CHAPTER TWELVE.
A GLIMPSE OF THE HOT GOSPELLER.
"In service which Thy love appoints There are no bonds for me; My secret heart has learned the truth Which makes Thy children free: A life of self-renouncing love Is a life of liberty."
_Anna L. Waring_.
"I hold not with you there, Parson!"
The suddenness of this appeal would have startled any one less calm andself-controlled than the Reverend Robert Tremayne, who was taking offhis surplice in the vestry after morning prayers one Wednesday, whenthis unexpected announcement reached him through the partially opendoor. But it was not the Rector's habit to show much emotion of anykind, whatever he might feel.
"Pray you, come forward," he said quietly, in answer to the challenge.
The door, pushed wide open by the person without, revealed a handsomeold man, lithe and upright still,--whose hair was pure white, and hisbrown eyes quick and radiant. He marched in and seated himself upon thesettle, grasping a stout oaken stick in both hands, and gazing up intothe Rector's face. His dress, no less than his manners, showed thatnotwithstanding the blunt and eccentric nature of his greeting, he wasby birth a gentleman.
"And wherein hold you not with me, Sir, I pray you?" inquired MrTremayne with some amusement.
"In your tolerating of evil opinion."
"I cry you mercy. What evil opinion have I tolerated?"
"If you will tolerate men which hold evil opinions, you must needstolerate evil opinion."
"I scantly see that."
"Maybe you see this?" demanded the stranger, pulling a well-worn Biblefrom a capacious pocket.
"My sight is sharp enough for so much," returned Mr Tremaynegood-naturedly.
"Well, and I tell you," said the stranger, poising the open Biblebetween his hands, "there is no such word as toleration betwixt the twobacks of this book!"
The two backs of the book were brought together, by way of emphasisingthe assertion, with a bang which might almost have been heard to theparsonage.
"There is no such _word_, I grant you."
"No, Sir!--and there is no such thing."
"That hangeth, I take it, on what the word is held to signify."
"Shall I tell you what it signifieth?"
"Pray you, so do."
"Faint-heartedness, Sir!--weakness--recreancy--cowardliness--shamednessof the truth!"
"An ill-sounding list of names," said Mr Tremayne quietly. "And one ofnone whereof I would by my good-will be guilty.--Pray you, whom have Ithe honour to discourse withal?"
"A very pestilent heretic, that Queen Mary should have burned, andforgat."
"She did not that with many," was the significant answer.
"She did rare like to it with a lad that I knew in King Edward's days,whose name was Robin Tremayne."
"Master Underhill, my dear old friend!" cried the Rector, grasping hisvisitor's hand warmly. "I began these two minutes back to think Ishould know those brown eyes, but I might not set a name thereto all atonce."
"Ha! the `pestilent heretic' helped thee to it, I reckon!" replied theguest laughing. "Ay, Robin, this is he thou knewest of old time. Wewill fight out our duello another time, lad. I am rare glad to see theeso well-looking."
"From what star dropped you, Master Underhill? or what fair wind blewyou hither?"
"I am dropped out of Warwickshire, lad, if that be a star; and I camehither of a galloway's back (but if he were the wind, 'twas on thestillest night of the year!) And how goes it with Mrs Thekla? I sawher last in her bride's gear."
"She will be rarely glad to see you, old friend; and so, I warrant you,will our mother, Mistress Rose. Will you take the pain to go with me tomine house?--where I will ensure you of a good bed and a rare welcome."
"Wilt thou ensure me of twain, lad?" asked the old man, with a comictwinkle in his eyes.
"Twain! What, which of all my small ancient friends be with you?--Ay,and that as hearty as to yourself.--Is it Hal or Ned?"
"Thou art an ill guesser, Robin: 'tis neither Ned nor Hal. Thy _small_friends, old lad, be every man and woman of them higher than theirfather. Come, let us seek the child. I left her a-poring and posingover one of the tombs in the church.--What, Eunice!--I might as wellhave left my staff behind as leave her."
