I used to wish I had lived in the days of chivalry when the valiant knights went forth in search of adventure, and to succor the helpless and oppressed wherever they were to be found; but this is a greater work still, and better worth one's life and substance."

"You say well," replied Master Fleming. "It is indeed better worth the spending of life and substance than any of the often fantastic enterprises of your favorite knights; and neither is it without sufficient danger to life and goods, though there are no more dragons and enchanters to overcome. But the work of the Lord has this advantage, that it may be done by simple folk as well as gentle folk, and as worthily in the humblest vocation as in the highest. The lowliest life, the commonest task, if sanctified by an earnest and honest intention of doing God service, is as much accepted and blessed by Him as that which is highest in the sight of men. Our Lord Himself has said that a cup of cold water, given in His name and for his sake, is given to Him."

"But I would so like to devote myself to this work," said Jack. "It seems such a noble way of serving Him."

"I fear your motives are not altogether clear, son Jack," said the shepherd. "I fear a part of your zeal arises from love of adventure and novelty."

Jack blushed, and the merchant smiled.

"And if it were so, you have no cause to blush, my son," said he kindly. "The love of novelty and adventure is natural to youth, and is doubtless given by Heaven for some good purpose. But you must remember that, as the soldier does not choose his work or his place, but goes whither he is sent, and upon whatever service his commander orders, having no will of his own, so must it be with the soldier of Christ. He must be as ready to abide by the stuff as to go forward upon the stricken field; to keep the few sheep in the wilderness, as to fight the giant of the Philistines before the armies of Israel."

"Sir William told us that tale," said Jack, "and how King David overcame the giant with his sling and stone. But there are no giants in these days."

"No, but there are dangers as terrible, ay, more terrible than any man meets in the stricken field. If it be true in all ages, as doubtless it is in some sense, that they who would live godly in Christ must suffer persecution, it is doubly so at this time when he that departeth from evil maketh himself a prey, and men are condemned to the dungeon and the stake but for desiring to acquaint themselves with the Word of God. You say, my dear son, and doubtless with truth, that you would gladly help forward this work; but think of yourself as torn from all that you love and cast into a loathsome foul dungeon, without light or fire or fresh air, subject to the scourge and the rack at the will of your oppressors, daily tempted with all the rewards of this world, if you would abjure your faith, and threatened with the pangs of a horrible and shameful death, if you did not. Do you think you could hold fast the profession of your faith without wavering?"

Jack sat looking at the fire for a few moments without reply. Then he lifted his head, and a new light seemed to exalt and illuminate his somewhat plain features as he spoke.

"I would be far from boasting of my manhood, sir. I know well that it has never been tried, and that I am but a young and simple boy. Nevertheless, I have read in this book already, that our Lord said to one of His apostles who was in some strait: 'My grace is sufficient for thee, for my strength is made perfect through weakness,' and again 'God is faithful who will not suffer you to be tempted above your strength, but shall in the midst of temptation make a way to escape out.' I would be far from boasting of mine own strength or manhood, since I know how oft I have failed under very easy trials of temper and patience; neither would I run heedlessly into danger. But if God should call me to such works as those of which you speak, might I not think that He would be faithful in giving me strength to do them?"

"Verily, thou hast given me a good answer, and, as it were, out of mine own mouth," replied Master Fleming, with his grave smile. "You are, no doubt, in the right. I trust your faith will never be tried in such ways; and yet it is well to be prepared for whatever may come. I would advise you to read and ponder the tenth chapter of St. Matthew's Gospel, and to pray constantly and earnestly for grace to stand when the day of trial arrives."

"It may not come," said Jack.

The stranger shook his head. "The trial is sure to come in one way or other," said he. "It may not be in the way of persecution, perhaps it may come in the opposite direction from the temptation of this world. In these days the seed is perhaps as likely to be choked with care and riches and voluptuous living as in any other way. But in whatever way the temptation comes, we shall need all the strength which our Lord hath to give, to fight the battle of life withal. But the hour waxes late, and I must needs rise early and go on my way."

Jack gave up his own bed to the visitor, and slept on the great wooden settle by the fireside. His sleep was not sound, and toward morning awaking suddenly he heard, as he thought, some one speaking earnestly as though pleading for, some great boon, and willing to take no denial. He stole softly to the foot of the stairs and listened. The voice was that of the stranger guest, and Jack presently perceived that he was engaged in fervent prayer. A feeling of delicacy prevented him from listening; but, as he lingered for a moment, he caught the words:

"Not this one, Lord, not this one! If there must needs be a sacrifice take the old tree, broken and withered in thy service, but spare the young and tender plant."

