Rewards and Fairies. Rudyard Kipling
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master, nor yet ever any man’s. He will get half he gives, and give twice what he gets, till his life’s last breath; and if he lays aside his load before he draws that last breath, all his work will go for naught.”
‘“Oh, cruel, wicked Thor!” cried the Lady Esclairmonde. “Ah, look, see, all of you! The catch is still open! He hasn’t locked it. He can still take it off. He can still come back. Come back!” She went as near as she dared, but she could not lay hands on Cold Iron. The Boy could have taken it off, yes. We waited to see if he would, but he put up his hand, and the snap locked home.
‘“What else could I have done?” said he.
‘“Surely, then, you will do,” I said. “Morning’s coming, and if you three have any farewells to make, make them now, for, after sunrise, Cold Iron must be your master.”
‘So the three sat down, cheek by wet cheek, telling over their farewells till morning light. As good a boy as ever lived, he was.’
‘And what happened to him?’ asked Dan.
‘When morning came, Cold Iron was master of him and his fortune, and he went to work among folk in housen. Presently he came across a maid like-minded with himself, and they were wedded, and had bushels of children, as the saying is. Perhaps you’ll meet some of his breed, this year.’
‘Thank you,’ said Una. ‘But what did the poor Lady Esclairmonde do?’
‘What can you do when Asa Thor lays the Cold Iron in a lad’s path? She and Sir Huon were comforted to think they had given the Boy good store of learning to act and influence on folk in housen. For he was a good boy! Isn’t it getting on for breakfast time? I’ll walk with you a piece.’
When they were well in the centre of the bone-dry fern, Dan nudged Una, who stopped and put on a boot as quickly as she could.
‘Now,’ she said, ‘you can’t get any Oak, Ash, and Thorn leaves from here, and’ – she balanced wildly on one leg – ‘I’m standing on Cold Iron. What’ll you do if we don’t go away?’
‘E-eh? Of all mortal impudence!’ said Puck, as Dan, also in one boot, grabbed his sister’s hand to steady himself. He walked round them, shaking with delight. ‘You think I can only work with a handful of dead leaves? This comes of taking away your Doubt and Fear! I’ll show you!’
A minute later they charged into old Hobden at his simple breakfast of cold roast pheasant, shouting that there was a wasps’ nest in the fern which they had nearly stepped on, and asking him to come and smoke it out.
‘It’s too early for wops-nestes, an’ I don’t go diggin’ in the Hill, not for shillin’s,’ said the old man placidly. ‘You’ve a thorn in your foot, Miss Una. Sit down, and put on your t’other boot. You’re too old to be caperin’ barefoot on an empty stomach. Stay it with this chicken o’ mine.’
COLD IRON
‘Gold is for the mistress – silver for the maid!
Copper for the craftsman cunning at his trade.’
‘Good!’ said the Baron, sitting in his hall,
‘But Iron – Cold Iron – is master of them all!’
So he made rebellion ’gainst the King his liege,
Camped before his citadel and summoned it to siege —
‘Nay!’ said the cannoneer on the castle wall,
‘But Iron – Cold Iron – shall be master of you all!’
Woe for the Baron and his knights so strong,
When the cruel cannon-balls laid ’em all along!
He was taken prisoner, he was cast in thrall,
And Iron – Cold Iron – was master of it all!
Yet his King spake kindly (Oh, how kind a Lord!)
‘What if I release thee now and give thee back thy sword?’
‘Nay!’ said the Baron, ‘mock not at my fall,
For Iron – Cold Iron – is master of men all.’
‘Tears are for the craven, prayers are for the clown —
Halters for the silly neck that cannot keep a crown.’
‘As my loss is grievous, so my hope is small,
For Iron – Cold Iron – must be master of men all!’
Yet his King made answer (few such Kings there be!)
‘Here is Bread and here is Wine – sit and sup with me.
Eat and drink in Mary’s name, the whiles I do recall
How Iron – Cold Iron – can be master of men all!’
He took the Wine and blessed It; He blessed and brake the Bread.
With His own Hands He served Them, and presently He said:
‘Look! These Hands they pierced with nails outside my city wall
Show Iron – Cold Iron – to be master of men all!
‘Wounds are for the desperate, blows are for the strong,
Balm and oil for weary hearts all cut and bruised with wrong.
I forgive thy treason – I redeem thy fall —
For Iron – Cold Iron – must be master of men all!’
‘Crowns are for the valiant – sceptres for the bold!
Thrones and powers for mighty men who dare to take and hold.’
‘Nay!’ said the Baron, kneeling in his hall,
‘But Iron – Cold Iron – is master of man all!
Iron, out of Calvary, is master of man all!’
Gloriana
THE TWO COUSINS
Valour and Innocence
Have latterly gone hence
To certain death by certain shame attended.
Envy – ah! even to tears! —
The fortune of their years
Which, though so few, yet so divinely ended.
Scarce had they lifted up
Life’s full and fiery cup,
Than they had set it down untouched before them.
Before their day arose
They beckoned it to close —
Close in destruction and confusion o’er them.
They did not stay to ask
What prize should crown their task,
Well sure that prize was such as no man strives for;
But passed into eclipse,
Her kiss upon their lips —
Even Belphœbe’s, whom they gave their lives for!
Gloriana
Willow Shaw, the little fenced wood where the hop-poles are stacked like Indian wigwams, had been given to Dan and Una for their very own kingdom when they were quite small. As they grew older, they contrived to keep it most particularly private. Even Phillips, the gardener, told them every time he came in to take a hop-pole for his beans, and old Hobden would no more have thought of setting his rabbit-wires there without leave, given fresh each spring, than he would have torn down the calico and marking-ink notice on the big willow which said: ‘Grown-ups not allowed in the Kingdom unless brought.’
Now you can understand their indignation when, one blowy July afternoon, as they