Dec.

rles's army. In former days, when mine host was at home, the neighbours had been encouraged to come early and stay late at night gossipping over the home-brewed ale he fetched for them so cheerily; for Moll's husband was an open-hearted, pleasant-mannered man, the very opposite of his shrewish wife. But now, since his departure for the wars, th

escape from the harsh rule of their mistress. And for little Jan, Moll's four-year-old son, t

t home, the child's life had not been an unhappy one. As soon as ever he could stand alone he drew himself up by his father's trousers, with an outstretched hand to be grasped in the big fist. As soon as he could toddle, he sp

s she passed them. But she never interfered; for the husband who had courted her when she was a young girl was

ness in those unsettled times, and Moll had ev

worr

ve lived

not lost

though

ot last

ed herself

ll, my lass!' Jan's father would say to his wife, when she be

th the other men and lads of the village to fight with My Lord for the King,

was falling off and quarter day was fast approaching. Moll was at her wits' end to know where she should find money to pay her rent, when, one day, to her unspeakable relief, My Lady in her coach stopped at the door of the Inn. Now Moll had been dairymaid up at the Hall years ago, before her marriage, and My Lady knew of old that Moll's butter was as sweet as her looks were sour. Perhaps she guessed, also, at some of th

rom the Rough Moll of every day. She promised, with her very smoothest tongue, she would not fail. She knew where to get the milk, and her

y Lady, as the coach drove away, leaving Moll curtseying behind her,

om getting on with her task? At length she left the lasses to serve the ale, which, truth to tell, they were nothing loath to do, while Moll herself, in her wooden shoes and with her skirts t

! the butter-making would take a long time, and Moll was never a methodical woman. Jan should lie down, just as he was, and have a nap in the kitchen until she was ready to attend to him. Roughly, but not unkindly, she pulled him off the stool and laid him down on a rug in a dark corner of the kitchen and told him to be off to sleep as fast

e a knock at the door. 'Plague take you, Stranger,' she grumbled, as she opened it, and a gust of snow and wind blew in upon

e woman keenly from underneath his shaggy eyebrows. 'I came but to ask thee for s

were encased in odd garments that must surely be made of leather, since the snowflakes lay upon them in crisp wreaths and wrinkles before they melted. She had heard of the strange being who was visiting those par

'The man in leather breeches!' 'Send him out again into the

hortly, 'Meat there is none for you here,' and moved towards the

not to be so e

then milk

lk; no money to be made out of that; especially this night of all

ar stock-in-trade. She lied no

e said roughly, 'and as for milk,

dge made her angry. She repeated her words with an oath. The Stranger made as if to turn away; then, almost reluctantly but very tenderly, as if he were being drawn

d herself, long after. But at the time: 'No, nor cream either. On my soul,

rn that stood behind her, the churn evidently full and drawn out for use, with dr

out its witness to her falsehood. Her lies came thick and fast

t again. Then, being ever a restless little mortal, he had crept round to the churn to see if it had really become empty in such a short time. He had tried to pull himself up by one of the legs in order to stand on the rim and see if there was really no cream inside; and in attempting this feat, natur

Jan and beat him soundly; and a beating from Moll's heavy hand was no small m

deceit, yet in the name of the Lord I warn thee. Ere three days have gone by, thou shalt know

it seemed to him now than that created by the violent woman within doors. Some way further on he espied a haystack, under w

an still lay by the hearth-stone, motionless and strangely quiet; he, the restless imp, who was usually so full of life. Never a glance, until, the centre of the floor being at last clean again, Moll, on her knees, came with her pail

ing was nothing new to little Jan. Why had he fallen? What made him lie so still? She turned him over. Ah! it was easy to see the reason. As she flung him from her in h

would her husband call her? A murderer? Was she that? Was that what the Stranger had meant when he had looked at her with those piercing eyes? He might have call

ay on a tiny pallet by her side. But this night the child's small figure lay in the wide bed, and big Moll, with all he

Moll did her clumsy utmost to staunch the wound in his forehead. Long before it was light, she tried to send

as a mother herself, not only forgave Moll for spoiling her Yuletide festivities, but even told her

her the butter or the rent. The yellow cream might turn sour in every single one o

sently a faint sound woke her. Was he calling? No; it was but the Christmas bells ringing across the snow. What were those bells saying? 'MUR-DER-ER' 'MU

d of the distant bells. And now the Christmas waits had followed the bells' music, and were singing carols outside the ale-house door. Fiercely, Moll stuck her fingers in her ears. She would not lis

s lay in M

shone on

s how she s

n alread

he chaplet of white bandages lying on the white pillow. No; she, Moll, had never been a good mother, would never be one now, unless her boy came back to life ag

off into the darkness; but looking down again at the head with its crown of white bandages

d smiled. Moll had seen him smile like that at his father; she had ne

new world of love and tenderness together that Christmas morning. As Rough Moll gathered her little son up into her a