Jack's reverence deepened into awe as he perceived that Master Fleming was praying for himself, pleading with God as a child with a tender parent, that he might be spared the horror and pain in which the "gospellers" too often ended their lives.

Jack stole back to his bed and sat thinking for a long time. He remembered how he had ventured to pray in somewhat the same way for sight of the Scriptures, and how his prayer had been answered in the sense and realization of God's presence at the time he was praying, as well as in the apparent chance which had brought the stranger to his uncle's house. Would Master Fleming's prayer be granted in the same way?

Or would he be called to witness for God at the stake and on the rack, like some of those confessors of whom he had lately heard? And if so, would strength be given him according to his needs?

And what would become of him afterward? Should he be taken to paradise or to purgatory? Was there any such place as purgatory? Was he fit for heaven? How could he make himself so?

Master Fleming had seemed to speak but slightingly of penances and pilgrimages and such like exercises, and had intimated that there was another way, sure and easy. What then was that way?

These were but a few of the questions which rose in the boy's mind as he sat in the chimney corner under the slowly dawning light. He was a grave and thoughtful lad at all times, sober beyond his years to a degree which had often troubled his father, and made old Cicely declare that her nursling was not long for this world. The religious teaching he had received had been mostly given him by Sir William Leavett and had been of a character unusually spiritual and pure for that time.

Then his uncle had taught him a great deal concerning the Bible during his residence at Holford; and altogether his soul was like a watered garden, ready to receive the seeds of eternal truth and to bring forth fruit to everlasting life.

Now, as he sat and thought, seeking in vain for satisfactory answer to the many questions which arose in his mind, he remembered what the shepherd had told him concerning the teachings of the Holy Spirit, that this Spirit could guide his mind into truth even without the written Word, and that unless he had such teaching from on high, all other instruction, yea, the Holy Book itself, would be of no avail. He took the volume from the safe place where it had been deposited, and opening it at haphazard, he read in the now quaint English of Tyndale's translation—

"Axe and it shalbe geven you. Seke and ye shall fynd. Knocke and it shalbe opened vnto you. For whosoever axeth receaveth; and he that seketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shalbe opened."

Jack read on to the end of the paragraph. Then it would seem that all he had to do in order to receive this wonderful teacher, was to ask for it. His heavenly Father was as ready to give it him as his own father would be to give him food when he desired it. Jack was happy in that he was able to reason from the goodness of an earthly to that of a heavenly Parent. He could not remember that his father had ever denied him any reasonable request, and the argument was thus a strong one.

"'If ye then being evil know how to give good gifts to your children—"

Why then should he not ask at once for what he felt he so much needed?

Jack restored the book to its place; and then, seeking the retirement of the little shed where Master Fleming's beasts were accommodated, he knelt in one corner and prayed long and earnestly and in simple faith that God would teach him all that it was needful to know. He was so absorbed as not to mark the passage of time, and he started to his feet and blushed deeply when the stranger gently opened the door and entered the hovel.

"Nay, never blush, my son," said Master Fleming kindly. "No man has cause to blush for being found on his knees. Rather let them be ashamed, who, pretending to be reasonable and immortal beings, live like the poor brutes that perish. But you have risen early."

"I have been up a long time," said Jack. "I could not sleep, and I have been reading in the book you gave us. Oh, sir, I would I might go with you, or that you would remain with us. I need so much instruction."

And thereupon, he poured out to his new-found friend some of the questions and thoughts which were seething in his brain.

Master Fleming listened patiently and with grave interest to Jack's confession and inquiries.

"Dear son, it would require more hours than I have minutes to spare, to answer all your questions. Nay, of many things you must be content to remain in ignorance, since they are beyond man's feeble understanding. I will leave with you certain treatises of Master Tyndale and, other good men from which you may gain much instruction, and you do right to ask for the illumination of the Spirit of God, which you will doubtless receive. But, my son, you must be prepared to learn from that teaching, many things which will be displeasing to you, ay, things against which your pride will rise up in rebellion. No man ever sees the wickedness and weakness of his own heart till the Spirit reveals it to him, and the sight is not a pleasant one. Yet it is necessary that we behold it, or we shall not feel our need of the remedy without which we must be lost indeed."