It was plainly to be perceived, by the loud call which resounded throughthe sacred edifice, that Mr Underhill was not fettered by anysuperstitious reverence for places. A comely woman answered the call,--in years about thirty-seven, in face particularly bright and pleasant.The last time that Mr Tremayne had seen her, Eunice Underhill was aboutas high as the table.
"And doth Mistress Rose yet live?" said her father, as they went towardsthe parsonage. "She must be a mighty old grandame now. And all else begone, as I have heard, that were of old time in the Lamb?"
"All else, saving Barbara Polwhele,--you mind Barbara, the chamber--maiden?--and Walter's daughter, Clare, which is now a maid of twentyyears."
"Ah, I would fain see yon lass of little Walter's. What manner of wifedid the lad wed?"
"See her--ask not me," said the Rector smiling.
"Now, how read I that? Which of the Seven Sciences hath she lost herway in?"
"In no one of them all."
"Come, I will ask Mrs Thekla."
Mr Tremayne laughed.
"You were best see her for yourself, as I cast no doubt you soon will.How long time may we hope to keep you?"
"Shall you weary of us under a month?"
Mr Underhill was warmly enough assured that there was no fear of anysuch calamity.
Most prominent of his party--which was Puritan of the Puritans--wasEdward Underhill of Honyngham, the Hot Gospeller. His history was asingular one. Left an heir and an orphan at a very early age, he hadbegun life as a riotous reveller. Soon after he reached manhood, Godtouched his heart--by what agency is not recorded. Then he "fell toreading the Scriptures and following the preachers,"--throwing his wholesoul into the service of Christ, as he had done before into that ofSatan. Had any person acquainted with the religious world of that daybeen asked, on the outbreak of Queen Mary's persecution, to name thefirst ten men who would suffer, it is not improbable that EdwardUnderhill's name would have been found somewhere on the list. But, tothe astonishment of all who knew his decided views, and equally decidedcharacter, he had survived the persecution, with no worse suffering thana month spent in Newgate, and a tedious illness as the result. Nor wasthis because he had either hidden his colours, or had struck them.Rather he kept his standard flying to the breeze, and defied the foe.No reason can be given for his safety, save that still the God of Danielcould send His angel and shut the lions' mouths, that they should do Hisprophets no hurt.
On the accession of Elizabeth, Underhill returned for a short time tohis London home in Wood Street, Cheapside; but die soon went back to thefamily seat in Warwickshire, where he had since lived as a countrysquire. [Note 1.]
"Yet these last few months gone have I spent in London," said he, "formy Hal [name true, character imaginary] would needs have me. Now,Robin, do thou guess what yon lad hath gat in his head. I will givethee ten shots."
"No easy task, seeing I ne'er had the good fortune to behold him. Whatmanner of lad is he?"
"Eunice?" said her father, referring the question to her.
Eunice laughed. "Hal is mighty like his father, Master Tremayne. Hehath a stout will of his own, nor should you quickly turn him thence."
"Lo you, now, what conditions doth this jade give me!" laughedUnderhill. "A stubborn old brute, that will hear no reason!"
"Hal will not hear o'ermuch, when he is set on aught," said Eunice.
"Well," said Mr Tremayne thoughtfully, "so being, I would guess that hehad set his heart, to be Archbishop of Canterbury, or else Lord PrivySeal."
"_Ma foi_!" interposed Mrs Rose, "but I would guess that no son of MrUnderhill should tarry short of a king. Mind you not, _hermano_, that Idid once hear you to say that you wo
uld not trust your own self, had youthe chance to make your Annette a queen?"
