The House of Arden, E. Nesbit [best historical fiction books of all time TXT] 📗

her through the crooked doorway, he stopped. “I’m not going in,” he said, “what’s the good? We know jolly well she hasn’t bewitched us. And if we go cheeking her she may, and then we shall be in a nice hole.”

“There’s the tea and sugar,” said Elfrida.

“You just give it her and come away. I’ll wait for you by the stile.”

So Elfrida went into the cottage alone, and said “Good morning” in rather a frightened way.

“I’ve brought you some tea and sugar,” she said, and stood waiting for the “Thank you,” without which it would not be polite to say “Good morning” and to go away.

The “Thank you” never came. Instead, the witch stopped stroking the hen, and said⁠—

“What for? I’ve not done you no ’arm.”

“No,” said Elfrida. “I’m sure you wouldn’t.”

“Then what have you brought it for?”

“For⁠—oh, just for you,” said Elfrida. “I thought you’d like it. It’s just a⁠—a love-gift, you know.”

This was Aunt Edith’s way of calling a present that didn’t come just because it was your birthday or Christmas, or you had had a tooth out.

“A love-gift?” said the old woman slowly. “After all this long time?”

Elfrida did not understand. How should she? It’s almost impossible for even the most grown up and clever of us to know how women used to be treated⁠—and not so very long ago either⁠—if they were once suspected of being witches. It generally began by the old woman’s being cleverer than her neighbours, having more wit to find out what was the matter with sick people, and more still to cure them. Then her extra cleverness would help her to foretell storms and gales and frosts, and to find water by the divining rod⁠—a very mysterious business. And when once you can find out where water is by just carrying a forked hazel twig between your hands and walking across a meadow, you can most likely find out a good many other things that your stupid neighbours would never dream of. And in those long-ago days⁠—which really aren’t so very long ago⁠—your being so much cleverer than your neighbours would be quite enough. You would soon be known as the “wise woman”⁠—and from “wise woman” to witch was a very short step indeed.

So Elfrida, not understanding, said, “Yes; is your fowl ill?”

“ ’Twill mend,” said the old woman⁠—“ ’twill mend. The healing of my hands has gone into it.” She rose, set the hen on the hearth, where it fluttered, squawked, and settled among grey ashes, very much annoying the black cat, and laid her hands suddenly on Elfrida’s shoulders.

“And now the healing of my hands is for you,” she said. “You have brought me a love-gift. Never a gift have I had these fifty years but was a gift of fear or a payment for help⁠—to buy me to take off a spell or put a spell on. But you have brought me a love-gift, and I tell you you shall have your heart’s desire. You shall have love around and about you all your life long. That which is lost shall be found. That which came not shall come again. In this world’s goods you shall be blessed, and blessed in the goods of the heart also. I know⁠—I see⁠—and for you I see everything good and fair. Your future shall be clean and sweet as your kind heart.”

She took her hands away. Elfrida, very much impressed by these flattering remarks which she felt she did not deserve, stood still, not knowing what to say or do; she rather wanted to cry.

“I only brought it because cook told me,” she said.

“Cook didn’t give you the kind heart that makes you want to cry for me now,” said the witch.

The old woman sank down in a crouching heap, and her voice changed to one of singsong.

“I know,” she said⁠—“I know many things. All alone the livelong day and the death-long night, I have learned to see. As cats see through the dark, I see through the days that have been and shall be. I know that you are not here, that you are not now. You will return whence you came, and this time that is not yours shall bear no trace of you. And my blessing shall be with you in your own time and your own place, because you brought a love-gift to the poor old wise woman of Arden.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Elfrida asked, very sorry indeed, for the old woman’s voice was very pitiful.

“Kiss me,” said the old woman⁠—“kiss me with your little child’s mouth, that has come back a hundred years to do it.”

Elfrida did not wish to kiss the wrinkled, grey face, but her heart wished her to be kind, and she obeyed her heart.

“Ah!” said the wise woman, “now I see. Oh, never have I had such a vision. None of them all has ever been like this. I see great globes of light like the sun in the streets of the city, where now are only little oil-lamps and guttering lanterns. I see iron roads, with fiery dragons drawing the coaches, and rich and poor riding up and down on them. Men shall speak in England and their voice be heard in France⁠—more, the voices of men dead shall be kept alive in boxes and speak at the will of those who still live. The handlooms shall cease in the cottages, and the weavers shall work in palaces with a thousand windows lighted as bright as day. The sun shall stoop to make men’s portraits more like than any painter can make them. There shall be ships that shall run under the seas like conger-eels, and ships that shall ride over the clouds like great birds. And bread that is now a shilling and ninepence shall be fivepence, and the corn and the beef shall come from overseas to feed us. And every child shall be taught who can learn, and⁠—”

“Peace, prater,” cried a stern voice in the doorway.