"And that remedy—" asked Jack.

"Is found alone in Christ Jesus, the way set forth by our Father for the forgiveness of sins. His blood, when we believe in Him and receive Him for our Saviour, cleanseth us from all sin which we have committed, so that for His sake we are freely pardoned and justified before God. Not as there were any merit in faith itself, but because it is only by faith that we accept Christ and receive Him into our hearts."

"See here, I must needs go on my way at present. I would gladly take you with me, and, as you say, let you help in this great work. But that would not be right. You are the only son of your father, and yet in your nonage, and your duty lies in obedience to him. Go on then doing your work in that place where God has put you, and remember that He will accept your service and make you His helper in building up His kingdom, whether he call you like the Jews of old to build on the walls of the spiritual Jerusalem with a sword in one hand and a trowel in the other, or in the quiet dells of the mountain to quarry out the stone for the temple, or even to carry food for them who are more actively engaged."

"It is the great blessing of work in our Divine Master's service, that nothing done for Him is ever thrown away, no, not even when the workman would appear in the eyes of men to have failed utterly. He will account nothing a failure which is done with a hearty and humble desire to serve him. Do you, therefore, watch and pray, read and meditate, strive for holiness of heart and purity of intention, and let your light so shine before men that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven."

"I will give you for your own, a copy of the New Testament containing Master Tyndale's glosses and notes, which will be a great help to you in understanding the Word. It may be that we shall meet again, for I purpose to remain some time in this country; but if not, I charge you, my son in the faith, if I may call you so, that you keep your loins girded about, and your light trimmed and burning, and you yourself as one who waiteth for the Bridegroom, that, when the day of account shall come, I may meet you at the right hand of the Throne."

For the whole of that and many succeeding days, Jack was like one in a dream. He seemed to have lost all taste for his usual pleasures, bird's-nesting and fishing, while he strove with punctilious accuracy to fulfil all his daily duties and to take every possible care from his uncle. In fact, a new world seemed to be opened to him.

His imagination, always a strong part of his mental constitution, revelled in the scenes to which he was introduced and made them real to him. He walked the streets of Jericho and Jerusalem, and sat with the apostles at the board with their Lord; he was among the crowd which stood around the sepulchre when Lazarus came forth, and entered with the chosen disciples into the inner chamber where the ruler's young daughter was raised from the dead.

Nor was it the narrative alone which interested him. As Richard Fleming had told him, he began to have some sense of his own real nature, to realize his own sinfulness, and to wonder whether it were possible he could ever attain to the inheritance of the saints in light. At times he felt a profound discouragement, and was ready to despair of himself; then he found help in such passages as these contained in Tyndale's notes:

"Ye shall not thynke that our dedes deserve ani thynge of God as a laborer deserueth his hyre. For all gode thynges come of the bounteousness, liberalitie, mercy, promyses and truth of God in the deseruing of Christes blood only."

"The eye is single when a man in all hys dedes loketh not but on the will of God, and loketh not for laude, honor, or ein other rewardes in this worlde. Nother ascrybeth Heven or a hyer roume in Heaven unto hys dedes; but accepteth Heven as a thing purchased bi the blode of Christe, and worketh freely for loves' sake onlie."

"As a natural sonne that is his father's heyre, doth his father's will not because he wolde be heyre, that he is already by birth—but of pure love doeth he that which he doth. And axe him why he doeth any thing that he doth, he answereth, 'my father bade, it is my father's will, it pleases my father.' Bonde servantes work for hire, children for love; for there father, with all he has, is there's already. So doth a Christen man freely all that he doeth, considering nothing but the will of God and his neighbour's wealth only. If I live chaste, I do hit not to obteyne heaven therby, for thus should y do wronge to the blode of Christe. Christes blood has obtayned me that." ¹

¹ This passage occurs in Tyndale's defence and not in his notes.

By such like instruction, by comparing one passage with another, and by help of the teaching of his uncle, Jack began at last to arrive at some clear notion of salvation by Jesus Christ, to cease to place any confidence in his own works or deservings, and to understand and feel somewhat of the blessedness of an accepted child of God.