"Dear heart, Mistress Rose! I would the lad had stayed him at noughtworser. Nay, he is not for going up the ladder, but down. Conceiveyou, nought will serve him but a journey o'er seas, and to set him up ahome in the Queen's Majesty's country of Virginia--yea, away in theplantations, amongst all the savages and wild beasts, and men worserthan either, that have been of late carried thither from this land, forto be rid of them. `Come, lad,' said I to him, `content thee witheating of batatas [the Spanish word of which _potato_ is a corruption]and drinking of tobacco [smoking tobacco was originally termed_drinking_ it], and leave alone this mad fantasy.' But not he, in goodsooth! Verily, for to go thither as a preacher and teacher, with hopeto reform the ill men,--that had been matter of sore peril, and well tobe thought on; yet would I not have said him nay, had the Lord calledhim to it;--but to make his _home_!"
And Mr Underhill stopped short, as if words were too weak adequately toconvey his feelings.
"Maybe the Lord hath called him to that, old friend," said the Rector."His eyes be on Virginia, no less than England."
"God forbid I should deny it! Yet there is such gear as tempting theLord. For my part,--but la! I am an old man, and the old be lessventuresome than the young,--yet for me, I see not what should move aman to dwell any whither out of his own country, without he must needsfly to save his life."
"Had all men been of your mind," observed Mr Tremayne with a smile,"there had ne'er been any country inhabited save one, until men werefairly pushed thence by lack of room."
"Well!--and wherefore should any quit home until he be pushed out?"
"Ask at Hal," said the Rector laughing.
"No have I so? Yea, twenty times twice told: but all I may win from theyoung ne'er-do-well is wise saws that the world must be peopled (why so,I marvel?),--and that there is pleasure in aventure (a deal more, Ireckon, in keeping of one's carcase safe and sound!)--and that some menmust needs dwell in strange lands, and the like. Well-a-day! whereforeshould they so? Tell me that, Robin Tremayne."
"I will, old friend, when mine amaze is o'er at hearing of such wordsfrom one Ned Underhill."
"Amaze!--what need, trow?"
"But little need, when one doth call to mind that the most uncommon ofall things is consistency. Only when one hath been used for forty yearsand more to see a man (I name him not) ever foremost in all perilousaventure, and thrusting him forward into whatsoever danger there were asinto a bath of rosewater, 'tis some little surprise that taketh one tohear from the self-same party that 'tis never so much sweeter to keepsafe and sound at home."
Mr Underhill threw his head back, and indulged in a hearty peal oflaughter.
"On my word, Robin, thou ticklest me sore! But what, lad!--may a mannot grow prudent in his old age?"
"By all manner of means, or in his youth no less; but this will I say,that the last prudent man I looked to set eyes on should bear the nameof Underhill."
"Well-a-day! Here is Eunice made up of prudence."
"She taketh after her mother, trow," replied the Rector dryly.
"Come, I'll give o'er, while I have some bones left whole.--And whatthinkest, lad, of the outlook of matters public at this time?"
"Nay, what think you, that have been of late in London?"
"Robin," said Mr Underhill gravely, "dost mind, long years gone, whenKing Edward his reign was well-nigh o'er, the ferment men's minds gat intouching the succession?"
"_Eh, la belle journee_!" said Mrs Rose waggishly. "I do well mind theferment _you_ were in, Mr Underhill, and how you did push your QueenMary down all the throats of your friends: likewise how sweetly she didrepay you, bidding you for a month's visit to her palace of Newgate!Pray you, shall it be the same again, _hermano_?"
"Dear heart! What a memory have you, Mistress Rose!" said MrUnderhill, with another hearty laugh. "It shall scantly be Newgateagain, metrusteth: the rather, since there is no Queen Mary to thrustadown your throats--thank the Lord for that and all other His mercies.He that we may speak of is no Papist, whatso else; but I mistakegreatly, Robin, if somewhat the same matter shall not come o'er again,should it please God to do a certain thing."
Mr Underhill spoke thus vaguely, having no wish to finish his days onthe gallows; as men had done ere now, for little more than a hint thatthe reigning Sovereign might not live for ever.
"And when the ferment come, under what flag must we look for you, MrUnderhill?" asked. Mrs Tremayne.
