"I wouldn\'t tie another twig," said the elder girl, "for all the Christmas pudding that was ever boiled."
"It\'s lucky then that there isn\'t another twig to tie."
"I don\'t know about that. I see a score of places where the work has been scamped. This is the sixth time I have done the church, and I don\'t think I\'ll ever do it again. When we first began it, Bell and I, you know,—before Bell was married,—Mrs. Boyce, and the Boycian establishment generally, used to come and help. Or rather we used to help her. Now she hardly ever looks after it at all."
"She is older, I suppose."
"She\'s a little older, and a deal idler. How idle people do get! Look at him. Since he has had a curate he hardly ever stirs round the parish. And he is getting so fat that— H—sh! Here she is herself,—come to give her judgment upon us." Then a stout lady, the wife of the vicar, walked slowly up the aisle. "Well, girls," she said, "you have worked hard, and I am sure Mr. Boyce will be very much obliged to you."
"Mr. Boyce, indeed!" said Lily Dale. "We shall expect the whole parish to rise from their seats and thank us. Why didn\'t Jane and Bessy come and help us?"
"They were so tired when they came in from the coal club. Besides, they don\'t care for this kind of thing,—not as you do."
"Jane is utilitarian to the backbone, I know," said Lily, "and Bessy doesn\'t like getting up ladders."
"As for ladders," said Mrs. Boyce, defending her daughter, "I am not quite sure that Bessy isn\'t right. You don\'t mean to say that you did all those in the capitals yourself?"
"Every twig, with Hopkins to hold the ladder and cut the sticks; and as Hopkins is just a hundred and one years old, we could have done it pretty nearly as well alone."
"I do not think that," said Grace.
"He has been grumbling all the time," said Lily, "and swears he never will have the laurels so robbed again. Five or six years ago he used to declare that death would certainly save him from the pain of such another desecration before the next Christmas; but he has given up that foolish notion now, and talks as though he meant to protect the Allington shrubs at any rate to the end of this century."
"I am sure we gave our share from the parsonage," said Mrs. Boyce, who never understood a joke.
"All the best came from the parsonage, as of course they ought," said Lily. "But Hopkins had to make up the deficiency. And as my uncle told him to take the haycart for them instead of the hand-barrow, he is broken-hearted."
"I am sure he was very good-natured," said Grace.
"Nevertheless he is broken-hearted; and I am very good-natured too, and I am broken-backed. Who is going to preach to-morrow morning, Mrs. Boyce?"
"Mr. Swanton will preach in the morning."
"Tell him not to be long, because of the children\'s pudding. Tell Mr. Boyce if he is long, we won\'t any of us come next Sunday."
"My dear, how can you say such wicked things! I shall not tell him anything of the kind."
"That\'s not wicked, Mrs. Boyce. If I were to say I had eaten so much lunch that I didn\'t want any dinner, you\'d understand that. If Mr. Swanton will preach for three-quarters of an hour—"
"He only preached for three-quarters of an hour once, Lily."
"He has been over the half-hour every Sunday since he has been here. His average is over forty minutes, and I say it\'s a shame."
"It is not a shame at all, Lily," said Mrs. Boyce, becoming very serious.
"Look at my uncle; he doesn\'t like to go to sleep, and he has to suffer a purgatory in keeping himself awake."
"If your uncle is heavy, how can Mr. Swanton help it? If Mr. Dale\'s mind were on the subject he would not sleep."
"Come, Mrs. Boyce; there\'s somebody else sleeps sometimes besides my uncle. When Mr. Boyce puts up his finger and just touches his nose, I know as well as possible why he does it."
"Lily Dale, you have no business to say so. It is not true. I don\'t know how you can bring yourself to talk in that way of your own clergyman. If I were to tell your mamma she would be shocked."
"You won\'t be so ill-natured, Mrs. Boyce,—after all that I\'ve done for the church."
"If you\'d think more about the clergyman, Lily, and less about the church," said Mrs. Boyce very sententiously, "more about the matter and less about the manner, more of the reality and less of the form, I think you\'d find that your religion would go further with you. Miss Crawley is the daughter of a clergyman, and I\'m sure she\'ll agree with me."
