The Child of the Moat: A Story for Girls. 1557 A.D. — John Shaqi
The Child of the Moat: A Story for Girls. 1557 A.D.Stoughton Holborn, I. B. (Ian Bernard)
History
The Child of the Moat: A Story for Girls. 1557 A.D.
Stoughton Holborn, I. B. (Ian Bernard)
Adventure stories; Girls -- Juvenile fiction; Great Britain -- History -- Mary I, 1553-1558 -- Juvenile fiction
“I was brought up a good daughter of the church, and I know when I am
right, and look here, you young hussie, what do you mean by talking to
your mother like that? It’s that good for nothing baggage, that your
father has brought from Scotland, that has been putting these notions
into your head, with her book learning and nonsense. I assure you that
I won’t have any more of it, you little skelpie,[4] you are not too old
for a good beating yet, and I tell you what;--I will not have the two
of you wasting your time in that library, I shall lock it up, and you
are not to go in there without permission, and that will not be yet
awhile, I can promise you.”
[4] A girl young enough to be whipped (skelped).
After this outburst the meal was eaten in silence and every one felt
very uncomfortable.
When supper was over the sky seemed to show signs of breaking and
Master Mowbray ventured to express a hope that the next day would be
fine, and that they would be able to find the heretic on the hills.
“That man has done more mischief than any of the others,” he muttered;
but when pressed to explain himself he changed the subject and said he
must go and see if the water had done any damage in the lower court.
The children were not sorry to retire to their room when bedtime came.
They had undressed and Audry was helping Aline to brush her great
masses of long hair. What a picture she looked in her little white
night-robe, with her large mysterious dark blue eyes that no one ever
saw without being stirred, and her wonderful charm of figure! Her
colouring was as remarkable as her form. The hair was of a deep dark
red, somewhat of the colour beloved by Titian, but with more gloss
and glow although a little lower in tone; that colour which one meets
perhaps once in a lifetime, a full rich undoubted red, but without a
suspicion of the garishness and harshness that belongs to most red
hair. The eyes were of the dark ultramarine blue only found among the
Keltic peoples and even then but rarely, like the darkest blue of the
Mediterranean Sea, when the sapphire hue is touched with a hint of
purple.
“What is a heretic?” Audry asked; “I am sure you know.”
“I do not know that I do, but I remember father saying something to me
about it before he died. He said that they were people who were not
satisfied with the way that things were going in the church and that
in particular they denied that it was only through the priests of the
church that God spoke to his people. They say that the priests are no
better than any one else and indeed are sometimes even worse.”
“I do not know that they claim to be better than other people,”
objected Audry.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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