Chapter III.
IN THE OPEN COUNTRY.
The two pilgrims, often pressing each other’s hands, or looking at each other with a smile, went on their way in silence. After walking a long, long way they left the city behind, and came in sight of fields, tiny cottages, and large mansions with lawns and porters’ lodges.
Then came a turnpike, then fields again with trees and haystacks, then a hill; and on top of that the traveller might stop, and looking back at old St. Paul’s looming through the smoke, might feel at last that he was clear of London.
Near such a spot as this, and in a pleasant field, the old man and his little guide sat down to rest. Nell had brought in her basket some slices of bread and meat, and here they made their simple breakfast.
The freshness of the day, the singing of the birds, the beauty of the waving grass, the deep-green leaves, the wild flowers, and the scents and sounds that floated in the air, filled them with gladness. The child had said her simple prayers once that morning, but now in her deep thankfulness they rose to her lips again. The old man took off his hat; he had no memory for the words, but he said Amen, for he knew that they were very good.
There had been an old copy of the “Pilgrim’s Progress,” with pictures, upon a shelf at home, over which Nell had often pored in wonder. As she looked back upon the place they had left, one part of it came strongly into her mind.
“Dear grandfather,” she said, “I feel as if we were both pilgrims like Christian, and had laid down on this grass all the cares and troubles we brought with us, never to take them up again.”
“No, never to return, never to return,” replied the old man, waving his hands towards the city. “Thou and I are free of it now, Nell. They shall never lure us back.”
“Are you tired?” said the child. “Are you sure you don’t feel ill from this long walk?”
“I shall never feel ill again, now that we are once away,” was his reply. “Let us be stirring, Nell. We must be farther away—a long, long way farther. We are too near to stop and be at rest. Come.”
There was a pool of clear water in the field, in which the child now laved her hands and face, and cooled her feet. She would have the old man refresh himself in this way too; and making him sit down upon the grass, cast the water on him with her hands, and dried it with her dress.
“I can do nothing for myself, my darling,” said the old man. “I don’t know how it is; I could once, but the time’s gone. Don’t leave me, Nell; say that thou’lt not leave me. I loved thee all the while, indeed I did. If I lose thee too, my dear, I must die!”
He laid his head upon her shoulder, and Nell soothed him with gentle and tender words, and smiled at his thinking they could ever part. He was soon calmed, and fell asleep, singing to himself in a low voice like a little child.
He awoke refreshed, and they went on their way once more. The road was pleasant, lying between beautiful pastures and fields of corn, above which the lark trilled out its happy song. The air came laden with the fragrance it caught upon its way, and the bees hummed forth their drowsy song as they floated by.
They were now in the open country; the houses were very few, and often miles apart. Now and again they came upon a cluster of poor cottages, some with a chair or low board put across the open door, to keep the children from the road, others shut up close while all the family were working in the fields.
They walked all day, and slept at night at a small cottage where beds were let to travellers. Next morning they were afoot again, and though at first they were very tired, recovered before long and went briskly forward.
They often stopped to rest, but only for a short space at a time, and then went on, having had but little food since the morning. It was nearly five o’clock in the afternoon when, drawing near another cluster of huts, the child looked into each, doubtful at which to ask for leave to rest awhile and buy a drink of milk.
It was not easy to choose, for she was very timid. Here was a crying child, and there a noisy wife. In this, the people seemed too poor, in that too many. At length she stopped at one where the family were seated round the table. She chose this cottage because there was an old man sitting in a chair beside the hearth, and she thought he was a grandfather, and would be kind to hers.
There were, besides, the cottager, his wife, and three little children, brown as berries. As soon as Nell had made known her wants she was invited within. The eldest boy ran out to fetch some milk, the second dragged two stools towards the door, while the youngest crept to his mother’s gown, and looked at the strangers from beneath his sunburnt hand.
“You are welcome, master,” said the old cottager, in a thin, piping voice. “Are you travelling far?”
“Yes, sir; a long way,” replied the child, for her grandfather had turned to her for an answer.
“From London?” asked the old man
The child said yes.
The milk arrived, and Nell having opened her little basket and selected the best pieces for her grandfather, they made a hearty meal.
