Under the StormYonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
History
Under the Storm
Yonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
Great Britain -- History -- Civil War, 1642-1649 -- Fiction
"Ah!" said Mr. Holworth, "it minds me that none ever found again the
holy Ark of the Covenant that King Josiah and the Prophet Jeremiah hid
in a cavern within Mount Pisgah! and our sins be many that have provoked
this judgment! Mayhap the boy will be the only one of us who will see
these blessed vessels restored to their Altar once more! He may
have been sent hither to that very end. Now, look you, Steadfast
Kenton--Steadfast thou hast ever been, so far as I have known thee, in
nature as well as in name. Give me thy word that thou wilt never give up
the secret of yonder cavern to any save a lawfully ordained minister of
the church."
"No doubt poor old Clerk North will be in distress about the loss," said
Kenton.
"True, but he had best not be told. His mind is fast going, and he
cannot safely be trusted with such a mighty secret."
"Patience knows the cavern," murmured Steadfast to his father.
"Best have no womenfolk, nor young maids in such a matter," said the
Vicar.
"My wench takes after her good mother," said John, "and I ever found my
secrets were safer in her breast than in mine own. Not that I would have
her told without need. But she might take little Rusha there, or make
the place known to others an she be not warned."
"Steadfast must do as he sees occasion, with your counsel, Master
Kenton," said the Vicar. "It is a great trust we place in you, my son,
to be as it were in charge of the vessels of the sanctuary, and I would
have thy hand and word."
"And," said his father, "though he be slower in speech than some, your
reverence may trust him."
Steadfast gave his brown red hand, and with head bare said, "I promise,
after the minister and before God, never to give up that which lies
within the cave to any man, save a lawfully ordained minister of the
Church."
CHAPTER II. THE STRAGGLERS.
"Trust me, I am exceedingly weary."
SHAKESPEARE.
John Kenton, though a Churchwarden, was, as has been said, a very small
farmer, and the homestead was no more than a substantial cottage, built
of the greystone of the country, with the upper story projecting a
little, and reached by an outside stair of stone. The farm yard, with
the cowsheds, barn, and hay stack were close in front, with only a
narrow strip of garden between, for there was not much heed paid to
flowers, and few kitchen vegetables were grown in those days, only a few
potherbs round the door, and a sweet-brier bush by the window.
The cows had made their way home of their own accord, and Patience was
milking one of them already, while little Rusha held the baby, which was
swaddled up as tightly as a mummy, with only his arms free. He stretched
them out with a cry of gladness as he saw his father, and Kenton
took the little creature tenderly in his arms and held him up, while
Steadfast hurried off to fetch the milking stool and begin upon the
other cow.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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