Entirely unfamiliar surroundings will exercise a subduing effect on the
most daring nature; and Florence Whittaker for the first few days of her
stay at Ashcroft felt quite meek and bewildered. She really had nothing
to say. She was quite unused to so small and quiet a family. The
eldest son, Ned Warren, had recently married, and did not live at home,
Bessie was away at her school until the harvest holidays, and Wyn was
busy all day and had lessons to do in the evening. She had never seen
so civil and well-mannered a little boy; while Mr Warren was a great
big man over six feet high, with an immense red beard, very silent and
grave, and good manners gained from the gentlemen with whom he
associated. Her Aunt Charlotte, as she was directed to call Mrs
Warren, was very kind to her, and never aggravated her, a fact which
upset Florence's previous ideas of aunts. There really was no
opportunity of distinguishing herself by "answering back," for Mrs
Warren never said anything that gave her a chance. As she was neither
idle nor unhandy, she acquitted herself well in all the little tasks her
aunt set her; but she was dull enough to look favourably on the idea of
the Sunday school.
"Miss Geraldine's been inquiring about you, Florence," said Wyn when he
came in to dinner.
"She says she wishes you to come down to Sunday school with Gracie
Elton."
"I don't mind if I do," said Florence, "but I attend a Bible class at
home."
"The girls in the first class here are quite as old as you," said Mrs
Warren, "but I dare say you are accustomed to a much larger number."
"Oh, I don't mind," said Florence, with cheerful condescension. "Our
teacher says we ought not to be stuck up, so, though we're nearly all
business young ladies, we ain't exclusive. There's two _generals_
attend the class, and I think it's a shame to make them sit by
themselves, don't you?"
"I think it would be very ill-mannered," said Mrs Warren quietly, "if
you did. I dare say you are very fond of the lady who teaches you?"
"Oh, she's as good as another--better than some. She knows us, you see,
and don't expect too much of us. But there, last spring, when she went
away and Miss Bates took us, we weren't going to go to _her_. Why, she
gave us bad marks for talking, when she'd only just come. She hadn't
any call to find fault with us; she were just there to keep us together
till teacher came back."
"Well, I suppose, as she was kind enough to teach you, you were careful
not to give any trouble to a stranger," said Mrs Warren, "because that
would have been rude."
"We ain't so rude as the Saint Jude's girls," said Florence virtuously.
"_They_ locked the door and kept their teacher waiting, and pretended
they'd lost the key. That's going _too_ far, _I_ say. If ever I'm a
teacher I'll not put up with such as that."
"Could you be a teacher?" said Wyn, who had listened open-mouthed.
"Well," said Florence, "they'll always give little ones to the Bible
class if we apply, and I'd keep 'em strict if I had 'em. But I don't
think as I'm religious enough."
"Yes," said Mrs Warren, "my Bessie says that we never feel our own
defects so much as when we come to think of teaching others."
"I ain't confirmed yet," said Florence, "but I mean to go up next
spring. I say our church is good enough for anyone but George; he don't
think nothing of us. His place is a deal higher; he says we're as
old-fashioned as old-fashioned can be."
Here Florence entered on a lively description of the ritual practised at
the different churches of Rapley, showing considerable acquaintance with
their external distinctions, while Wyn, who had never thought the Church
services concerned him in any way except to behave properly at them,
stared in amazement. Neither he nor his young master knew much about
Church matters outside of Ashcroft.
Mrs Warren listened and pondered, and for the time being said nothing.
Silence was a weapon with which Florrie's chatter had never yet been
encountered.
She resolved to make a good impression at the Sunday school, and show
these ignorant rustics a little of what a young lady attending a Bible
class was accustomed to. Indeed, as she stood by herself on the Sunday
morning under the great overarching trees of the silent summer wood,
something not very unlike a feeling of affection came into her heart for
grave Miss Morel aunt and the dusty classroom and the gay girls sitting
round the table.
"They _will_ be quiet without me," she thought and with more eagerness
than the writer expected she began to read a letter from Matty which she
had just received. After a little information as to the home news the
letter went on:--"Dear Florrie you are not a little girl now, and I am
going to write to you about something that I shouldn't like mentioned to
father or Aunt Stroud. I am sure you must remember poor Harry, as used
to jump you up and down when you were little. You know he ran away, and
I am afraid he did something very wicked; but only father knows what it
was. But he went away from Ashcroft, and, dear Florrie, do remember
about it, for everyone says it was a daring spirit led to his ruin, so
do be a good girl, and mind what Mrs Warren say; for think of Harry,
wandering in a cruel world."
Florence only remembered a little and knew nothing of her eldest
brother. She had no fear of touching on a tender subject, and thought
that the simplest plan was to ask for an explanation; so as she and Wyn
walked down to the Sunday school together that afternoon--they did not
go in the morning--she broached the subject before they reached the
gardener's cottage, where Grace Elton was to join them.
"I say, Wyn, do you remember my brother Harry?"