"Well," said he, "Harry Eighth left a lad and two lasses, and we havehad them all. But Harry Seventh left likewise a lad and two lasses; andwe have had the lad, but ne'er a one of the lasses."
"Both these lasses be dead," responded the Rector.
"They be so. But the first left a lad and a lass; and that lad left alass, and that lass left a lad--which is alive and jolly."
This meant, that Queen Margaret of Scotland, elder sister of Henry theEighth, had issue King James the Fifth, whose daughter was Mary Queen ofScots, and her son was James the Sixth, then living.
"You count the right lieth there?" queried Mr Tremayne.
Mr Underhill nodded his head decidedly.
"And is--yonder party--well or ill affected unto the Gospellers?--howhear you?"
"Lutheran to the back-bone--with no love for Puritans, as men do nowbegin to call us Hot Gospellers."
"Thus is the Queen, mecounteth: and we have thriven well under her, andhave full good cause to thank God for her."
"Fifty years gone, Robin--when she was but a smatchet [a very youngperson]--I said that lass would do well. There is a touch of old Hal inher--not too much, but enough to put life and will into her."
"There shall scantly be that in him."
"Nay, I'll not say so much. Meg had a touch of Hal, too. 'Twas illturning her down one road an' she took the bit betwixt her teeth, andhad a mind to go the other. There was less of it in Mall, I grant you.And as to yon poor luckless loon, Mall's heir,--if he wit his own mind,I reckon 'tis as much as a man may bargain for. England ne'er lovethsuch at her helm--mark you that, Robin. She may bear with them, but shelayeth no affiance in them."
Mr Underhill's hearers knew that by the poor luckless loon, he meantEdward Seymour, Lord Beauchamp, the representative of the Princess Mary,younger sister of Henry the Eighth. He was heir of England underHenry's will, and might, if he had chosen it, have been a veryformidable opponent of King James.
"There was trial made, in King Harry's days," said the Rectorthoughtfully, "to join the two Crowns of England and Scotland, bymarrying of King Edward, that then was Prince, with their young QueenMary."
"Well-a-day!--what changes had been, had that matter come toperfection!"
"It were a mighty great book, friend, that should be writ, were all setdown that might have happened if things had run other than they havedone. But I pray you, what outlook is now for the Gospellers--orPuritans, if they be so called--these next few years? Apart from theCourt--be they in good odour in London, or how?"
"Be they in good odour in Heaven, you were better to ask. What is anygreat town but a sink of wickedness? And when did ill men hold good menin esteem?"
"Ah, Mr Underhill, but there is difficulty beside that," said MrsRose, shaking her head. "Wherefore, will you tell me, cannot the goodmen be content to think all the same thing, and not go quarrel, quarrel,like the little boys at play?"
"So they should, Mistress Rose!--so they should!" said Mr Underhilluncompromisingly. "What with these fantasies and sectaries andfollies--well-a-day! were I at the helm, there should be ne'er anopinion save one."
"That is the very thing Queen Mary thought," said Mr Tremayne, lookingamused.
"Dear heart! what will the lad say next?" demanded Mr Underhill in asurprised tone.
"'Tis truth, old friend. See you not that to keep men of one opinion,the only way is to slay them that be of the contrary? Living men mustdiffer. Only the dead ne'er wrangle touching aught."
"Eh, Robin, man! `Live peaceably with all men.'"
"`As much as lieth in you.' Paul was wiser than you, saving yourpresence."