"If she agrees with anybody in scolding me I\'ll quarrel with her."
"I didn\'t mean to scold you, Lily."
"I don\'t mind it from you, Mrs. Boyce. Indeed, I rather like it. It is a sort of pastoral visitation; and as Mr. Boyce never scolds me himself, of course I take it as coming from him by attorney." Then there was silence for a minute or two, during which Mrs. Boyce was endeavouring to discover whether Miss Dale was laughing at her or not. As she was not quite certain, she thought at last that she would let the suspected fault pass unobserved. "Don\'t wait for us, Mrs. Boyce," said Lily. "We must remain till Hopkins has sent Gregory to sweep the church out and take away the rubbish. We\'ll see that the key is left at Mrs. Giles\'s."
"Thank you, my dear. Then I may as well go. I thought I\'d come in and see that it was all right. I\'m sure Mr. Boyce will be very much obliged to you and Miss Crawley. Good-night, my dear."
"Good-night, Mrs. Boyce; and be sure you don\'t let Mr. Swanton be long to-morrow." To this parting shot Mrs. Boyce made no rejoinder; but she hurried out of the church somewhat the quicker for it, and closed the door after her with something of a slam.
Of all persons clergymen are the most irreverent in the handling of things supposed to be sacred, and next to them clergymen\'s wives, and after them those other ladies, old or young, who take upon themselves semi-clerical duties. And it is natural that it should be so; for is it not said that familiarity does breed contempt? When a parson takes his lay friend over his church on a week day, how much less of the spirit of genuflexion and head-uncovering the clergyman will display than the layman! The parson pulls about the woodwork and knocks about the stonework, as though it were mere wood and stone; and talks aloud in the aisle, and treats even the reading-desk as a common thing; whereas the visitor whispers gently, and carries himself as though even in looking at a church he was bound to regard himself as performing some service that was half divine. Now Lily Dale and Grace Crawley were both accustomed to churches, and had been so long at work in this church for the last two days, that the building had lost to them much of its sacredness, and they were almost as irreverent as though they were two curates.
"I am so glad she has gone," said Lily. "We shall have to stop here for the next hour, as Gregory won\'t know what to take away and what to leave. I was so afraid she was going to stop and see us off the premises."
"I don\'t know why you should dislike her."
"I don\'t dislike her. I like her very well," said Lily Dale. "But don\'t you feel that there are people whom one knows very intimately, who are really friends,—for whom if they were dying one would grieve, whom if they were in misfortune one would go far to help, but with whom for all that one can have no sympathy. And yet they are so near to one that they know all the events of one\'s life, and are justified by unquestioned friendship in talking about things which should never be mentioned except where sympathy exists."
"Yes; I understand that."
"Everybody understands it who has been unhappy. That woman sometimes says things to me that make me wish,—wish that they\'d make him bishop of Patagonia. And yet she does it all in friendship, and mamma says that she is quite right."
"I liked her for standing up for her husband."
"But he does go to sleep,—and then he scratches his nose to show that he\'s awake. I shouldn\'t have said it, only she is always hinting at uncle Christopher. Uncle Christopher certainly does go to sleep when Mr. Boyce preaches, and he hasn\'t studied any scientific little movements during his slumbers to make the people believe that he\'s all alive. I gave him a hint one day, and he got so angry with me!"
"I shouldn\'t have thought he could have been angry with you. It seems to me from what you say that you may do whatever you please with him."
"He is very good to me. If you knew it all,—if you could understand how good he has been! I\'ll try and tell you some day. It is not what he has done that makes me love him so,—but what he has thoroughly understood, and what, so understanding, he has not done, and what he has not said. It is a case of sympathy. If ever there was a gentleman uncle Christopher is one. And I used to dislike him so, at one time!"
"And why?"
"Chiefly because he would make me wear brown frocks when I wanted to have them pink or green. And he kept me for six months from having them long, and up to this day he scolds me if there is half an inch on the ground for him to tread upon."
"I shouldn\'t mind that if I were you."
