









                        Chapter XXIX

              A Message Comes to Hazel and the
               First Swallow to Dame Marigold


The information given by Luke Hempen had enabled the
authorities in Lud finally to put a stop to the import of
fairy fruit.  As we have seen, the Dapple had been dragged
near its source, and wicker frails had been brought up, so
cunningly weighted that they could float beneath the surface
of the water, and closely packed with what was unmistakably
fairy fruit.  After that no further cases of fruit-eating
came to Mumchance's notice.  But, for all that, his
anxieties were by no means at an end, for the execution of
Endymion Leer came near to causing a popular rising.  An
angry mob, armed with cudgels and led by Bawdy Bess, stormed
the court of the Guildhall, cut down the body -- which had
been left hanging on the gibbet as an example to evildoers
-- and bore it off in triumph; and the longest funeral
procession that had been seen for years was shortly
following it to the Fields of Grammary.
   The cautious Mumchance considered it would be imprudent
to interfere with the obsequies.
   "After all, your Worship," he said to Master Polydore,
"the Law has had his blood, and if it will mean a little
peace and quiet she can do without his corpse."
   The next day many of the 'prentices and artizans went on
strike, and several captains of merchant vessels reported
that their crews showed signs of getting out of hand.
   Master Polydore was terrified out of his wits, and
Mumchance was inclined to take a very gloomy view of the
situation: "If the town chooses to rise the Yeomanry can do
nothing against them," he said dejectedly.  "We ain't
organized (if your Worship will pardon the expression) for
trouble -- no, we ain't."
   Then, as if by a miracle, everything quieted down.  The
strikers, as meek as lambs, returned to their work, the
sailors ceased to be turbulent, and Mumchance declared that
it was years since the Yeomanry had had so little to do.
   "There's nothing like taking strong measures *at once,*"
Master Polydore remarked complacently to Master Ambrose
(whom he had taken as his mentor in the place of Endymion
Leer).  "Once let them feel that there is a strong man at
the helm, and you can do anything with them.  And, of
course, they never felt that with poor old Nat." 
   Master Ambrose's only answer was a grunt -- and a rather
sardonic smile.  For Master Ambrose happened to be one of
the few people who knew what had really happened.
   The sudden calm was due neither to a miracle, nor to the
strong hand of Master Polydore.  It had been brought about
by two humble agents -- Mistress Ivy Peppercorn and Hazel
Gibberty.
   One evening they had been sitting in the little parlour
behind the grocer's shop over the first fire of the season.
   As plaintiff and principal witness in the unpopular
trial, their situation was not without danger.  In fact,
Mumchance had advised them to move into Lud till the storm
had blown over.  But, to Hazel, Lud was the place where the
widow was buried, and, full as she was of western
superstitions, she felt that she could not bear to sleep
enclosed by the same town walls as the angry corpse.  Nor
would she return to the farm.  Her aunt had told her of
Master Nathaniel's half-joking plan to communicate with her,
and Hazel insisted that even though he had gone behind the
Debatable Hills it was their clear duty to remain within
reach of a message.
   That evening Mistress Ivy was waxing a little plaintive
over her obstinacy.  "I sometimes think, Hazel, your wits
have been turned, living so long with that bad bold woman...
and I don't wonder, I'm sure, poor child; and if my poor
Peppercorn hadn't come along, I don't know what would have
happened to *me*.  But there's no sense, I tell you, in
waiting on here -- with the hams and bacon at home not cured
yet, nor the fish salted for winter, nor your fruit pickled
or preserved.  You're a farmer on your own now, and you
*shouldn't* forget it.  And I wish to goodness you'd get all
that silly nonsense out of your head.  A message from the
Mayor, indeed!  Though I can't get over its being him that
came to see me, and me never knowing, but giving him sauce,
as if he'd been nothing but a shipmate of my poor
Peppercorn's!  No, no, poor gentleman, we'll never hear from
*him*!  Leastways, not *this* side of the Debatable Hills."
   Hazel said nothing.  But her obstinate little chin looked
even more obstinate than usual.
   Then suddenly she looked up with startled eyes.
   "Hark, auntie!" she cried.  "Didn't you hear someone
knocking?"
   "What a girl you are for fancying things!  It's only the
wind," said Mistress Ivy querulously.
   "Why, auntie, there it is again!  No, no, I'm sure it's
someone knocking.  I'll just go and see," and she took a
candle from the table; but her hand was trembling.
   The knocking was audible now to Mistress Ivy as well.
   "You just stay where you are, my girl!" she cried
shrilly.  "It'll be one of these rough chaps from the town,
and I won't have you opening the door -- no, I won't."
   But Hazel paid no attention, and, though her face was
white and her eyes very scared, she marched boldly into the
shop and called, "Who's there?" through the door.
   "By the Sun, Moon and Stars and the Golden Apples of the
West!" came the answer. 
   "Auntie! auntie!" she cried shrilly, "it's from the
Mayor.  He has sent a messenger, and you must come."
   This brought Mistress Ivy hurrying to her side.  Though
she was not of an heroic character, she came of good sturdy
stock, and she was not going to leave her dead brother's
child to face the dangers of the unseen alone, but her teeth
were chattering with terror.  Evidently the messenger was
growing impatient, for he began beating a tattoo on the door
and singing in a shrill sweet voice:
   
            "Maids in your smocks
             Look well to your locks
             And beware of the fox
             When the bellman knocks."
   
