A broad belt with a heavy sword attached to, it crossed
his breast, and round his neck was a plain falling band. You could not
regard Hugh Calveley without feeling he was a man to die a martyr in any
cause he had espoused.
A deep groan was now directed against him. But it moved not a muscle of
his rigid countenance.
Jocelyn began to fear from the menacing looks of the crowd that some
violence might be attempted, and he endeavoured to check it.
"Bear with him, worthy friends," he cried, "he means you well, though he
may reprove you somewhat too sharply."
"Beshrew him for an envious railer," cried a miller, "he mars all our
pleasures with his peevish humours. He would have us all as discontented
with the world as himself--but we know better. He will not let us have
our lawful sports as enjoined by the King himself on Sundays, and he now
tries to interfere with our recreations on holidays. A pest upon him for
a cankerbitten churl!"
"His sullen looks are enough to turn all the cream in the village sour,"
observed an old dame.
"Why doth he not betake himself to the conventicle and preach there?"
old Greenford cried. "Why should we have all these bitter texts of
scripture thrown at our heads? Why should we be likened to the drunkards
of Ephraim because we drink our Whitsun-ales? I have tasted nothing
more than my morning cup as yet."
"Why should our May-pole be termed an idol? Answer me that, good
grandsire?" Gillian demanded.
"Nay, let him who called it so answer thee, child, for I cannot," the
old farmer rejoined.
Pages:
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142