"I don\'t,—not now. But it used to be serious when I was a young girl. And we thought, Bell and I, that he was cross to mamma. He and mamma didn\'t agree at first, you know, as they do now. It is quite true that he did dislike mamma when we first came here."
"I can\'t think how anybody could ever dislike Mrs. Dale."
"But he did. And then he wanted to make up a marriage between Bell and my cousin Bernard. But neither of them cared a bit for the other, and then he used to scold them,—and then,—and then,—and then—Oh, he was so good to me! Here\'s Gregory at last. Gregory, we\'ve been waiting this hour and a half."
"It ain\'t ten minutes since Hopkins let me come with the barrows, miss."
"Then Hopkins is a traitor. Never mind. You\'d better begin now,—up there at the steps. It\'ll be quite dark in a few minutes. Here\'s Mrs. Giles with her broom. Come, Mrs. Giles; we shall have to pass the night here if you don\'t make haste. Are you cold, Grace?"
"No; I\'m not cold. I\'m thinking what they are doing now in the church at Hogglestock."
"The Hogglestock church is not pretty;—like this?"
"Oh, no. It is a very plain brick building, with something like a pigeon-house for a belfry. And the pulpit is over the reading-desk, and the reading-desk over the clerk, so that papa, when he preaches, is nearly up to the ceiling. And the whole place is divided into pews, in which the farmers hide themselves when they come to church."
"So that nobody can see whether they go to sleep or no. Oh, Mrs. Giles, you mustn\'t pull that down. That\'s what we have been putting up all day."
"But it be in the way, miss; so that the minister can\'t budge in or out o\' the door."
"Never mind. Then he must stay one side or the other. That would be too much after all our trouble!" And Miss Dale hurried across the chancel to save some prettily arching boughs, which, in the judgment of Mrs. Giles, encroached too much on the vestry door. "As if it signified which side he was," she said in a whisper to Grace.
"I don\'t suppose they\'ll have anything in the church at home," said Grace.
"Somebody will stick up a wreath or two, I daresay."
"Nobody will. There never is anybody at Hogglestock to stick up wreaths, or to do anything for the prettinesses of life. And now there will be less done than ever. How can mamma look after holly-leaves in her present state? And yet she will miss them, too. Poor mamma sees very little that is pretty; but she has not forgotten how pleasant pretty things are."
"I wish I knew your mother, Grace."
"I think it would be impossible for any one to know mamma now,—for any one who had not known her before. She never makes even a new acquaintance. She seems to think that there is nothing left for her in the world but to try and keep papa out of misery. And she does not succeed in that. Poor papa!"
"Is he very unhappy about this wicked accusation?"
"Yes; he is very unhappy. But, Lily, I don\'t know about its being wicked."
"But you know that it is untrue."
"Of course I know that papa did not mean to take anything that was not his own. But, you see, nobody knows where it came from; and nobody except mamma and Jane and I understand how very absent papa can be. I\'m sure he doesn\'t know the least in the world how he came by it himself, or he would tell mamma. Do you know, Lily, I think I have been wrong to come away."
"Don\'t say that, dear. Remember how anxious Mrs. Crawley was that you should come."
"But I cannot bear to be comfortable here while they are so wretched at home. It seems such a mockery. Every time I find myself smiling at what you say to me, I think I must be the most heartless creature in the world."
"Is it so very bad with them, Grace?"
"Indeed it is bad. I don\'t think you can imagine what mamma has to go through. She has to cook all that is eaten in the house, and then, very often, there is no money in the house to buy anything. If you were to see the clothes she wears, even that would make your heart bleed. I who have been used to being poor all my life,—even I, when I am at home, am dismayed by what she has to endure."
"What can we do for her, Grace?"
"You can do nothing, Lily. But when things are like that at home you can understand what I feel in being here."
Join or Log In!
You need to log in to continue reading
(Left Keyword <-) Previous:
CHAPTER XV. UP IN LONDON.
Back
Next:
CHAPTER XVII. MR. CRAWLEY IS SUMMONED TO BARCHESTER.
(Right Keyword:->)