"But, Robin, my son," said Mrs Rose, "I would not say only, for suchmatters as men may differ in good reason. They cannot agree on thegreater things, _mon cheri_,--nay, nor on the little, littles no more.--Look you, Mr Underhill, we have in this parish a man that call himselfa Brownist--I count he think the brown the only colour that is right; ifhe had made the world, all the flowers should be brown, and the leavesblack: eh, _ma foi_! what of a beautiful world to live in!--_Bien_! thislast May Day, Sir Thomas Enville set up the maypole on the green.`Come, Master,' he said to the Brownist, `you dance round themaypole?'--`Nay, nay,' saith he, `it savoureth of Popery.' `Well,'quoth he, `then you come to prayer in the church! There is nothingagainst that, I trow?'--`Good lack, nay!' saith he, `'tis an idle form.I cannot pray without the Spirit aid me; and the Spirit will not bebounden down unto dead forms.' And so, Mr Underhill, they fall towrangling. Now, is it not sad? Not only they will not take theirpleasure together, but they will not say their prayers together no more.Yet they all look to meet in Heaven. They will not wrangle and quarrelthere, I trow? Then why can they not be at peace these few days thesooner?"
This was a long speech for Mrs Rose.
"Well, to speak truth," said Mr Underhill, "I could find in mine heartto cry `Hail, fellow!' to your Brownist over the maypole: though I seenot wherein it savoureth of Popery, but rather of Paganism. Howbeit, asI well know, Popery and Paganism be sisters, and dwell but over the waythe one from the other. But as to the Common Prayer being but a form,and that dead,--why, I pray you, what maketh it a dead form save thedead heart of him that useth the same? The very Word of God is but adead thing, if the soul of him that readeth it be dead."
A certain section of the laity are earnestly petitioning the clergy for"a hearty service." Could they make a more absurd request? The heartis in the worshipper, not in the service. And who can bring his heartto it but himself?
"_Ma foi_!" said Mrs Rose, with a comical little grimace, "but indeed Idid think, when we were set at rest from the Queen Mary and herburnings, that we could have lived at peace the ones with the others."
"Then which counted you to be rid of, Mistress Rose--the childre of Godor the childre of the devil?. So long as both be in the world, I reckonthere'll not be o'er much peace," bluntly replied Underhill.
"Mind you what my dear father was used to say," asked MrTremayne,--"`Afore the kingdom must come the King'? Ah, dear friends,we have all too little of Christ. `We shall be satisfied,' and we shallbe of one mind in all things, only when we wake up `after Hislikeness.'"
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Clare Avery and Eunice Underhill struck up a warm friendship. Eunice[name and dates true, character imaginary] was one of the few women whokeep "the dew of their youth," and in freshness, innocence, andignorance of this evil world, she was younger than many girls not halfher age. Her simplicity put Clare at ease, while her experience of lifeawoke respect. Clare seized her opportunity one day, while taking along walk with Eunice, to obtain the opinion of the latter on the pointwhich still interested her, and compare it with that of Mrs Tremayne.Why it was easier to talk to Eunice than to those at home, Clare couldnot decide. Perhaps, had she discovered the reason, she might not havefound it very flattering to her self-love.
"Mistress Eunice, think you it easy to be content with small gear?"
"You would say with lack of goods?" asked Eunice.
"Nay; but with the having to deal with petty, passing matter, in thestead of some noble deed that should be worthy the doing."
"I take you now, Mistress Clare. And I can feel for your perplexity,seeing I have known the same myself."
"Oh, you have so?" responded Clare eagerly.
"Ay, I have felt as though the work set me to do were sheer waste ofsuch power and knowledge as God had given unto me; and have marvelled (Iwould speak it with reverence) what the Lord would be at, that He thusdealt with me. Petty things--mean things--little passing matter, as yousaid, that none shall be the better for to-morrow; wherefore must I dothese? I have made a pudding, maybe; I have shaken up a bed; I have cutan old gown into a kirtle. And to-morrow the pudding shall be eaten,and the bed shall lack fresh straw, and ere long the gown shall be wornto rags. But I shall live for ever. Wherefore should a soul be set tosuch work which shall live for ever?"
"Ay,--you know!" said Clare, drawing a deep breath of satisfaction."Now tell me, Mistress Eunice, what answer find you to this question?Shall it be with you, as with other, that these be my tasks at school?"