"Oh, how I wish Anne could come to see this," he said one day, after a long conversation he had been holding with his uncle on the hillside. "She is killing herself, as my father says, with prayers and penances, that she may win forgiveness and heaven for herself and her friend. If she could only be brought to see this plain and easy way!"

"What was the story of her friend?" asked the shepherd. "Ay, I remember, there was some secret in the matter. I would, indeed, the poor child could be led to see that her Lord hath done all for her. Perhaps you may find some way of enlightening her when you return home."

"I should hardly know how to begin," said Jack, thoughtfully. "Anne has such a horror of heresy. She was distressed because I only said I should like to be a priest in order to read the Scripture; and she tried to make me promise that I would never look at any heretical books if they came in my way."

"I think Anne was convent bred, was she not?" asked the shepherd.

"Yes, at the gray nuns' convent, that my father spoke of, the one my Lord Harland is to buy. It was by no good will of my father, who never loved the religious houses; but my mother wished it, and he would not cross her. Anne would have taken the veil ere this, I doubt, but for the prioress herself. Anne's health failed, and the lady sent her home, saying she should have time to see more of the world before leaving it. But it is little she has seen of the world, poor child. She lives as closely as any cloistered nun and fares as hardly. It is a great trouble to my father, who would have none but cheerful faces about him. Anne thinks it is her duty to deny herself all pleasures, and so she will not taste any of the good things Cousin Cicely is so fond of making, nor sing to the lute as my mother used to do, though it is my father's greatest delight to hear her."

"I doubt there is some self-will at the bottom of her heart," said the shepherd, "else she would perceive that there is a truer and purer self-denial in giving up her own tastes and inclinations in indifferent things, and conforming herself to the will and wishes of those about her."

"I see," said Jack, thoughtfully. "Then it might be that eating a piece of Cousin Cicely's gingerbread when she did not really care for it, rather than mortify the poor woman by refusing her dainties, would be a more useful penance than going without anything."

"For Anne perhaps," replied old Thomas, smiling.

Jack laughed. "Truly I never found any mortification in Cicely's gingerbread myself, save when I had eaten too much of it. But, indeed, Uncle Thomas, Anne does mean to do her duty faithfully. She would not do anything wrong for the world, and if she happens to make any little slip she grieves over it for days, and redoubles her penances. But, oh! She is so unhappy. If it had not been for Sir William Leavett, I almost think that living with Anne would have made me hate all religion, because it seems to make her so miserable. I do wish she could be brought to read this book."

"Well, dear son, we can but pray for her, and perhaps a way may be opened. Jack," said the shepherd, lowering his voice to a whisper, "don't turn your head now, but in a minute look yonder. Is not someone in hiding behind you thornbush? I have seen it move two or three times, and I am sure I caught sight of a gown."

Jack waited a moment, plucking up a pretty good sized clod of earth and grass as he did so. Then, suddenly turning, he hurled the clod with a good aim at the bush, saying, "There is an owl abroad in the daylight."

A hasty exclamation, but not in the owl's language, was heard from the bush, which stood on the edge of a steep grassy declivity, and was followed by various gurgling sounds of distress.

Jack rushed to the spot, followed more slowly by the old shepherd; and as he reached the bush, he burst into uncontrollable laughter. There was the fat priest of the little church at Holford rolling over and over down the slippery grass slope, clutching vainly at the short herbage, and uttering at intervals cries and interjections, some of them not exactly of a clerical character.

"He will tumble into the brook," said the shepherd hastily. "Run down by the path, Jack, and be ready to help him out."

Down by the path Jack ran like a deer, but another was beforehand with him. Bevis, the big sheep-dog, was first at the spot, and as the poor priest plunged into the somewhat deep pool at the foot of the slope, Bevis jumped after him and dragged him out with as little ceremony as if he had been one of his own wethers. Jack came to the help of the dog, and between them they got the unlucky father on dry land, and seated him on a sunny bank.

"How do you find yourself, father?" said Jack, speaking gravely, though he was choking with laughter.

"Oh—ah—ugh!" spluttered the priest. "Alack! I have broken my bones, I sink in deep waters! And that accursed brute hath torn my new gown."

"He meant no harm," said Jack. "He only wished to pull you out of the water and mud, which is deep enough to smother you."

"Eh—oh—the tender mercies of the wicked! I am wet through—I shall catch my death."

"You had best go home to my cottage and send for dry clothes, or go to bed while these are dried, good father," said the shepherd, who had just arrived at the scene of action.

