Argosy, Vol. 123, No. 2 — page 81: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE PROGRESS “ Nay, master—I forgot,” said I. “ Th’ -art a dolt!” cried Tinker Jack. ‘“* How think ye solder will hold an we ha’ no acid? Mistress Prynne, I pray patience with this lad. He hath little experience, either with pots or living. Yet will I say well for him that at Naseby he did fight like a man.” “Even as might be looked for in him,” said a voice that made my heart give such a leap that I drepped the kettle and sprang to my feet, my two hands instantly baring my head of its iron morion. There she stood, my Lady Joyce Eve- leigh, in the kitchen doorway, so fait in its plain framing. Her eyes were upon me with a grateful condescending, but only for a moment. Then she turned to Bunyan, who had his nose close to one of the jam- pans. - “And what think ye of the vessels, Master—” ‘“ Bunyan,” supplied Ruth; “ John Bun- yan and Master Brooke—Master Hallam Brooke, milady—his apprentice tinker.” I thought the lady’s eyes-twinkled at this, but she gravely repeated her question about the vessels. Did Master Bunyan think they were worth repairing? As she said it she drew her skirts carefully about her and seated herself on the doorstep as if she were no grand lady, even making a place for Ruth and bidding her by a gesture sit beside her. So there we were, Hobgoblin and his apprentice, squatted on the ground, facing our two angels who were seated on the doorstep, while within, in the background, hovered the old serving-man, his aged face touched with amusement and not a little surprise and anxiety at his lady’s conde- scension to two tinkers and—worse than that in his opinion—Roundheads! “As to the worthiness of repair,” said Tinker Bunyan, lifting his eyes from the jam-pan, “ that which can be repaired is ever worthy of repair, sweet mistress, even as such poor human vessels as have fallen into disorder. For mark ye, ladies, we are all leaky vessels, some more and some less, but all badly in need of mending. Our usefulness may be impaired, but never at an end until we are thrown into the dis- OF J. BUNYAN. 213 card, which is the scrapheap for stewpans and for us poor human vessels—the grave. “And who knows, sweet ladies, what further use beyond? For even old iron hath its values, and may in a future-melted state be recast to new fine metal.” “‘ Indeed, here is a philosopher!” cried Mistress Joyce, while Ruth’s eyes shone proudly of her acquaintance from Elstow, flashing up at her mistress for that sign of approval which was not lacking. “ What think you, Master—Apprentice?”’ “T think, sweet mistress lady,” I ep “ that if I had my master’s tongue, I might aspire to win whatever I set my heart upon in this world.” ‘Well spoken, indeed, Master Appren- tice in sooth—a pretty speech!” she said, with a touch of banter and a glance which told me plainly she was not a whit de- ceived by my humble tinker pretension. It was a pleasant interlude we spent at the kitchen door of Eveleigh Manor. From casual references I gathered that she—Mis- tress Joyce, of course—was the only child of Sir William Eveleigh, who had fallen on the king’s side at Marston Moor. She lived alone, except for old Henry Falcener, who had served her father—aye, her father’s father—and Ruth Prynne, who was half-maid and the rest companion; for I could see that on the side of the mistress there was a genuine love for the Puritan maid, and that Ruth worshipped my lady even as John his angel. Apparently, Mistress Joyce was not un- aware of something interesting in the re- Jationship of John Bunyan and Ruth Prynne, and this knowledge she shared with me in the language of glances while Hobgoblin rambled on in his own peculiar way, mixing heaven and earth, leaky ves- sels and erring humanity in apt if some- times twisted similes. Mistress Joyce would frequently glance at me while he talked, sometimes drawing my attention with a swift twinkle to the open admiration ef Ruth for her friend’s pointed eloquence, again flashing an amused message as if she knew I was no tinker’s apprentice, but a person of fair birth who could appreciate the humor of Jack’s naive Co DOO) mn SS C@