Part 25

These are all somewhat cryptic, although their interpretation is not difficult, but that which follows on the magic of a laugh needs no explanation. “I do fashion out a tale for babes,” said Patience, when she presented this parable of the fairy’s wand, and in it she gives expression to another one of her characteristics, one that is intensely human, the love of laughter, which she seems to like to hear and often to provoke.

“Lo, at a time thou knowest not, aye, I, thy handmaid, knowest not, there wert born unto the earth a babe. And lo, the dame o’ this babe wert but a field’s woman. And lo, days and days did pass until the fullness of the babe’s days, and it stood in beauty past word o’me.

“Yea, and there wert a noble, and he did pass, and lo, his brow was darked, and smile had forsook his lips. And he came unto the cot and there stood the babe, who wert now a maid o’ lovely. And he spaked unto her and said:

“‘Come thou, and unto the lands of me shall we make way. Thou art not o’ the fields, but for the nobles.’

“And she spake not unto his word. And lo, the mother of the babe came forth and this man told unto her of this thing, that her babe wert not of the field but for the nobled. And, at the bidding of the noble, she spake, yea, the maid should go unto his lands.

“And time and time after the going, lo, no word came unto the mother. And within the lands of the noble the maid lived, and lo, the days wert sorry, and the paths held but shadows, and nay smiles shed gold unto the hours. And she smiled that this noble did offer unto her much of royal stores. Yea, gems, and gold, and all a maid might wish, and she looked in pity unto the noble and spake:

“‘What hast thou? Lo, thou hast brought forth of thy store and given unto me, and what doth it buy? Thy lips are ever sorry and thy hours dark. Then take thou these gifts and keep within such an day as thine, for, hark ye, my dame, the field’s woman, hath given unto me that which setteth at a naught thy gifts; for hark ye: mid thy dark o’ sorry I shall spill a laugh, and it be a fairies’ wand, and turneth dust to gold.’

“And she fled unto the sun’s paths of the fields.

“Verily do I to say unto thee, this, the power of the fairies’ wand, is thine, thy gift of thy field-mother, Earth. Then cast out that which earth-lands do offer unto thee and flee with thy gift.”

It is somewhat difficult to select an ending for this chapter on the prose of Patience: the material for it is so abundant and so varied, but this “Parable of the Cloak” may perhaps form a fitting finish:

“There wert a man, and lo, he did to seek and quest o’ sage, that which he did mouth o’ermuch. And lo, he did to weave o’ such an robe, and did to clothe himself therein. And lo, ’twer sun ashut away, and cool and heat and bright and shade.

“And lo, still did he to draw ’bout him the cloak, and ’twer o’ the mouthings o’ the sage. And lo, at a day ’twer sent abroad that Truth should stalk ’pon Earth, and man, were he to look him close, shouldst see.

“And lo, the man did draw ’bout him the cloak, and did to wag him ‘Nay’ and ‘Nay, ’twer truth the sages did to mouth and I did weave athin the cloak o’ me.’

“And then ’twer that Truth did seek o’ Earth, and she wert clad o’ naught, and seeked the man, and begged that he would cast the cloak and clothe o’ her therein. And lo, he did to draw him close the cloak, and hid his face therein, and wag him ’Nay,’ he did to know her not.

“And lo, she did to fetch her unto him athrice, and then did he to wag him still a ‘Nay! Nay! Nay!’ And lo, she toucheth o’ the cloth o’ sage’s mouths and it doth fall atattered and leave him clothed o’ naught, and at a wishing. And he did seek o’ Truth, aye, ever, and when he did to find, lo, she wagged him nay, and nay, and nay.”

CONVERSATIONS

“This be bread. If man knoweth not the grain from which ’twer fashioned, what then? ’Tis bread. Let man deny me this.”—PATIENCE WORTH.

But after all, perhaps the truest conception of the character and versatility of Patience can be acquired from her “conversations.” The word “conversation” I here loosely apply to all that comes from her in the course of an evening, excepting the work on her stories. The poems and parables are usually woven into her remarks with a sequence that suggests extemporaneous production for the particular occasion, although as a rule they are of general application. Almost invariably they are brought out by something she or someone else has said, or as a tribute, a lesson or a comfort to some person who is present. Her songs, as she calls her poems, are freely given, apparently without a thought or a care as to what may become of them. They seem to come spontaneously, without effort, with no pause for thought, no groping for the right word, and to fall into their places as part of the spoken rather than the written speech. So it is that the term “conversation” in this connection is made to include much that ordinarily would not fall within that designation.

One of the pleasures of an evening with Patience is the uncertainty of the form of the entertainment. Never are two evenings alike in the general nature of the communications. She adapts herself to circumstances and to the company present, serious if they are bent on serious subjects, merry if they are so; but seldom will the serious escape without a little of the merry, or the merry without a little of the serious. Sometimes her own feelings seem to have an influence. Always, however, she is permitted to take her own course, except in the case of a formal examination, to which she readily responds if conducted with respect. She may devote the evening largely to poetry, possibly varying the themes, as on one evening when she gave a nature poem, one of a religious character, a lullaby, a humorous verse and a prayer, interspersed with discussion. She may talk didactically with little or no interruption. She may submit to a catechism upon religion, philosophy, philology, or any subject that may arise. She may devote an evening to a series of little personal talks to a succession of sitters, or she may elect just to gossip. “I be dame,” she says, and therefore not averse to gossip. But rarely will she neglect to write something on whatever story she may have in hand. She speaks of such writing as “weaving.” “Put ye to weave,” she will say, and that means that conversation is to stop for a time until a little real work is accomplished.

The conversations which follow are selected to illustrate the variety of form referred to, as well as to introduce a number of interesting statements that throw light on the character of the phenomena.

Upon a certain evening the Currans had two visitors, Dr. and Mrs. W. With Dr. W. and Mrs. C. at the board and Mrs. W. leaning over it, Patience began:

“Ah, hark! Here abe athree; yea, love, faith and more o’ love! Thee hast for to hark unto word I do put o’ them, not ye.”

And then she told this tale of the Mite and the Seeds:

“Hark! Aneath the earth fell a seed, and lay aside a Mite, a winged mite, who hid from cold. Yea, and the Mite knew o’ the day o’er the Earth’s crust, and spake unto the Seed, and said:

“‘The hours o’ day show sun and cloud, aye, and the Earth’s crust holdeth grass and tree. Aye, and men walk ’pon the Earth.’

“Aye, and the Seed did say unto the Mite:

“‘Nay, there be a naught save Earth and dark, for mine eye hath not beheld what thou tellest of.’

“Yea, and the Mite spake it so: