A typical medieval tale, with generous youngsters helping the poor at Christmas.If she had not ridden to Newstowe Grange that afternoon before Twelfth-night, she would never have known about Robin, the poacher.
And who so joyous as Lady Marjorie, riding at her grandfather's side? Especially as her distant cousin, Percy de Lancy, was making his pony prance and canter, and was throwing teasing, roguish words at her of his better speed as he raced ahead.
"Better me no betters. Master Percy," laughed Marjorie, leaning over and patting her own Seafoam's neck. "We 'll show him who 's the better horse, won't we?"
"Dost thou then like thy birthday gift, my Meg?" asked her grandfather.
"Oh, my lord! —oh, Grandsire!—like him, coming from you? How could I not like him?—But, indeed, he seems just made to carry me."
"Hadst thou been a summer child, I would have given thee a jewel or other kickshaw: but hardy sports are more fitting for our midwinter maid who came to us twelve years agone on Twelfth-day. So thou art pleased?"
"Nothing could please me so well!" Marjorie rose in her saddle and grazed the earl's mustache with a kiss. "Indeed, dear Grandsire, this is the greatest birthday of my life."
Lord Penthaven smiled, well pleased. The boy Percy was heir of his title and earldom, but to Marjorie was given the old man's love.
"The maid is well grown and forward," he thought, as the cousins raced ahead. "To-night she shall take her place as lady of Penthaven Castle. One of my own race shall again preside over the old rook 's nest. The younger the better—she will learn all sweet customs by the time she and Percy are of an age to wed."
Marjorie's laugh echoed back clear upon the sweet, nipping air. The frosty grass crackled beneath their horses' hoofs, and little icicles hung from the bills of the stone swans at the fountain. Who so happy to-day as Lady Marjorie?
Just as Seafoam had sprung a length ahead at the park gates, Marjorie saw two men hurrying through the shadows, dragging a third between them. Lord Penthaven, riding up, reined in his horse.
"Who 's this?" he demanded.
"Robin Hogg, plowman, m'lord," replied one of the men. "We caught 'im stealin' a hare, m'lord; caught 'im in the act."
Through the gloom Marjorie peered at the thief's face. He looked hungry and ill, with soft, hollow eyes.
"Rascal! Has the fellow been poaching again—and twice pardoned already?—Ride on, Percy, with my granddaughter.—Take him to the tower," Marjorie heard her grandfather add, as she moved away; "I 'll finish this business after Twelfth-day."
The laughter was all gone from the girl's lips and eyes, and the lightness from her heart. She had seen tears, but never such a woeful face as this. She rode on silent and thoughtful, between huge bonfires beginning to blaze on every side. Men were shouting gaily to each other, and the Twelfth-night song echoed far from field and hayrick.
It was only when they reached Newstowe Grange that Marjorie began to be her happy self again. The farm was a portion of her own dower, and she had come as little lady of the manor to "bless" the grand old apple-orchard. Standing in great state by the oldest apple-tree, she sipped the farmer 's hard cider without making a wry face—even sipping it again like a gracious little lady—then emptied the big pewter pitcher upon the ground, singing:
while the men 's voices took up the chorus:
And afterward give us apples enow!"
The great park gates stood wide open as the children raced up again, leaving Lord Penthaven behind. Seafoam sprang aside as a woebegone figure stepped forward into the moonlight. It was a woman. Her feet were bare, and she was shivering. Marjorie could see a baby 's head against her bosom—a wan, lean little face.
"Come hither, poor woman," said Marjorie, quieting Seafoam. "What is thy name?"
"Lisbeth Hogg, m'lady."
"And is the baby hungry?"
"Hungry and cold, m'lady."
"Ah, poor babe! And thou, too!—Here, take this." The girl drew a coin from the purse at her girdle.
Instead of taking it, the poor creature burst into tears and fell upon her knees.
"Oh, m'lady, m'lady! I can can go hungry—but Robin, my man! Speak to m'lord, m'lady"— She choked, and was silent a moment. "Oh, sweet m'lady, do not let them–"
"It must be the wife of Robin, the poacher!" exclaimed Percy.
"Ah!" Marjorie burst into sudden tears. She had been told how people were punished in England for stealing; but nothing like this had ever come near her before.
"Oh, why did he do wrong?" she asked, sobbing.
"Ah, m'lady, m'lady, you know not what it is to starve—and he too ill to work! And the hares so near—they ran by the door– Speak to m'lord, m'lady!"
"I will, I will, indeed!" Marjorie choked back her tears as Lord Penthaven, riding up, tossed the woman a coin without asking her business. Yet the earl wondered to see his granddaughter so quiet.
"Art afeard, Meg?" he asked, as they entered the shadows of the park again.
