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Page 73
'That 'ud be smugglers layin' in the lace or the brandy till they could
run it out o' the Marsh. I've told my woman so,' said Hobden.
'I'll lay she didn't belieft it, then--not if she was a Whitgift. A
won'erful choice place for Pharisees, the Marsh, by all accounts, till
Queen Bess's father he come in with his Reformatories.'
'Would that be a Act of Parliament like?' Hobden asked.
'Sure-ly. Can't do nothing in Old England without Act, Warrant an'
Summons. He got his Act allowed him, an', they say, Queen Bess's father
he used the parish churches something shameful. Justabout tore the
gizzards out of I dunnamany. Some folk in England they held with 'en;
but some they saw it different, an' it eended in 'em takin' sides an'
burnin' each other no bounds, accordin' which side was top, time bein'.
That tarrified the Pharisees: for Goodwill among Flesh an' Blood is meat
an' drink to 'em, an' ill-will is poison.'
'Same as bees,' said the Bee Boy. 'Bees won't stay by a house where
there's hating.'
'True,' said Tom. 'This Reformatories tarrified the Pharisees same as
the reaper goin' round a last stand o' wheat tarrifies rabbits. They
packed into the Marsh from all parts, and they says, "Fair or foul, we
must flit out o' this, for Merry England's done with, an' we're reckoned
among the Images."'
'Did they _all_ see it that way?' said Hobden.
'All but one that was called Robin--if you've heard of him. What are you
laughin' at?' Tom turned to Dan. 'The Pharisees's trouble didn't tech
Robin, because he'd cleaved middlin' close to people, like. No more he
never meant to go out of Old England--not he; so he was sent messagin'
for help among Flesh an' Blood. But Flesh an' Blood must always think of
their own concerns, an' Robin couldn't get _through_ at 'em, ye see.
They thought it was tide-echoes off the Marsh.'
'What did you--what did the fai--Pharisees want?' Una asked.
'A boat, to be sure. Their liddle wings could no more cross Channel than
so many tired butterflies. A boat an' a crew they desired to sail 'em
over to France, where yet awhile folks hadn't tore down the Images. They
couldn't abide cruel Canterbury Bells ringin' to Bulverhithe for more
pore men an' women to be burnded, nor the King's proud messenger ridin'
through the land givin' orders to tear down the Images. They couldn't
abide it no shape. Nor yet they couldn't get their boat an' crew to flit
by without Leave an' Good-will from Flesh an' Blood; an' Flesh an' Blood
came an' went about its own business the while the Marsh was swarvin'
up, an' swarvin' up with Pharisees from all England over, strivin' all
means to get through at Flesh an' Blood to tell 'em their sore need ...
I don't know as you've ever heard say Pharisees are like chickens?'
'My woman used to say that too,' said Hobden, folding his brown arms.
'They be. You run too many chickens together, an' the ground sickens,
like, an' you get a squat, an' your chickens die. Same way, you crowd
Pharisees all in one place--_they_ don't die, but Flesh an' Blood
walkin' among 'em is apt to sick up an' pine off. _They_ don't mean it,
an' Flesh an' Blood don't know it, but that's the truth--as I've heard.
The Pharisees through bein' all stenched up an' frighted, an' trying' to
come _through_ with their supplications, they nature-ally changed the
thin airs an' humours in Flesh an' Blood. It lay on the Marsh like
thunder. Men saw their churches ablaze with the wildfire in the windows
after dark; they saw their cattle scatterin' an' no man scarin'; their
sheep flockin' an' no man drivin'; their horses latherin' an' no man
leadin'; they saw the liddle low green lights more than ever in the
dik-sides; they heard the liddle feet patterin' more than ever round the
houses; an' night an' day, day an' night, 'twas all as though they were
bein' creeped up on, an' hinted at by Some One or other that couldn't
rightly shape their trouble. Oh, I lay they sweated! Man an' maid, woman
an' child, their nature done 'em no service all the weeks while the
Marsh was swarvin' up with Pharisees. But they was Flesh an' Blood, an'
Marsh men before all. They reckoned the signs sinnified trouble for the
Marsh. Or that the sea 'ud rear up against Dymchurch Wall an' they'd be
drownded like Old Winchelsea; or that the Plague was comin'. So they
looked for the meanin' in the sea or in the clouds--far an' high up.
They never thought to look near an' knee-high, where they could see
naught.
'Now there was a poor widow at Dymchurch under the Wall, which, lacking
man or property, she had the more time for feeling; and she come to feel
there was a Trouble outside her doorstep bigger an' heavier than aught
she'd ever carried over it. She had two sons--one born blind, an'
t'other struck dumb through fallin' off the Wall when he was liddle.
They was men grown, but not wage-earnin', an' she worked for 'em,
keepin' bees and answerin' Questions.'
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