Part 32

Patience then turned her attention to Mr. M., saying:

“Ayea, he standeth afar from the feasting place and doth to smack him much!”

Mr. M. took the board, and she began to talk to him in an intimate way about the varying attitudes of people toward her and her work, and what they say of her:

“I be a dame atruth,” she said, “and I tell thee the word o’ wag that shall set thy day, meaneth anaught but merry to me. Hark! I put a murmur o’ thy day, for at the supping o’ this cup the earth shall murmur so:

“’Tis but the chatter o’ a wag! Aye, the putting o’ the mad! ’Tis piddle! Yea, the trapping o’ a fool! Yea, ’tis but the dreaming o’ the waked! Aye, the word o’ a wicked sprite! Yea, and telleth naught and putteth naught!

“And yet, do harken unto me. They then shall seek to taste the brew and sniff the whiffing o’ the scent; ayea, and stop alonger that they feast! And lo, ’twill set some asoured, and some asweet; aye and some, ato (too), shall fill them upon the words THEY do to put o’ me, and find them filled o’ their own put, and lack the room for eat o’ the loaf o’ me. ’Tis piddle, then! Aye, and yet I say me so, ’tis bread, and bread be eat though it be but sparrows that do seek the crumb. Then what care ye? For bake asurely shall be eat!”

This is a point she often makes, and strives earnestly to impress—that whatever she may be, whatever the world may think she is, there is substance in her words. It is bread, and will be eaten, if only by the sparrows. So, she is content. She has put this thought, somewhat pathetically, into the little verse which follows:

Loth as Night to dark o’ Day, Loth do I to sing. Aye, but doth the Day aneed a song, ’Tis they, o’ Him, The songsters o’ the Earth, Do sing them on, to Him. What though ’tis asmiled? And what Though ’tis nay aseeked o’ such a song? Aye, what though ’tis sung ’mid dark? ’Tis I would sing, Do thee to list, or nay.

“I be a dame who knoweth o’ the hearth. Aye, and do to know o’ the hearts o’ men,” she said to Mrs. D., who next took the place with Mrs. Curran. “Ayea, and do to put o’ that athin the hearts o’ them that doth tickle o’ their merry! This be a tale for her ahere.”

THE STORY OF THE HERBS

“Lo, there wert a dame and her neighbor’s dame and her neighbor’s dame. And they did to plant them o’ their gardens full. And lo, at a day did come unto the garden’s ope a stranger, who bore him of a bloom-topped herb. And lo, he spaked unto the dame who stood athin the sun-niche that lay at the garden’s end, and he did tell unto her of the herb he bore. And lo, he told that he would give unto her one of these, and to her neighbor dame a one, atoo (also), and to her neighbor dame a one atoo, and he then would leave the garden’s place and come at the fulling o’ the season-tide when winter’s bite did sear, and that he then would seek them out, and they should shew unto him the fulling o’ the herb.

“And lo, he went him out unto the neighbor’s dame and telled unto her the same, and to her neighbor’s dame the same, and they did seek one the other and tell o’ all the stranger had told unto them. And each had sorry, for feared ’twer the cunger o’ the wise men, and each aspoke her that she would to care and care for this the herb he did to leave, and that she would have at the fulling o’ the season the herb that stood at the fullest bloom. And each o’ the dames did speak it that this herb o’ her should be the one waxed stronger at the fulling. And lo, none told unto the other o’ how this would to be.

“And lo, the first o’ dames did plant her herb adeep and speak little, and lo, her neighbor dames did word much o’ the planting, and carried drops from out the well that the herbs might full. And lo, they did pluck o’ the first bud that them that did follow should be afuller. And lo, the dame afirst o’ the garden the stranger did to seek, did look with sunked heart at the thriving o’ the herbs o’ the neighbor dames. And lo, she wept thereon, and ’twer that her well did dry, and yet she seeked not the wells of her sisters. Nay, but did weep upon the earth about the herb, and lo, it did to spring it up. And lo, she looked not with greed upon her sister’s herb; nay, for at the caring for the bloom, lo, she loved its bud and wept that she had nay drop to give as drink unto it.

“And lo, at a certain day the stranger came and did seek the dames, and came him unto her garden where the herb did stand, and he bore the herbs of her sisters, and they wert tall and full grown and filled o’ bloom. And he did to put the herb o’ her sisters anext the herb o’ her, and lo, the herb o’ her did spring it up, and them o’ her sisters shrunked to but a twig. And he did call unto the dames and spake:

“‘Lo, have ye but fed thy herb that it be full o’ bloom, that thou shouldst glad thee o’er thy sister? And lo, the herb o’ her hath drunked her tears shed o’ loving, and standeth sweet-bloomed from out the tears o’ her.’

“And lo, the herb did flower aneath their very eyes. And lo, the flowering wert fulled o’ dews-gleam, and ’twer the sweet o’ her heart, yea, the dew o’ heaven.”

Following this pretty parable someone spoke of a newspaper article that had appeared that day, and Patience remarked:

“’Tis a gab o’ fool. Aye, and the gab o’ fool be like unto a spring that be o’erfull o’ drops, ’tis ne’er atelling when it breaketh out its bounds.”

With this sage observation she dismissed the “fool” as unworthy of further consideration, and gave this poem:

Do I to love the morn, When Earth awakes, and streams Aglint o’ sun’s first gold, As siren’s tresses thred them through the fields; When sky-cup gleameth as a pearl; When sky-hosts wake, and leaf bowers Wave aheavied with the dew? Do I to love the eve, When white the moon doth show, And frost’s sweet sister, young night’s breath, Doth stand aglistened ’pon the blades; When dark the shadow deepeth, Like to the days agone that stand As wraiths adraped o’ black Along the garden’s path; When sweet the nestlings twitter ’Neath the wing of soft and down That hovereth it there within The shadows deep atop the tree?

Do I to love the mid-hours deep— The royal color o’ the night? For earth doth drape her purpled, And jeweled o’er athin this hour.

Do I to love these hours, then, As the loved o’ me? Nay, for at the morn, Lo, do I to love the eve! And at the eve, Lo, do I to love the morn! And at the morn and eve, ’Tis night that claimeth me.

A little of the reasoning of Patience upon Earth questions may appropriately come in here. The Currans, with a single visitor, had talked at luncheon of various things, beginning with music and ending with capital punishment, the latter suggested by an execution which at the moment was attracting national attention. When they took the board, after luncheon, Patience said:

“List thee. Earth sendeth up much note. Yea, and some do sound them at wry o’ melody, and others sing them true. And lo, they who sing awry shall mingle much and drown in melody. And I tell thee, o’er and above shall sound the note o’ me!”

And then she gave them to understand that she had listened to their discussion!

“Ye spake ye of eye for eye. Yea, and tooth for tooth. Yea, but be thy brother’s eye not the ope o’ thine, then ’tis a measure less the full thou hast at taking o’ the eye o’ him. Yea, and should the tooth o’ him put crave for carrion, and thine for sweets, then how doth the tooth o’ him serve thee?”

Here the sitters asked: “How about a life for a life, Patience?”

Patience.—“Ye fill thy measure full o’ sands that trickle waste at each and every putting. I tell thee thou hast claimed life; aye, and life be not thine or yet thy brother’s for the taking or giving. Yea, and such an soul hath purged at the taking or giving, and rises to smile at thy folly.