"No, my lord." And yet she was afraid, because she dreaded to speak to him about Robin. Not even Marjorie dared to cross his stern will. She trembled for herself; yet, still more, she trembled for the thief. Twelfth-night eve should be so joyous, and yet her young heart was heavy. If only her gentle mother had lived! But Percy whispered, "Cheer up, sweet Coz!" as he caught her hand in the darkness, and then she hoped that together they would find a way.
As they dismounted at the great hall, it was blazing with long rows of sconces and torches high among the stags' heads, while mighty logs yielded up their hearts in fire.
"Put on thy bravest finery, to-night, Meg!" called her grandfather, as Marjorie ran up the broad steps.
After her tiring-women had finished dressing her, she stood a moment before her mirror, prinking herself with little pats at her wide lace collar and long, lace-bordered apron. Her maid had left some clustering yellow curls in front of her ears, and tied all the rest back at the crown of her head with a bright ribbon. The new gown of blue Padua satin glistened with silver roses. It had been copied from one worn by the king 's little sister when she sat for her portrait to the great court painter.
"Gransire will be pleased with me to-night," she said with sparkling eyes.
"Marjorie, Marjorie!" called Percy from the gallery. Starting back as she sprang to the door, Percy threw up his hands as if dazzled by the girl 's splendor. His dark eyes twinkled as he fell upon one knee, bowing so low that his short sword clanked upon the floor.
"My lord bids the Lady Marjorie to the hall," he said.
Marjorie laughed aloud.
"Go before, Sir Page, and tell his lordship that I come."
She gathered up her satin skirts and minced daintily along, swinging on tiptoe and tossing her head when Percy threw a laughing glance backward.
But when she reached the staircase, she drew back blushing. It was lined on either side with people, and, below, stood Lord Penthaven, beckoning to her. As she tripped timidly down, the castle ladies followed in her train. When they reached the green-and-gold-covered dais, her grandfather, looking very stately in full dress, seated her at his right hand, with Percy on his left. Then he introduced her to his people as from that time the lady of the castle. Amid cheers which shook the glass dome, Marjorie rose with glowing cheeks and curtseyed shyly to the earl.
The broad leaves of the outer door then swung open, and, amid a mighty clamor, a huge cake appeared, borne on a trestle and sparkling with silver frosting. It was a copy of Penthaven Castle itself, with glistening battlements. After the cake followed the Twelfth-night mummers. They danced around the cake, singing the "cake song," and then the real business of the evening began.
The Twelfth-day cake was cut.
Marjorie made the first cut into it and Percy the second. Somewhere inside that huge mountain of sweetness was a gold coin and a ring. Whoever got the coin would be king of the revels, and the ring would go to the queen.
The company waited, expectant and eager, until all were served. Then Marjorie broke her own piece in two, and, lo! a gold ring fell out! When at almost the same instant Percy found the coin, there was a shout of laughter, and the guests, trooping up to the dais, put the tinsel crowns upon the heads of the boy and the girl. Lord Penthaven rose and, bowing low, gave up his seat to Percy.
In the meantime, Tom, the earl's jester, had been sitting at his master's feet, throwing in a word or shaking his cap and bells. But now Lord Penthaven lifted with his staff the cap from the jester's head.
"Take off thy fool's bells," he said. "Thy crown is out of joint. We have another king of fools to-night."
But the jester snatched at his cap and flung it so truly that it caught on one of the points of Percy's crown.
"Take my diadem, Your Majesty!" he said. "You 'll need it to raise the laugh. There 's more wit under the fool's cap than under the king's crown."
But Percy tossed it back. "Keep thy wit, Sir Fool!" he replied, very smartly. "I 'll risk the folly for the sake of the crown."
The jester nodded. "Spoken like a right true king," he said.
The young king of Twelfth-night then called for the "lamb's-wool," and all drank, singing, for the ale was hot, sweet, and spiced, and white with crushed apples. After that came a pause. Percy stood silent, while Marjorie, with a pang, thought suddenly of the poor gaunt thief in the dungeon tower.
"Gracious Consort," at last said the king, turning to her, "you also must rule the revels.— Help me, do, Coz!" he pleaded, in a whisper. "My wits are wanting."
Tom the jester grinned and held out his cap. Marjorie, brought to the front so suddenly, could think of but one thing—to fly. Springing from her chair, she called out, "Follow me!" and fluttered down the hall like a captive bluebird. Percy made a streak of crimson in her trail.
At the outer door Marjorie called again, "Catch me who can!" and in a moment the cousins were tearing across the stone-paved and moonlit court. Passing the entrance arch and the tower where Robin was confined, Marjorie burst through a door into a stone passage lit by torches, and flew up a narrow staircase. There the children paused a moment to listen to laughing voices in the court, and a well-known tinkle. Tomfool was leading the chase like a bell-wether. The race began to be exciting. It had turned into a game of hide-and-seek. The children darted forward again.
