GOING TO SUNDAY SCHOOL
IT was a Saturday morning, and Mrs. Jones was in the midst of the
important business of ironing one of her husband's shirts when there
came a knock at the back door, and, glancing out of the window, she saw
her little neighbour, Melina Berryman.
"Come in, child!" she called out. "Oh, you've come to return my dish, I
see," she said, as Melina entered the kitchen and laid the article in
question on the table.
"Yes," assented Melina; "and Gran said I was to thank you for the
custard, please, ma'am."
"I hope your grandmother is better?"
"Yes, thank you, ma'am."
"She hasn't lost her cough, though, I hear. Sit down, child, and talk
to me whilst I finish this shirt."
Melina took a chair, secretly very gratified, for she had never been
inside her neighbour's house before. What a comfortable kitchen it was,
she thought, as she looked about her. The walls were colour-washed
a pretty blue; there was linoleum on the floor; and the tins on the
mantelpiece shone like silver. Everything was as clean and fresh as a
new pin.
"I always cook on Saturdays," explained Mrs. Jones, as she put down her
iron for a minute to peep into the oven, in which there was a shelf of
little cakes. "I don't hold with cooking on Sundays if one can help
it; besides, my husband and I like to go to church together, and we
couldn't do that if there was a hot meal to be cooked. If you'll wait a
few minutes, you shall have one of these rock-cakes for your lunch."
"Oh, thank you so much!" Melina said, feeling grateful, but puzzled
too, for Mrs. Jones had hitherto had but little to say or do with
her. "What a nice room this is!" she exclaimed a moment later, in an
admiring tone.
"It's the same size as you grandmother's, isn't it?"
"Yes, but it's very different; it looks so comfortable and is so
beautifully clean."
From this remark Mrs. Jones judged that the kitchen next door was not
beautifully clean. She had resumed her ironing, and for a few minutes
she was silent, thinking, whilst every now and again she glanced at her
companion. At length she said:
"Some one was speaking to me about you yesterday, Melina; guess who it
was."
"William?" suggested Melina hesitatingly, after a brief consideration.
"No. Mr. Blackmore, a friend of our vicar's, who's come to be a
lay-helper—"
"Oh!" interposed Melina, "the little gentleman! I did not know what he
was called before! What is a lay-helper, Mrs. Jones?"
"Some one—not a clergyman—who helps in the parish," explained Mrs.
Jones. "Yes, Mr. Blackmore called to see me yesterday," she went on,
"and a very nice little gentleman he seems to be, so pleasant and
cheerful; and yet it appears he has known a lot of trouble. He told me
he lost his wife and two children years ago, and that he hadn't a near
relation in the world."
"Then does he live alone at South View?" Melina inquired.
"Alone, except for servants. There, that shirt's finished; I'll put it
in front of the fire to air. And now I should think those cakes are
ready."
Whilst Melina was eating the cake which had been promised her, Mrs.
Jones continued to talk of Mr. Blackmore, and by and by she said:
"He's very interested in you, child; he told me so. He asked me to try
and persuade your grandmother to send you to Sunday school, but I said
I couldn't interfere; do you think she'd let you go?"
"I dare say she would, but I don't want to go, Mrs. Jones."
"Why not, Melina?"
The little girl glanced expressively over her shabby frock. "I've
nothing fit to wear," she admitted in a low voice, her cheeks flushing;
"I haven't any Sunday clothes. If I went to Sunday school just as I am
now the other children would laugh at me, and I hate being laughed at."
"But is it necessary for you to go just as you are now?" asked Mrs.
Jones. "Your frock's a good deal the worse for wear certainly, but you
might darn that rent in the skirt and sponge those spots out of the
bodice; and I suppose you could comb your hair and make it a bit tidy,
couldn't you? You have such pretty hair, Melina—that is, it would be if
you kept it in better condition," she added.
Melina made no response, but the colour in her cheeks deepened.
"It is not your fault that you have to wear shabby clothes," Mrs.
Jones proceeded, "but it certainly is your fault if you're untidy and
dirty. Now, do try what soap and water will do towards improving your
appearance, and don't take it amiss my speaking like this. I think
maybe I ought to have done so before. I really felt ashamed of myself
when I had to admit to Mr. Blackmore that you and your grandmother had
lived next door to me for years and how little I knew about you; it
came across me that I must be a poor sort of Christian, and that I'd
neglected my duty towards my neighbours."
"Do you think it would please Mr. Blackmore if I went to Sunday
school?" Melina asked abruptly.
"Yes, I am sure it would," was the confident response.
"Then I'll go. I'll go whether Gran's willing to let me or not."
"No, no," said Mrs. Jones hastily; "Mr. Blackmore would not wish you to
go if Mrs. Berryman forbade you to, but I don't expect she'll do that."
"No," the little girl agreed after a brief reflexion, "I don't expect
she will; I'll speak to her about it to-night."
"That's right."
Having finished her cake, Melina rose to leave; but at that minute
heavy footsteps were heard in the yard outside the back door, and a
few seconds later a big, powerful-looking man, wearing clay-stained
garments, appeared upon the scene. This was Mrs. Jones' husband. He
worked as a clay cutter, often in the pits underground, and earned good
wages. He was a quiet, easy-going man, and he smiled very kindly at
Melina, as he generally did when he saw her, which was not often.