“How far is it to a town or village?” she asked of the husband.
“A matter of a good five mile, my dear.” was the reply; “but you’re not going on to-night?”
“Yes, yes, Nell,” said the old man hastily. “Farther on, farther on, darling; farther away, if we walk till midnight.”
“There’s a good barn hard by, master,” said the man. “Excuse me, but you do seem a little tired, and unless you wish to get on—”
“Yes, yes, we do,” said the old man fretfully.—”Farther away, dear Nell; pray, farther away.”
“We must go on, indeed,” said the child. “We thank you very much, but we cannot stop so soon.—I’m quite ready, grandfather.”
But the woman had seen that one of Nell’s little feet was blistered and sore, and she would not let her go until she had washed the place, which she did so carefully and with such a gentle hand that the child’s heart was too full for her to say more than a fervent “God bless you!”
When they had left the cottage some distance behind Nell turned her head and saw that the whole family, even the old grandfather, were standing in the road, watching them as they went on their way; and so, with many waves of the hand and cheering nods, and on one side at least not without tears, they parted company.
They now walked more slowly and painfully than they had done yet for about a mile, when they heard the sound of wheels behind them, and looking round saw an empty cart drawing near to them. The driver on coming up to them stopped his horse and looked hard at Nell.
“Didn’t you stop to rest at a cottage yonder?” he said.
“Yes, sir,” replied the child.
“Ah! they asked me to look out for you,” said the man. “I’m going your way. Give me your hand; jump up, master.”
This was a great relief, for they were so very tired that they could scarcely crawl along. To them the jolting cart was a comfortable carriage, and the ride the finest in the world. Nell had scarcely settled herself on a little heap of straw in one corner, when she fell fast asleep.
She was awakened by the stopping of the cart, which was about to turn up a by-lane. The driver kindly got down to help her out. Then he pointed to some trees at a very short distance before them, said that the town lay in that direction, and that they had better take the path through the churchyard. So towards this spot they bent their weary steps.
As they crossed the churchyard they saw two men seated upon the grass, and so busily at work that at first they did not notice the little girl and the old man. Nell saw at a glance that they were Punch and Judy men, for she noticed Punch himself, smiling as usual, perched upon a tombstone. Here and there on the ground were other parts of the show, and the two men were mending the wooden frame with glue and tacks.
As Nell and her grandfather drew near they looked up. One was a little merry man with a bright eye and a red nose. The other seemed to be of a graver character. Both greeted the newcomers heartily, and after a few moments Nell’s grandfather, pointing to Punch and Judy, asked, “Are you going to show them to-night?”
“Yes,” said the merry man. “Look here,” he went on, turning to his partner, “here’s Judy’s clothes falling to pieces again. Much good you do at sewing things.”
Nell saw at once that help such as she could give was badly needed, and said timidly, “I have a needle, sir, in my basket, and thread too. Let me try to mend the clothes for you.”
The showman was much pleased, and in a few moments Nell had done the work very neatly, to his great delight. When she had finished he asked whether she and the old man were going on again. “No farther to-night,” said Nell.
“If you want a place to stop at,” said the showman, “come with us to the tavern. It’s very cheap.” This they did, and in the evening saw the Punch and Judy show in the tavern kitchen; but Nell was so tired that she fell asleep before the play was half over.
Next day the showman asked the two travellers to go with them to some races that were being held not far away; and the old man, who had been as pleased as a child with the performance, at once said that they would be much pleased to go. So they set off together, and for the next few days travelled in company.
But after a while Nell noticed that the two men were often whispering together, and that they took great care to keep them always in sight.
“Grandfather,” she whispered, when they were alone for a moment, “these men think that we have secretly left our friends, and mean to have us sent back.”
The old man was very much frightened, and began to shake. After soothing him she said, “I shall find a time when we can steal away. When I do, mind you come with me, and do not stop or speak a word.” So at the close of a long day, when the men were setting up the show in a suitable spot, Nell touched the old man’s arm, and turning with him fled along the nearest road. They never once stopped to look behind, and creeping under the brow of a bill at a quick pace, made for the open fields.