He dwells all alone, doth old Jack, in a mud cot part-way up the mountain, that he did build himself, ere the aches in his bones ’gan trouble him, that he might scantly work. He is one of those queer folk that call themselves Brownists, and would fain have some better religion than they may find at church. Jack is nigh alway reading of his Bible, but never no man could so much as guess the strange meanings he brings forth of the words. I reckon, as Aunt Joyce saith, there is more Jack than Brownist in them.
We found Jack sitting in the porch, his great Bible on his knees. He looked up when he heard our voices.
“Get out!” saith he. “I never want no women folk.”
’Tis not oft we have fairer greeting of Jack.
“Nay, truly, Jack,” saith Milly right demurely. “They be a rare bad handful—nigh as ill as men folk. What thou lackest is eggs and cordial water, the which women can carry as well as jackasses.”
She held forth her basket as she spake.
“Humph!” grunts old Jack. “I’d liever have the jackasses.”
“I am assured thou wouldst,” quoth Milly. “Each loveth best his own kind.”
Old Jack was fingering of the eggs.
“They be all hens’ eggs!”
“So they be,” saith Milly. “I dare guess, thou shouldst have loved goose eggs better.”
“Ducks’,” answereth old Jack.
“The ducks be gone a-swimming,” saith she.
I now drew forth my bottle of cordial water, the which the old man took off me with never a thank you, and after smelling thereto, set of the ground at his side.
“What art reading, Jack?” saith Milly.
“What Paul’s got to say again’ th’ law,” quoth he. “ ’Tis a rare ill thing th’ law, Mistress Milisent. And so be magistrates, and catchpolls (constables) and all the lawyer folk. Rascals, Mistress Milisent—all rascals, every man Jack of ’em. Do but read Paul, and you shall see so much.”
“Saith the Apostle so?” quoth Milly, and gave me a look which nigh o’erset me.
“He saith ‘the law is not given unto a righteous man,’ so how can they be aught but ill folk that be alway a-poking in it? Tell me that, Mistress. If ‘birds of a feather will flock together,’ then a chap that’s shaking hands every day wi’ th’ law mun be an ill un, and no mistake.”
“Go to, Jack: it signifies not that,” Milly makes answer. “Saint Paul meant that the law of God was given for the sake of ill men, not good men. The laws of England be other matter.”
“Get out wi’ ye!” saith Jack. “Do ye think I wis not what Paul means as well as a woman? It says th’ law, and it means th’ law. And if he’d signified as you say, he’d have said as th’ law wasn’t given again’ a righteous man, not to him. You gi’e o’er comin’ a-rumpagin’ like yon.”
For me, I scarce knew which way to look, to let me from laughing. But Milly goes on, sad as any judge.
“Well, but if lawyers be thus bad, Jack—though my sister’s husband is a lawyer, mind thou—”
“He’s a rascal, then!” breaks in Jack. “They’re all rascals, every wastrel (an unprincipled, good-for-nothing fellow) of ’em.”
“But what fashion of folk be better?” saith Milly. “Thou seest, Jack, we maids be nigh old enough for wedding, and I would fain know the manner of man a woman were best to wed.”
“Best let ’em all a-be,” growls Jack. “Women’s always snarin’ o’ men. Women’s bad uns. Howbeit, you lasses down at th’ Hall are th’ better end, I reckon.”
“Oh, thank you, Jack!” cries Milly with much warmth. “Now do tell me—shall I wed with a chirurgeon?”
“And take p’ison when he’s had enough of you,” quoth Jack. “Nay, never go in for one o’ them chaps. They kills folks all th’ day, and lies a-thinkin’ how to do it all th’ night.”
“A soldier, then?” saith Milly.
“Hired murderers,” saith Jack.
“Come, Jack, thou art hard on a poor maid. Thou wilt leave me ne’er a one. Oh, ay, there is the parson.”
“What!” shrieks forth Jack. “One o’ they Babylonian mass-mongers? Hypocrites, wolves in sheep’s clothing a-pretending for to be shepherds! Old ’Zekiel, he’s summut to say touching them. You get home, and just read his thirty-fourth chapter; and wed one o’ them wastrels at after, if ye can! Now then, get ye forth; I’ve had enough o’ women. I telled ye so.”
“Fare thee well, Jack,” quoth Milly in mocking tribulation. “I see how it is—I shall be forced to wed a lead-miner.”
I was verily thankful that Milly did come away, for I could bear no longer. We ran fast down the steep track, and once at the bottom, we laughed till the tears ran down. When we were something composed, said I—
“Shall we look in on old Isaac Crewdson?”
“Gramercy, not this morrow,” quoth Milly. “Jack’s enough for one day. Old Isaac alway gives me the horrors. I cannot do with him atop of Jack.”
So we came home. But if Milly love it not, then will I go by myself to see old Isaac, for he liketh me well.
Selwick Hall, October ye ix.
Aunt Joyce went with me yesterday to see Isaac. We found him of the chimney-corner, whence he seldom stirreth, being now infirm. Old Mary had but then made an end of her washing, and she was a-folding the clean raiment to put by. I ran into the garden and gathered sprigs of rosemary, whereof they have a fine thriving bush.
“Do tell me, Mall,” said I, “how thou orderest matters, for to have thy rosemary thrive thus? Our bush is right stunted to compare withal.”
“I never did nought to it,” quoth old Mall, somewhat crustily. She is Jack Benn’s sister, and truly they be something like.
“Eh, Mistress Nell, dunna ye know?” saith Isaac, laughing feebly. “Th’ rosemary always thrives well where th’ missis is th’ master. Did ye never hear yon saying?”
“Shut up wi’ thy foolish saws!” saith Mall, a-turning round on him. “He’s a power of proverbs and saws, Mistress Nell, and he’s for ever and the day after a-thrustin’ of ’em in. There’s no wit i’ such work.”
“Eh, but there’s a deal o’ wit in some o’ they old saws!” Isaac makes answer, of his slow fashion. “Look ye now—‘Brag’s a good dog, but Holdfast’s better’—there’s a true sayin’ for ye. Then again look ye—‘He that will have a hare to breakfast must hunt o’er night.’ And ‘A grunting horse and a groaning wife never fails their master.’ Eh, but that’s true!” And old Isaac laughed, of his feeble fashion, yet again.
“There be some men like to make groaning wives,” quoth Mall, crustily. “They sit i’ th’ chimney-corner at their ease, and put ne’er a hand to the work.”
“That is not thy case, Mall,” saith Aunt Joyce, cheerily. “So long as he were able, I am well assured Isaac took