"That is verily sooth, Mistress Clare; yet there is another lightwherein I love the better to look thereat. And it is this: that in thisworld be no little things."
"What would you say, Mistress Eunice? In good sooth, it seemeth me therather, there be few great."
"I cry you mercy," said Eunice, with her bright smile. "Lo' you,--'tisafter this fashion. The pudding I have made a man shall eat, andthereby be kept alive. This man shall drop a word to another, which onepassing by shall o'erhear,--on the goodness and desirableness oflearning, I will say. Well, this last shall turn it o'er in his mind,and shall determine to send his lad to school, and have him welllearned. Time being gone, this lad shall write a book, or shall preacha sermon, whereby, through the working of God's Spirit, many men'shearts shall be touched, and led to consider the things that belong untotheir peace. Look you, here is a chain; and in this great chain onelittle link is the pudding which I made, twenty years gone."
"But the man could have eaten somewhat else."
"Soothly; but he did not, you see."
"Or another than you could have made the pudding."
"Soothly, again: but I was to make it."
Clare considered this view of the case.
"All things in this world, Mistress Clare, be links in some chain. InDutchland [Germany], many years gone now, a young man that studied in anuniversity there was caught in an heavy thunderstorm. He grew soreaffrighted; all his sins came to his mind: and he prayed Saint Anne todispel the storm, promising that he would straightway become a monk.The storm rolled away, and he suffered no harm. But he was mindful ofhis vow, and he became a monk. Well, some time after, having a sparehalf-hour, he went to the library to get him a book. As God would haveit, he reached down a Latin Bible, the like whereof he had ne'er seenaforetime. Through the reading of this book--for I am well assured youknow that I speak of Luther--came about the full Reformation of religionwhich, thanks be to God! is now spread abroad. And all this cometh--tospeak after the manner of men--in that one Martin was at one timeaffrighted with the thunder; and, at another time, reached him down abook. Nay, Mistress Clare--in God's world be no little things!"
"Mistress Eunice, in so saying, you make life to look a mighty terriblething, and full of care."
"And is life not a most terrible thing to them that use it not aright?But for them that do trust them unto God's guidance, and search His Wordto see what He would have them do, and seek alway and above all thingsbut to do His will,--it may be life is matter for meditation, yea, andwatchfulness; but methinks none for care. God will see to the chain:'tis He, not we, that is weaver thereof. We need but to be careful,each of his little link."
"My links be wearyful ones!" said Clare with a little sigh. "'Tis tocut, and snip, and fit, and sew, and guard, and mend. My cousin Lyskendealeth with men and women, I with linen and woollen. Think you itstrange that her work should seem to me not only the nobler, but thesweeter belike?"
"Methinks I have seen Mistress Lysken to deal pretty closely with linenand woollen, sithence Father and I came hither," said Eunice smiling."But in very deed, Mistress Clare, 'tis but nature that it so shouldseem unto you. Yet did it ever come into your mind, I pray you, that webe poor judges of that which is high and noble? I marvel if any saveChrist and Gabriel e'
er called John Baptist a great man. Yet he wasgreat in the sight of the Lord. Yea, that word, `more than a prophet'was the very accolade of the King of the whole world. You know,Mistress Clare, that if the Queen's Majesty should call a man `SirRobert,' though it were but a mistake, and he no knight, that very wordfrom her should make him one. And the King of Heaven can make nomistake; His great men be great men indeed. Now whether would yourather, to be great with men, or with God?"
"Oh, with God, undoubtedly!" said Clare shyly.
"It seemeth me," said Eunice, knitting her brows a little, "there bethree questions the which your heart may ask himself touching your work._Wherefore_ do I this? You will very like say, Because you be bidden.Good. But then--_How_ do I this?--is it in the most excellent way Ican? And yet again, _For whom_ do I this? That last lieth deepest ofall."
"Why, I do it for my mother and Aunt Rachel," said Clare innocently.