After many turnings and windings through the old castle, they at last darted into a great room lying in dim moonlight, where huge figures towered on either hand like ghosts, and dark heaps here and there gave back a faint clang to their footsteps.
"See, a light!" whispered Percy to the trembling girl. He seized her hand and drew her toward a small door which stood ajar.
Their eyes were dazzled with sudden brightness. A sparkling candelabrum hung from the ceiling of the little room beyond. It threw a glory of light upon a large painting in front of them. Hand in hand they crossed the room and stood gazing.
The picture showed them a long, dim shed where sat a simply clad woman with a Babe in her arms, and near them cattle were feeding from a manger. The beautiful Child had only a coarse cloth thrown about Him; but an old man, holding up a bowl full of glistening things, knelt, with two others, before the Babe as if in worship.
"The Christ-child!" exclaimed Percy. "Why, Coz, is not He the true King of Twelfth-night?"
"But what a low, dark, empty place!" replied Marjorie. "And see—snow lying upon the roof, and the baby looks cold—oh, Percy! the poor, poor babe at the park gate to-night—and Robin-"
The tears gathered in her eyes. She touched her satin bodice and the wide rich lace about her neck.
"My grandsire loads me with his favor—"
Just then, merry voices were heard echoing along the corridors.
"They are coming!" and Percy, laughing, led her from the room by another door than that by which they had entered. The long passage before them ended in gleams of moonlight beyond. Into the moonlight they ran, and out upon a parapet which overlooked the great court. At their right hand the old dungeon tower stood black in the moonlight.
Marjorie shivered with cold and the gloom of the place.
"Oh, Percy! to think of being shut in there, so cold, so dark—and poor Robin is there to-night! He cannot work now, even if he would—and his wife and baby starving!"
"If I should ever be earl," said Percy, his dark eyes flashing, "I 'll pull down the old—"
The foremost of the pursuing party at that moment burst out upon the parapet. A young knight, leading a lady; came forward, and after falling upon one knee, rose and threw about Marjorie's shoulders a cloak rich with fur.
"My Lord of Penthaven beseeches Your Majesty to be covered from the chill," he said.
"For me—all good things for me," thought Marjorie, smiling; and yet the tears fell from her eyes upon the velvet. She looked across the court to where, around a corner, glowed the light from the great hall windows.
"So much for me—and so little for them," she said, turning to Percy.
"So little for—whom?" demanded Lord Penthaven, stepping out into the moonlight.
With sudden courage she fluttered forward and fell at his feet.
"A boon, a boon, dear my lord!" she pleaded.
"Does not my Twelfth-night queen know that she has only to command?" laughed the earl.
But she slipped away from his smiling face and outstretched hand, and still knelt before him with moist eyes.
"Give me Robin poacher, oh, sweet my lord; do not let him lie longer in the cold dungeon!"
"What, what, tears? Tears on Twelfth-night—on thy birthday eve? This must not be. Why, the fellow is a pestilent thief, and needs the dungeon for his better manners."
"But see! you have given me everything"— the girl seized the earl's hand and kissed it, forgetful of all who might be looking on. "Give me this also—the poor poacher's freedom! Let him have bread and work, too, that he may not steal, oh, dear my lord!"
By this time, Percy was kneeling at his cousin's side.
"Have these two chits conspired against me?" asked the earl, laughing.
Calling for his page, he led Marjorie back into the room where hung the painting. In a few moments, Robin appeared with his guard. Behind them followed the trembling wife.
"You are free!" said Marjorie to the dazzled and wondering culprit. "But oh, do not come within the law again!"
She drew off her own new ring, and Percy, guessing her intent, held out to her his bright golden coin.
"See, here are gifts. Take them as from the Christ-child, the little Lord Jesus," she said, pointing to the picture. "This is His night. And stay at the castle till morn; we will find a place and work for you—shall we not, my lord?" she asked, turning to her grandfather, a look of irresistible appeal in her soft eyes.
Lord Penthaven smiled. The company, who had gathered around, gave a pleased murmur of assent. Tom the jester, hovering in the background, shook the bells upon his cap. Robin stood dazed, with bowed head, turning over in his hand the gold. But the wife knelt and kissed the girl's satin robe with mumbled blessings and with tears.
Such a happy company as trooped back to the hall—such jests—such merriment! Tom was wittier than ever; and even Percy's tutor translated an old joke from the Latin, at which everybody laughed because their hearts were full.
As for Marjorie, she was between laughing and crying all the time, just for joy. Robin was safe, and already the earl had promised her largess for all the poor around the castle.
At the Twelfth-day dinner on the morrow, every one toasted the children's healths, and declared it was the happiest Twelfth-day Penthaven Castle had ever known.
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