The Word Of A Gentleman

(An Anecdote of Sir William Francis Patrick Napier: 1785-1860)

Twilight was falling in the English village, The green deserted and the loiterers sped, When down the quiet road there rang a footstep, Martial, heroic, as in battle bred.

Musing on glories past, the gallant soldier Savored the freshness of the evening air, When to his ears there came a childish grieving, A burst of sobs, a tempest of despair.

Close to the stream that rippled by the goose-green, Down in the grass there lay a flaxen head,-- And just beside the curls a broken pitcher Proclaimed the reason of the tear-drops shed.

The general bowed his splendid height, and, softly, “What is it, child?” he asked the little maid. Two wet blue eyes looked up at him, in answer: “My pitcher! Will you mend it, sir?” she said.

The soldier smiled. “I fear ’tis past the mending; But grieve no more, ’twas not of porcelain rare. Take heart. Here’s sixpence bright to buy another.” He searched his pockets. Not a coin was there!

With parted lips the child stood, all expectant, The general, laughing, owned his shabby plight. “But have no fear, my sweet,” he cried. “I’ll meet thee, At this same place and hour, to-morrow night.”

The little maid looked in his face and trusted; Smiling her thanks she slipped away alone. The soldier’s homeward march was sweetly lighted By the pure, simple faith that she had shown.

His lodging reached, an invitation waited, Flattering, courtly, for the morrow’s night; The very selfsame hour at which he’d trysted The village child beside the streamlet bright.

“You’ll go, Sir William?” asked the anxious servant. “Nobles alone are bid, and soldiers of the Queen!” “To-morrow night I’m pledged,” the general answered, “To meet a child upon the village green.”

“To meet a little child?” the servant faltered, And, half-believing, quick the answer heard: “Monarch or child, to whomsoe’er he gives it, A gentleman and soldier keeps his word!”