   Hazel (not without some fumbling, for her hands were
still trembling) drew the bolts, lifted the latch, and flung
the door wide open.  A sudden gust of wind extinguished her
candle, so they could not see the face of the messenger.
   He began speaking in a shrill, expressionless voice, like
that of a child repeating a lesson: "I have given the
password, so you know from whom I come.  I am to bid you go
at once to Lud-in-the-Mist, and find a sailor, by name
Sebastian Thug -- he will probably be drinking at the tavern
of the Unicorn -- also a deaf-mute, commonly known as Bawdy
Bess, whom you will probably find in the same place.  You
will have need of no other introduction than the words, *By
the Sun, Moon and Stars and the Golden Apples of the
West.*   You are to tell them that there is to be no more
rioting, and that they are to keep the people quiet, for the
Duke will send his deputy.  And next you will go to Master
Ambrose Honeysuckle and bid him remember the oath which he
and Master Nathaniel pledged each other over wild-thyme gin,
swearing to ride the wind with a loose rein, and to be
hospitable to visions.  And tell him that Lud-in-the-Mist
must throw wide its gates to receive its destiny.  Can you
remember this?"
   "Yes," said Hazel in a low puzzled voice.
   "And now just a trifle to the messenger for his pains!"
and his voice became gay and challenging.  "I am an orchard
thief and the citizen of a green world.  Buss me, green
maid!" and before Hazel had time to protest he gave her a
smacking kiss on the lips and then plunged into the night,
leaving the echoes of his "Ho, ho, *hoh*!" like a silvery
trail in his wake.
   "Well, I never did!" exclaimed Mistress Ivy in amazement,
adding with a fat chuckle, "It would seem that it isn't only
*this* side of the hills that saucy young fellows are to be
found.  But I don't quite know what to make of it, my girl. 
How are we to know he really comes from the Mayor?"
   "Well, auntie, we can't know, of course, for certain --
though, for my part, I don't think he was a Dorimarite.  But
he gave the password, so I think we must deliver the
messages -- there's nothing in them, after all, that could
do any harm." 
   "That's true," said Mistress Ivy.  "Though I'm sure I
don't want to go trudging into Lud at this time of night on
a fool's errand.  But, after all, a promise is a promise --
and doubly so when it's been given to somebody as good as
dead."
   So they put on their pattens and cloaks, lighted at
lanthorn, and started off to walk into Lud, as briskly as
Mistress Ivy's age and weight would allow, so as to get
there before the gates were shut.  Master Ambrose, as a
Senator, would give them a pass to let them through on the
way back.
   The Unicorn was a low little tavern down by the wharf, of
a not very savoury reputation.  And as they peeped in at the
foul noisy little den, Hazel had considerable difficulty in
persuading Mistress Ivy to enter.
   "And to think of the words we have to use too!" the poor
woman whispered disconsolately; "they're not at the best of
times the sort of words I like to hear on a woman's lips,
but in a place like this you can't be too careful of your
speech... it's never safe to swear at folks in liquor." 
   But the effect produced by the words was the exact
opposite of what she had feared.  On first crossing the
threshold they had been greeted by hostile glances and
coarse jests, which, on one of the revellers recognizing
them as two of the protagonists in the trial, threatened to
turn into something more serious.  Whereupon, to the terror
of Mistress Ivy, Hazel had made a trumpet of her hands and
shouted with all the force of her strong young lungs,
"Sebastian Thug and Mistress Bess!  By the Sun, Moon and
Stars and the Golden Apples of the West!"
   The words must indeed have contained a charm, for they
instantly calmed the angry company.  A tall young sailor,
with very light eyes and a very sunburned face, sprang to
his feet, and so did a bold-eyed, painted woman, and they
hurried to Hazel's side.  The young man said in a respectful
voice, "You must excuse our rough and ready ways when we
first saw you, missie; we didn't know you were one of us." 
And then he grinned, showing some very white teeth, and
said, "You see, pretty fresh things don't often come our
way, and sea-dogs are like other dogs and bark at what
they're not used to."
   Bawdy Bess's eyes had been fixed on his lips, and his
last words caused her to scowl and toss her head; but from
Hazel they brought forth a little, not unfriendly, smile. 
Evidently, like her aunt, she was not averse to seafaring
men.  And, after all, sailors are apt to have a charm of
their own.  When on dry land, like ghosts when they walk,
there is a tang about them of an alien element.  And
Sebastian Thug was a thorough sailor.
   Then in a low voice Hazel gave the message, which Thug
repeated on his fingers for the benefit of Bawdy Bess.  He
insisted on conducting them to Master Ambrose's, and said he
would wait outside for them and see them home.
   Master Ambrose made them repeat the words several times,
and questioned them closely about the messenger. 
   Then he took two or three paces up and down the room,
muttering to himself, "Delusion!  Delusion!"
   Then he turned suddenly to Hazel and said sharply, "What
reason have you to believe, young woman, that this fellow
really came from Master Nathaniel?"
   "None, sir," answered Hazel.  "But there was nothing for
us to do but to act as if he did."
   "I see, I see.  You, too, ride the wind -- that's the
expression, isn't it?  Well, well, we are living in strange
times."
   And then he sank into a brown study, evidently forgetful
of their presence; so they thought it best quietly to steal
away.
   From that evening the rabble of Lud-in-the-Mist ceased to
give any trouble.