"Why, 'tis the little maid next door!" he said in some surprise; "now,
don't you go because I've come. Why, bless me, Mary!" he exclaimed,
addressing his wife, "she's growing the very image of her father!"
"Did you know my father, Mr. Jones?" questioned Melina eagerly.
"To be sure I did," was the response.
"I wish you'd tell me about him," said the little girl; "Gran never
will. Did you know him well?"
"Yes," assented Mr. Jones, "at one time. He and I went to school
together, and we started work, I remember, on the same day; but he
didn't stick to the clay work long, and then he went to London—to
better himself, he said. I never saw him after he left Hawstock."
"Do you know where he is now?" Melina inquired. Then, as Mr. Jones
shook his head, she added wistfully, "I do wish he'd come back. Did you
know my mother too, Mr. Jones?"
"No," he replied, "I never saw her; she was a Londoner, I've heard."
"She died when I was born," said Melina sadly; "Gran told me that.
Oh dear, there's Gran calling me in our yard. I must go!" And with a
hurried "Good morning" to husband and wife she hastened away.
That evening Melina asked and received her grandmother's permission
to attend Sunday school; but she did not go the next day, because she
had some preparations to make. During the ensuing week she darned and
cleaned her frock, and washed and combed her hair. She found great
difficulty in getting the tangles out of her curls, but she succeeded
at last; and the afternoon of the following Sunday found her starting
for Sunday school, if not well dressed, at any rate tidy and clean.
She had nearly reached her destination when she heard light, hurrying
footsteps behind her, and a minute later she was joined by a little
girl of about her own age called Agnes Brown, a schoolfellow of hers.
Agnes was a nice-looking child, not pretty, but the owner of a pair
of honest grey eyes and a bright smile; she was always well clad, and
to-day she was wearing a pretty dark-blue jacket which covered her all
over, and a dark-blue felt hat to match.
"Where are you going?" she inquired, as she walked on by her
schoolfellow's side.
"To Sunday school," Melina answered, adding with a sudden burst of
confidence: "I've never been before and I don't want to go now; I'm
only going to please some one who's been kind to me."
"Well, you can come with me," said Agnes; "I'll ask my teacher to have
you in her class, and then you can sit next me, you know."
Thus it was arranged. Melina had not had much intercourse with Agnes
Brown previously, but Agnes had never laughed at her or teased her like
many of her schoolfellows were in the habit of doing, and therefore
she was pleased to sit next to her in school, and quite enjoyed the
afternoon; for their teacher, a pretty young lady called Miss Seymour,
possessed the power of chaining her pupils' attention, and Melina, like
the rest, listened to her with the greatest interest.
"You'll come again next Sunday, won't you?" Agnes said, as, school
over, she and Melina left together; but at that minute another girl
joined them, and whispered to her just loud enough for Melina to hear:
"Come with me, Agnes. You surely don't mean to be seen walking with
Melina Berryman? Let her go on alone."
Melina did not hear Agnes' response, but she had heard enough, and,
quickening her footsteps, she hastened to get ahead of the others. She
had not gone far, however, before Agnes overtook her.
"Don't be in such a hurry," Agnes said; "you know my way is the same as
yours for a bit, and I want to talk to you."
"I'd rather be by myself, thank you," Melina replied untruthfully; "I'm
not going to walk with you to—to disgrace you." This was said with an
air of pride, not humility.
"What nonsense!" Agnes cried, flushing, and looking embarrassed.
"It's not nonsense! I know I'm dreadfully shabby, and—" Melina paused,
with quivering lips and a lump in her throat.
Agnes could not contradict her, but she was a tactful little girl with
a very kind heart, so she said:
"I was thinking just now how nice you had made yourself look—I was
indeed. I had no idea before to-day that you had such lovely hair; what
have you done to it? How fine and glossy it looks! Does it curl like
that naturally?"
"Yes," Melina answered, a slow pleased smile creeping over her face. "I
haven't done anything but wash and comb it," she explained; "I never
used to take any trouble with it."
After that they went on together amicably, and Agnes suggested that
they should meet on their way to Sunday school on the following Sunday
afternoon, which Melina agreed to do, and when they separated they were
on the best of terms with each other.
"Well, and how did you like Sunday school?" Mrs. Berryman said when her
granddaughter reached home. She was seated by the kitchen fire—a mere
handful of coals—looking most ill-tempered.
"Very well," Melina answered shortly.
"Who was your teacher?" the old woman inquired.
"Miss Seymour—such a pretty young lady, Gran! She talked to us so
nicely." Melina's face brightened at the remembrance.
"Oh, she talked nicely, did she? What about?"
"About Jesus—how He came upon earth to save sinners—"
"Oh, I've heard all that before!" interrupted Mrs. Berryman.
"It's very wonderful, isn't it?" Melina said thoughtfully.
"What's wonderful?"
"That He should have died for sinners. Miss Seymour said He prayed even
for His enemies—people who had served Him badly and insulted Him. Only
fancy that!"
Receiving no response to this remark, the little girl went upstairs to
take off her hat and jacket, humming the tune of the hymn she had heard
sung at the Sunday school that afternoon. It had been "There is a green
hill far away," and it had made a deep impression upon her. One verse
she remembered word for word, and she thought she would try to sing it,
which she accordingly did.
"There was no other good enough
To pay the price of sin;
He only could unlock the gate
Of heaven, and let us in."
So sang Melina. Her grandmother heard her with surprise, and muttered
to herself:
"What's taken to the child? I never knew her sing before."