"Jack, run and tell Margery to have the bed ready and warmed, and then come back, and bring with you the bottle of strong waters your father brought me. It will revive his spirit, and keep him from taking cold. How is it with you now, Sir John? I trust you have no bones broken by your fall."

[Illustration: "Oh—ah—ugh!" spluttered the priest. "Alack! I have broken my bones."]

With many a sigh and many a dolorous groan, the unlucky father raised himself on his feet and ascertained, by stretching himself, that he had sustained no serious injury.

"How did you fall?" asked the shepherd.

"Ah—eh! It was the clod of earth that unlucky lad threw at me."

"Were you behind the bush, then, father?" asked Jack, who had returned with the bottle and a cup, into which he was pouring a goodly portion of strong waters, alias brandy. "I humbly crave your pardon, but I took you for an owl."

"An owl, indeed! An owl in the desert, a sparrow on the housetop," said the priest, quoting at random. "Do I look like an owl?"

"Verily, I think you do, and a drowned owl at that," said Jack to himself. "I crave your pardon once more, father," said he aloud. "Pray you, drink this. It is good of its kind, for my father gets it of one of his cousins who trades with the Low Countries."

The priest drank off the contents of the cup with a readiness and gusto which seemed to show that he was not altogether unaccustomed to such medicines.

"Verily, thy father knows what is good," said he in a mollified tone, returning the cup and smacking his lips. "I would I could have to do with that same merchant, for the trader in Bridgewater sells villainous stuff, and wofully dear. Ah, alt that warms one's heart, certainly."

"Take another portion, an't please you," said Jack, replenishing the cup once more. "When I return home, or have a chance of sending, I will ask my father to send your reverence a bottle, and I am sure he will do so with pleasure."

"Thou art a good lad after all," said the priest, whom the second cup of spirits put into high good humor. "Only beware thou meddle not with things too high for thee, lest thou fall into the snare of the wicked; and the next time you throw a stone, see where it is going to light. Oh, I am marvellously restored. I think with the help of your arm, I could walk to the tree yonder where I left my mule."

"Shall I not go home with you to your own house?" asked Jack, who saw that the priest's head was beginning to be affected by the liquor he had drank. "You may be attacked with giddiness by the way, and perhaps have another fall."

"Do so, do so, my dear son," replied Sir John. "Why, you are a good lad after all, as I said but now, and surely no heretic as that pestilent conceited clerk of mine pretends. 'Twas he got me into this scrape, a plague upon him! I should have never thought of listening but for him."

"Oh ho! Then you were listening," thought Jack, "and I dare say Master Sacristan has been listening too. I will cut down that thorn tomorrow, and set old Bevis to watch."

"If folk would only mind their own business, there would be none of this trouble," continued Sir John, whose tongue was thoroughly loosed. "Here is Father Barnaby now has been lecturing me about seeking out heretics in my parish and watching who comes to mass. I am sure, if the heretics will let me alone, I am willing to let them alone; and as to the people coming to mass, let them come or go as it pleases them, so long as they pay their dues and live in peace. Say you not so, my son?"

"Indeed I do, father," replied Jack; "and besides, it stands to reason, that if people pay their dues they can be no heretics; does it not?"

"Right, right!" exclaimed Father John. "You reason as well as an Oxford scholar. If they pay, they are no heretics, because if they were heretics, they would not pay; 'tis clear as Aristotle. All my parishioners pay their dues, therefore there are no heretics in the parish, and Father Barnaby may go hang! Say you not so?"

"That I do with all my heart," replied Jack, gravely. "But here we are at your door. If I might venture to advise, your reverence will go at once to bed, and take a hot posset to keep off any farther effects of cold. I will bring the strong waters the first time I go to Bridgewater."

All the way back to the hill Jack laughed over the adventure, but the shepherd looked very grave on hearing the poor priest's words.

"I do not like the look of it," said he. "There may be no harm in poor Father John, who is, with all reverence, fonder of his table and his comfortable cup of spiced ale, than of anything else in life; but I know something of Father Barnaby. He has a keen scent for heresy, and he will be none the sweeter in temper for this suppression of the convent. We must be very careful."

The next day, Jack cut down the thornbushes and levelled the ground.

"I hope I am not shutting the door when the steed is stolen," he thought. "How could I be so careless as not to think of the thornbushes?"