Goodman Blane, and some of the other more seriously minded folk used to walk into Bristol to church when the weather was tolerably fine. If it were wet, the little stream used to flood the lower valley so that it was not possible to get across. Steadfast was generally one of the party. Patience could not go, as it was too far for Rusha to walk, or for the baby to be carried.
Once, seeing how much she wished to go again to church, Stead undertook to mind the children, the cattle, and the dinner in her place; but what work he found it! When he tried to slice the onions for the broth, little Ben toddled off, and had to be caught lest he should tumble into the river. Then Rusha got hold of the knife, cut her hand, and rolled it up in her Sunday frock, and Steadfast, thinking he had got a small bit of rag, tied it up in Patience's round cap, but that he did not know till afterwards, only that baby had got out again, and after some search was found asleep cuddled up close to the old sow. And so it went on, till poor Steadfast felt as if he had never spent so long a day. As to reading his Bible and Prayer-book, it was quite impossible, and he never had so much respect for Patience before as when he found what she did every day without seeming to think anything of it.
She did not get home till after dark, but the Blanes had taken her to rest at the friends with whom they spent the time between services, and they had given her a good meal.
"Somehow," said Patience, "everybody seems kinder than they used to be before the fighting began-and the parsons said the prayers as if they had more heart in them."
Patience was quite right. These times of danger were making everyone draw nearer together, and look up more heartily to Him in Whom was there true help.
But winter was coming on and bringing bad times for the poor children in their narrow valley, so close to the water. It was not a very cold season, but it was almost worse, for it was very wet. The little brook swelled, turned muddy yellow, and came rushing and tumbling along, far outside its banks, so that Patience wondered whether there could be any danger of its coming up to their hut and perhaps drowning them.
"I think there is no fear," said Steadfast. "You see this house has been here from old times and never got washed away."
"It wouldn't wash away very easily," said Patience, "I wish we were in one of the holes up there."
"If it looks like danger we might get up," said Steadfast, and to please her he cleared a path to a freshly discovered cave a little lower down the stream, but so high up on the rocky sides of the ravine as to be safe from the water.
Once Patience, left at home watching the rushing of the stream, became so frightened that she actually took the children up there, and set Rusha to hold the baby while she dragged up some sheepskins and some food.
Steadfast coming home asked what she was about and laughed at her, showing her, by the marks on the trees, that the flood was already going down. Such alarms came seldom, but the constant damp was worse. Happily it was always possible to keep up a fire, wood and turf peat was plentiful and could be had for the cutting and carrying, and though the smoke made their eyes tingle, perhaps it hindered the damp from hurting them, when all the walls wept, in spite of the reed mats which they had woven and hung over them. And then it was so dark, Patience's rushes did not give light enough to see to do anything by them even when they did not get blown out, and when the sun had set there was nothing for it, but as soon as the few cattle had been foddered in their shed and cave, to draw the mat and sheepskins that made a curtain by way of door, fasten it down with a stone, share with dog and cat the supper of broth, or milk, or porridge which Patience had cooked, and then lie down on the beds of dried leaves stuffed into sacking, drawing over them the blankets and cloaks that had happily been saved in the chest, and nestling on either side of the fire, which, if well managed, would smoulder on for hours. There the two elder ones would teach Rusha her catechism and tell old stories, and croon over old rhymes till both the little ones were asleep, and then would hold counsel on their affairs, settle how to husband their small stock of money, consider how soon it would be expedient to finish their store of salted mutton and pork to keep them from being spoilt by damp, and wonder when their hens would begin to lay.
It could hardly be a merry Christmas for the poor children, though they did stick holly in every chink where it would go, but there were not many berries that year, and as Rusha said, "there were only thorns."
Steadfast walked to Bristol through slush and mire and rain, not even Smith Blane went with him, deeming the weather too bad, and thinking, perhaps, rather over much of the goose at home.
Bristol people were keeping Christmas with all their might, making the more noise and revelry because the Parliament had forbidden the feast to be observed at all. It was easy to tell who was for the King and who for the Parliament, for there were bushes of holly, mistletoe, and ivy, at all the Royalist doors and windows, and from many came the savoury steam of roast beef or goose, while the other houses were shut up as close as possible and looked sad and grim.
All the bells of all the churches were ringing, and everybody seemed to be trooping into them. As Steadfast was borne along by the throng, there was a pause, and a boy of his own age with a large hat and long feather, beneath which could be seen curls of jet-black hair, walked at the head of a party of gentlemen. Everyone in the crowd uncovered and there was a vehement outcry of "God save the King! God save the Prince of Wales!" Everyone thronged after him, and Steadfast had a hard struggle to squeeze into the Cathedral, and then had to stand all the time with his back against a pillar, for there was not even room to kneel down at first.
There was no organ, but the choir men and boys had rallied there, and led the Psalms which went up very loudly and heartily. Then the Dean went up into the pulpit and preached about peace and goodwill to men, and how all ought to do all in their power to bring those blessed gifts back again. A good many people dropped off during the sermon, and more after it, but Steadfast remained. He had never been able to come to the Communion feast since the evil times had begun, and he had thought much about it on his lonely walk, and knew that it was the way to be helped through the hard life he was living.
When all was over he felt very peaceful, but so hungry and tired with standing and kneeling so long after his walk, that he was glad to lean against the wall and take out the piece of bread that Patience had put in his wallet.
Presently a step came near, and from under a round velvet skull-cap a kind old face looked at him which he knew to be that of the Dean.
"Is that all your Christmas meal, my good boy?" he asked.
"I shall have something for supper, thank your reverence," replied Steadfast, taking off his leathern cap.
"Well, mayhap you could away with something more," said the Dean. "Come with me."
And as Steadfast obeyed, he asked farther, "What is your name, my child? I know your face in church, but not in town."
"No, sir, I do not live here. I am Steadfast Kenton, and I am from Elmwood, but we have no prayers nor sermon there since they took the parson away."
"Ah! good Master Holworth! Alas! my child, I fear you will scarce see him back again till the King be in London once more, which Heaven grant. And, meantime, Sir George Elmwood being patron, none can be intruded into his room. It is a sore case, and I fear me the case of many a parish besides."
Steadfast was so much moved by the good Dean's kindness as to begin to consider whether it would be betraying the trust to consult him about that strange treasure in the cave, but the lad was never quick of thought, and before he could decide one of the canons joined the Dean, and presently going up the steps to the great hall of the Deanery, Steadfast saw long tables spread with snowy napkins, trenchers laid all round, and benches on which a numerous throng were seating themselves, mostly old people and little children, looking very poor and ragged. Steadfast held himself to be a yeoman in a small way, and somewhat above a Christmas feast with the poor, but the Dean's kindness was enough to make him put away his pride, and then there was such a delicious steam coming up from the buttery hatch as was enough to melt away all nonsense of that sort from a hungry lad.