Not yet, my lad, said Charles, whatever it may be when Wrens work is done.
The boy opened his eyes, and as he beheld the same face, and the too familiar sky and trees, he sighed heavily, and said, Then it is all the same! O sir, would you but have cut off my head in good earnest, I might be at home again!
Home! what means the elf?
An elf! That is what they say I amchanged in the cradle, said Peregrine, incited to confidence by the good-natured eyes, and I thought if I were close on death mine own people might take me home, and bring back the right one.
He really believes it! exclaimed Charles much diverted. Tell me, good Master Elf, who is thy father, I mean not my brother Oberon, but him of the right one, as thou sayst.
Mr. Robert Oakshott of Oakwood, sir, said Peregrine.
A sturdy squire of the country party, said the King. I am much minded to secure the lad for an elfin page, he added aside to Killigrew. Theres a fund of excellent humour and drollery in those queer eyes of his! So, Sir Hobgoblin, if you are proof against cold steel, I know not what is to be done with you. Get you back, and devise some other mode of finding your way home to fairyland.
Peregrine said not a word of his adventure, so that the surprise of his family was the greater when overtures were made through Sir Christopher Wren for his appointment as a royal page.
I would as soon send my son at once to be a page to Beelzebub, returned Major Oakshott.
And though Sir Christopher did not return the answer exactly in those terms, he would not say that the Puritan Major did not judge rightly.
CHAPTER III
The Fairy King
Shes turned her right and round about,
And thrice she blew on a grass-green horn,
And she sware by the moon and the stars above
That shed gar me rue the day I was born.
Dr. Woodfords parish was Portchester, where stood the fine old royal castle at present ungarrisoned, and partly dismantled in the recent troubles, on a chalk peninsula, a spur from Portsdown, projecting above the alluvial flats, and even into the harbour, whose waves at high tide laved the walls. The church and churchyard were within the ample circuit of the fortifications, about two furlongs distant from the main building, where rose the mighty Norman keep, above the inner court, with a gate tower at this date, only inhabited by an old soldier as porter with his family. A massive square tower at each angle of the huge wall likewise defied decay.
It was on Midsummer eve, that nearly about sundown, Dr. Woodford was summoned by the severe illness of the gatekeepers old father, and his sister-in-law went with him to attempt what her skill could accomplish for the old mans relief.
They were detained there till the sun had long set, though the air, saturated with his redness, was full of soft twilight, while the moon, scarcely past the full, was just high enough to silver the quiet sea, and throw the shadow of the battlements and towers on the sward whitened with dew.
After the close atmosphere of the sickroom the freshness was welcome, and Mrs. Woodford, once a friend of Katherine Phillips, the Matchless Orinda, had an eye and a soul to appreciate the beauty, and she even murmured the lines of Il Penseroso as she leant on the arm of her brother-in-law, who, in his turn, thought of Homer.
Suddenly, as they stood in the shadow, they were aware of a small, slight, fantastic figure in the midst of the grass-grown court, where there was a large green mushroom circle or fairy ring. On the borders of this ring it paused with an air of disappointment. Then entering it stood still, took off the hat, whose lopsided appearance had given so strange an outline, and bowed four times in opposite directions, when, as the face was turned towards the spectators, invisible in the dark shadow, the lady recognised Peregrine Oakshott. She pressed the Doctors arm, and they both stood still watching the boy bathing his hand in the dew, and washing his face with it, then kneeling on one knee, and clasping his hands, as he cried aloud in a piteous chant
Fairy mother, fairy mother! Oh, come, come and take me home! My very life is sore to me. They all hate me! My brothers and the servants, every one of them. And my father and tutor say I am possessed with an evil spirit, and I am beaten daily, and more than daily. I can never, never get a good word from living soul! This is the second seven years, and Midsummer night! Oh, bring the other back again! Im weary, Im weary! Good elves, good elves, take me home. Fairy mother! Come, come, come! Shutting his eyes he seemed to be in a state of intense expectation. Tears filled Mrs. Woodfords eyes. The Doctor moved forward, but no sooner did the boy become conscious of human presence than he started up, and fled wildly towards a postern door, but no sooner had he disappeared in the shadow than there was a cry and a fall.
Poor child! exclaimed Dr. Woodford, he has fallen down the steps to the vault. It is a dangerous pitfall.
They both hurried to the place, and found the boy lying on the steps leading down to the vault, but motionless, and when they succeeded in lifting him up, he was quite unconscious, having evidently struck his head against the mouth of the vault.
We must carry him home between us, said Mrs. Woodford. That will be better than rousing Miles Gateward, and making a coil.
Dr. Woodford, however, took the entire weight, which he declared to be very slight. No one would think the poor child fourteen years old, he observed, yet did he not speak of a second seven?
True, said Mrs. Woodford, he was born after the Great Fire of London, which, as I have good cause to know, was in the year 66.
There was still little sign of revival about the boy when he had been carried into the Parsonage, undressed and laid in the Doctors own bed, only a few moans when he was handled, and on his thin, sharp features there was a piteous look of sadness entirely unlike his ordinary expression of malignant fun, and which went to the kind hearts of the Doctor and Mrs. Woodford. After exhausting their own remedies, as soon as the early daylight was available Dr. Woodford called up a couple of servants, and sent one into Portsmouth for a surgeon, and another to Oakwood to the parents.
The doctor was the first to arrive, though not till the morning was well advanced. He found that three ribs were broken against the edge of the stone step, and the head severely injured, and having had sufficient experience in the navy to be a reasonably safe practitioner, he did nothing worse than bleed the patient, and declared that absolute rest was the only hope of recovery.
He was being regaled with cold roast pig and ale when Major Oakshott rode up to the door. Four horses were dragging the great lumbering coach over Portsdown hill, but he had gone on before, to thank Dr. and Mrs. Woodford for their care of his unfortunate son, and to make preparations for his transport home under the care of his wifes own woman, who was coming in the coach in the stead of the invalid lady.
Nay, sir. Master Brent here has a word to say to that matter, replied the Doctor.
Truly, sir, I have, said the surgeon; in his present state it is as much as your sons life is worth to move him.
Be that as it may seem to man, he is in the hand of Heaven, and he ought to be at home, whether for life or death.
For death it will assuredly be, sir, if he be jolted and shaken along the Portsdown roadsyea, I question whether you would get him to Oakwood alive, said Brent, with naval roughness.