'Now, Lily,' said Jane, 'how can you say he was quite with you, when he said he thought it would be better if she was farther from home, and under some older person?'

'Yes, but he allowed that she would be much safer here than at home,'

said Lily.

'But I thought she used to be the head of all the ill behaviour in school,' said Claude.

'Oh! that was in Eleanor's time,' said Lily; 'there was nothing to draw her out, she never was encouraged; but since she has been in my cla.s.s, and has found that her wishes to do right are appreciated and met by affection, she has been quite a new creature.'

'Since she has been in MY cla.s.s,' Claude repeated.

'Well,' said Lily, with a slight blush, 'it is just what Robert says.

He told her, when he gave her her prize Bible on Palm Sunday, that she had been going on very well, but she must take great care when removed from those whose influence now guided her, and who could he have meant but me? And now she is to go on with me always. She will be quite one of the old sort of faithful servants, who feel that they owe everything to their masters, and will it not be pleasant to have so sweet and expressive a face about the house?'

'Do I know her face?' said Claude. 'Oh yes! I do. She has black eyes, I think, and would be pretty if she did not look pert.'

'You provoking Claude!' cried Lily, 'you are as bad as Alethea, who never will say that Esther is the best person for us.'

'I was going to inquire for the all-for-love principle,' said Claude, 'but I see it is in full force. And how are the verses, Lily? Have you made a poem upon Michael Moone, or Mohun, the actor, our uncle, whom I discovered for you in Pepys's Memoirs?'

'Nonsense,' said Lily; 'but I have been writing something about Sir Maurice, which you shall hear whenever you are not in this horrid temper.'

The next afternoon, as soon as luncheon was over, Lily drew Claude out to his favourite place under the plane-tree, where she proceeded to inflict her poem upon his patient ears, while he lay flat upon the gra.s.s looking up to the sky; Emily and Jane had promised to join them there in process of time, and the four younger ones were, as usual, diverting themselves among the farm buildings at the Old Court.

Lily began: 'I meant to have two parts about Sir Maurice going out to fight when he was very young, and then about his brothers being killed, and King Charles knighting him, and his betrothed, Phyllis Crossthwayte, embroidering his black engrailed cross on his banner, and then the taking the castle, and his being wounded, and escaping, and Phyllis not thinking it right to leave her father; but I have not finished that, so now you must hear about his return home.'

'A romaunt in six cantos, ent.i.tled Woe woe, By Miss f.a.n.n.y F. known more commonly so,'

muttered Claude to himself; but as Lily did not understand or know whence his quotation came, it did not hurt her feelings, and she went merrily on:-

''Tis the twenty-ninth of merry May; Full cheerily shine the sunbeams to-day, Their joyous light revealing Full many a troop in garments gay, With cheerful steps who take their way By the green hill and shady lane, While merry bells are pealing; And soon in Beechcroft's holy fane The villagers are kneeling.

Dreary and mournful seems the shrine Where sound their prayers and hymns divine; For every mystic ornament By the rude spoiler's hand is rent; Scarce is its ancient beauty traced In wood-work broken and defaced, Reft of each quaint device and rare, Of foliage rich and mouldings fair; Yet happy is each spirit there; The simple peasantry rejoice To see the altar decked with care, To hear their ancient Pastor's voice Reciting o'er each well-known prayer, To view again his robe of white, And hear the services aright; Once more to chant their glorious Creed, And thankful own their nation freed From those who cast her glories down, And rent away her Cross and Crown.

A stranger knelt among the crowd, And joined his voice in praises loud, And when the holy rites had ceased, Held converse with the aged Priest, Then turned to join the village feast, Where, raised on the hill's summit green, The Maypole's flowery wreaths were seen; Beneath the venerable yew The stranger stood the sports to view, Unmarked by all, for each was bent On his own scheme of merriment, On talking, laughing, dancing, playing - There never was so blithe a Maying.

So thought each laughing maiden gay, Whose head-gear bore the oaken spray; So thought that hand of shouting boys, Unchecked in their best joy--in noise; But gray-haired men, whose deep-marked scars Bore token of the civil wars, And hooded dames in cloaks of red, At the blithe youngsters shook the head, Gathering in eager cl.u.s.ters told How joyous were the days of old, When Beechcroft's lords, those Barons bold, Came forth to join their va.s.sals' sport, And here to hold their rustic court, Throned in the ancient chair you see Beneath our n.o.ble old yew tree.