"Good. But wherefore not, henceforward, do it for God?"
"For God, Mistress Eunice!"
"'Tis the true touchstone of greatness. Nought can be little that a mandoth for God; like as nought can be great that a man doth but forhimself."
"Lysken can work for God," said Clare thoughtfully; "but I, who do butdraw needles in and out--"
"Cannot draw them for God? Nay, but Paul thought not so. He biddethyou `whether ye eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do _all_ to theglory of God.' But mind you, only the very best work is to His glory:that is to say, only _your_ very best. He measures not Mall's work byJane's, but he looketh at the power of both, and judgeth if they havewrought their best or no. Jane may have finished the better piece ofwork, but if Mall have wrought to her utmost, and Jane not so, thenMall's work shall take first rank, and Jane's must fall behind."
"That is a new thought unto me, Mistress Eunice--that I can do such workfor God. I did indeed account that I could be patient under the same,for to please Him: and I could have thought that the saving of a childfrom drowning, or the leading of a ship to battle, and so forth, mightbe done as unto God: but to cut and sew and measure!"
"I would 'twere not a new thought to many another," answered Eunice."But I guess we can sew well or ill; and we can cut carefully orcarelessly; and we can measure truly or untruly. Truth is no littlematter, Mistress Clare; neither is diligence; nor yet a real, honest,hearty endeavouring of one's self to please the Lord, who hath given usour work, in every little thing. Moreover, give me leave to tell you,--you may be set a great work, and you may fail to see the greatnessthereof. I mind me, when I was something younger than you be, and mybrother Hal was but a little child, he fell into sore danger, and shouldbelike have been killed, had none stretched out hand to save him. Well,as the Lord in His mercy would have it, I saw his peril, and I ran andsnatched up the child in the very nick of time. There was but anhalf-minute to do it. And at afterward, men praised me, and said I haddone a great thing. But think you it bare the face of a great thing tome, as I was in the doing thereof? Never a whit. I ne'er tarried tothink if it were a great thing or a small: I thought neither of me norof my doing, but alonely of our Hal, and how to set him in safety. Theysaid it was a great matter, sith I had risked mine own life. But, dearheart! I knew not that I risked aught--I ne'er thought once thereon.Had I known it, I would have done the same, God helping me: but I knewit not. Now, whether was this a great thing or a small?"
"I have no doubt to say, a great."
"Maybe, Mistress Clare, when you and I shall stand--as I pray God wemay!--among the sheep at the right hand of Christ our Saviour,--when thebooks be opened, and the dead judged according to that which is writtenof them,--He may pick out some little petty deed (to our eyes), and maysay thereof, This was a great thing in My sight. And it may be, too,that the deeds we counted great He shall pass by without any mention.Dear heart, let us do the small deeds to our utmost, and the great aresure to follow. `He that is faithful in that which is least, isfaithful also in much.' And you know what He saith touching that poorcup of cold water, which assuredly is but a right small thing to give.Think you, if the Queen's Highness were passing here but now, and shoulddrop her glove, and you picked up the same and offered it to HerGrace,--should you e'er forget it? I trow not. Yet what a pettymatter--to pick up a dropped glove! `Ah, but,' say you, `It was theQueen's glove--that wrought the difference.' Verily so. Then set thelike gilding upon your petty deeds. It is the King's work. You havewrought for the King. Your guerdon is His smile--is it not enough?--andyour home shall be within His house for ever."
"Ay!" said Clare, drawing a long sigh--not of care: "it is enough,Mistress Eunice."
"And He hath no lack of our work," added Eunice softly. "It is _given_to us to do, like as it was given unto Peter and John to suffer.Methinks he were neither a good child nor a thankful, that should refuseto stretch forth hand for his Father's gift."
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Note 1. I have not been able to ascertain the true date of Underhill'sdeath, but he was living on the 6th of March 1568. (Rot. Pat., 10Elizabeth, Part Two.)
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