   When the Yeomen stationed on the border were recalled to
Lud and spread the news that they had seen Master Nathaniel
riding alone towards the Elfin Marches, Dame Marigold was
condoled with as a widow, and went into complete retirement,
refusing even to see her oldest friends, although they had
all come to regret their unjust suspicions of Master
Nathaniel, and were, in consequence, filled with contrition,
and eager to prove it in services to his wife.
   Occasionally she made an exception for Master Ambrose;
but her real support and stay was old Hempie.  Nothing could
shake the woman's conviction that all was well with the
Chanticleers.  And the real anchor is not hope but faith --
even if it be only somebody else's faith.  So the gay snug
little room at the top of the house, where Master Nathaniel
had played when he was a little boy, became Dame Marigold's
only haven, and there she would spend the most of her day.
   Though Hempie never forgot that she was only a Vigil,
nevertheless, in her own way, she was growing fond of her. 
Indeed, she had almost forgiven her for having spilled her
cup of chocolate over her sheets, when, after her betrothal,
she had come on a visit to Master Nathaniel's parents --
almost, but not quite, for to Hempie the Chanticleers' linen
was sacrosanct.
   One night, at the beginning of December, when the first
snow was lying on the ground, Dame Marigold, who had almost
lost the power of sleep, was tossing wakefully in her bed. 
Her bedroom ran the whole length of the house, so one of its
windows looked out on the lane, and suddenly she heard what
sounded like low knocking on the front door.  She sat up and
listened -- there it was again.  Yes, someone was knocking
at the door.
   She sprang from bed, flung on a cloak and hurried
downstairs, her heart beating violently.
   With trembling fingers she drew the bolts and flung wide
the door.  A small, slight figure was cowering outside.
   "Prunella!" she gasped.  And with a sort of sob Prunella
flung herself into her mother's arms.
   For some minutes they stood crying and hugging each
other, too profoundly moved for questions or explanations. 
   But they were roused by a scolding voice from the stairs:
"Dame Marigold, I'm ashamed of you, that I am, not having
more sense at your age than to keep her standing there when
she must be half frozen, poor child!  Come up to your room
this minute, Miss Prunella, and no nonsense!  I'll have your
fire lighted and a warming-pan put in your bed."
   It was Hempie, candle in hand, frowning severely from
under the frills of an enormous nightcap.  Prunella rushed
at her, half laughing, half crying, and flung her arms round
her neck.
   For a few seconds Hempie allowed herself to be hugged,
and then, scolding hard all the time, she chivvied her up to
her room.  And, when Prunella was finally settled in her
warm bed, with an inexorable expression she strode in
carrying a cup of some steaming infusion.
   It was black currant tea, for the brewing of which Hempie
was famous.  And it had always been one of her grievances
against Dame Marigold and Prunella that they detested the
stuff, and refused to drink it, even when they had a bad
cold.  For it had always been loved by all true
Chanticleers, from old Master Josiah downwards.
   "Now, miss, you just drink that down, every drop of it,"
she said severely.
   Prunella was too exhausted that night to tell them her
adventures.  But the next morning she gave a confused
account of wanderings at the bottom of the sea, and how they
had lost their way in a terrible marine jungle, out of which
they had been guided by Master Nathaniel.  It was evident
that she had no very clear recollection of what had happened
to her since her flight from Lud; or, rather, since
"Professor Wisp" had given his first dancing lesson.
   The other Crabapple Blossoms returned to their respective
homes the same night as Prunella; and each gave a different
account of their adventures.  Moonlove Honeysuckle said they
had danced wildly down the waste places of the sky, and then
had been imprisoned in a castle in the moon; Viola Vigil
said they had been chased by angry trees into the Dapple,
where they had got entangled in the weeds, and could not
extricate themselves -- and so on.  But on one point all the
accounts agreed, namely, that it had been Master Nathaniel
Chanticleer who had delivered them.
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