Alas! all empty stands the throne, Reserved for Mohun's race alone, And the old folks can only tell Of the good lords who ruled so well.

"Ah! I bethink me of the time, The last before those years of crime, When with his open hearty cheer, The good old squire was sitting here."

"'Twas then," another voice replied, "That brave young Master Maurice tried To pitch the ball with Andrew Grey - We ne'er shall see so blithe a day - All the young squires have long been dead."

"No, Master Webb," quoth Andrew Grey, "Young Master Maurice safely fled, At least so all the Greenwoods say, And Walter Greenwood with him went To share his master's banishment; And now King Charles is ruling here, Our own good landlord may be near."

"Small hope of that," the old man said, And sadly shook his h.o.a.ry head, "Sir Maurice died beyond the sea, Last of his n.o.ble line was he."

"Look, Master Webb!" he turned, and there The stranger sat in Mohun's chair; At ease he sat, and smiled to scan The face of each astonished man; Then on the ground he laid aside His plumed hat and mantle wide.

One moment, Andrew deemed he knew Those glancing eyes of hazel hue, But the sunk cheek, the figure spare, The lines of white that streak the hair - How can this he the stripling gay, Erst, victor in the sports of May?

Full twenty years of cheerful toil, And labour on his native soil, On Andrew's head had left no trace - The summer's sun, the winter's storm, They had but ruddier made his face, More hard his hand, more strong his form.

Forth from the wandering, whispering crowd, A farmer came, and spoke aloud, With rustic bow and welcome fair, But with a hesitating air - He told how custom well preserved The throne for Mohun's race reserved; The stranger laughed, "What, Harrington, Hast thou forgot thy landlord's son?"

Loud was the cry, and blithe the shout, On Beechcroft hill that now rang out, And still remembered is the day, That merry twenty-ninth of May, When to his father's home returned That knight, whose glory well was earned.

In poverty and banishment, His prime of manhood had been spent, A wanderer, scorned by Charles's court, One faithful servant his support.

And now, he seeks his home forlorn, Broken in health, with sorrow worn.

And two short years just pa.s.sed away, Between that joyous meeting-day, And the sad eve when Beechcroft's bell Tolled forth Sir Maurice's funeral knell; And Phyllis, whose love was so constant and tried, Was a widow the year she was Maurice's bride; Yet the path of the n.o.ble and true-hearted knight, Was brilliant with honour, and glory, and light, And still his descendants shall sing of the fame Of Sir Maurice de Mohun, the pride of his name.'

'It is a pity they should sing of it in such lines as those last four,' said Claude. 'Let me see, I like your bringing in the real names, though I doubt whether any but Greenwood could have been found here.'

'Oh! here come Emily and Jane,' said Lily, 'let me put it away.'

'You are very much afraid of Jane,' said Claude.

'Yes, Jane has no feeling for poetry,' said Lily, with simplicity, which made her brother smile.

Jane and Emily now came up, the former with her work, the latter with a camp-stool and a book. 'I wonder,' said she, 'where those boys are! By the bye, what character did they bring home from school?'

'The same as usual,' said Claude. 'Maurice's mind only half given to his work, and Redgie's whole mind to his play.'

'Maurice's talent does not lie in the direction of Latin and Greek,'

said Emily.

'No,' said Jane, 'it is nonsense to make him learn it, and so he says.'

'Perhaps he would say the same of mathematics and mechanics, if as great a point were made of them,' said Lily.

'I think not,' said Claude; 'he has more notion of them than of Latin verses.'

'Then you are on my side,' said Jane, triumphantly.

'Did I say so?' said Claude.

'Why not?' said Jane. 'What is the use of his knowing those stupid languages? I am sure it is wasting time not to improve such a genius as he has for mechanics and natural history. Now, Claude, I wish you would answer.'

'I was waiting till you had done,' said Claude.

'Why do you not think it nonsense?' persisted Jane.

'Because I respect my father's opinion,' said Claude, letting himself fall on the gra.s.s, as if he had done with the subject.

'Pooh!' said Jane, 'that sounds like a good little boy of five years old!'

'Very likely,' said Claude.

'But you have some opinion of your own,' said Lily.

'Certainly.'

'Then I wish you would give it,' said Jane.

'Come, Emily,' said Claude, 'have you brought anything to read?'

'But your opinion, Claude,' said Jane. 'I am sure you think with me, only you are too grand, and too correct to say so.'

Claude made no answer, but Jane saw she was wrong by his countenance; before she could say anything more, however, they were interrupted by a great outcry from the Old Court regions.