THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL TREAT.
THERE was great excitement in the little village of Sunleigh one day
towards the end of June, and many an anxious glance was cast at the sky
to see if the weather was likely to remain fair. But not one fleck of
cloud was visible in the broad expanse of blue overhead, and the good
folks of Sunleigh had every reason to be confident that it would be
fine for the Sunday-school treat.
Punctually at two o'clock, the children assembled at the school-house,
and marched to the Vicarage grounds, where they spent the afternoon
and evening in playing games and running races, with an interval for
the all-important tea. Besides the children, many of their parents
were present, not to speak of the teachers, who worked hard for the
enjoyment of their little pupils.
The vicar, of course, was at the head of everything. He was a
grey-haired, elderly man, with a kind, sympathetic heart and manner,
and a face that won one's confidence and trust. He had had much care
and sorrow, for he had been many years a widower, and out of four
children only Marian was left, the rest having died in early youth. Yet
the vicar was always bright and cheerful, and never more so than when
in the presence of young folks.
It was a perfect day, every one agreed, and not too hot; for though the
sun shone in a cloudless sky, there was a fresh, invigorating breeze,
and it was delightfully cool under the tall elm trees that flanked
the Vicarage lawn. It was in that sheltered spot that the mothers
congregated, and discussed the behaviour of their children.
"What a pretty little maid yours is," said one kindly soul to Mrs.
Lethbridge, who was present with the baby in her arms. "I never did see
such blue eyes before, and such golden curls!"
Mrs. Lethbridge smiled, and turned a pleased look on the speaker, as
she answered, "Molly's a good child, and that's better than her pretty
looks, I take it. She's so sweet-tempered, too, and always as happy as
the day is long."
"And your boys are fine little chaps. How does the elder take to work,
Mrs. Lethbridge?"
"Oh, very well indeed; and Mrs. Mugford says he's trustworthy, and
she's quite satisfied with him."
"That's a great thing, ain't it? You can't trust some boys out of your
sight, hardly. Mrs. Mugford will stand his friend, you'll see, if she's
taken to him—she's like that. She and I were girls together, so I know
her ways. She's got on in the world. Married a steady, hardworking man,
and when he died, he left her well provided for, and without any one to
share with!" As though to be alone in the world had its advantages. But
Mrs. Lethbridge did not see it in that light.
"I've heard her say she wished she had children," she said; "and she's
real good to mine."
At that moment the conversation was interrupted by Jim, who rushed up
in great excitement to his mother, and whispered eagerly in her ear—
"Mother, I've won sixpence for coming in second in the last race! The
vicar gave it to me! Look here!"
The boy's face was shining with pleasure, and his smile was reflected
on the mother's countenance.
"Do you know what I am going to do with it, mother?" Then, as she shook
her head, "I'm going to save it towards buying that picture of the Good
Shepherd for our Molly. Will you please keep it for me?"
Mrs. Lethbridge willingly consented, and took charge of the bright, new
sixpence, tying it up carefully in a corner of her pocket handkerchief.
She was deeply touched at the boy's unselfishness and love for his
sister, and felt she might be justly proud of her elder son.
Meanwhile, Molly was enjoying the day most thoroughly. She kept close
to Miss Morris at first, but after a little while, she ventured to
play with some other children about her own age, and soon lost all her
shyness and reserve.
But now the summer evening was drawing to a close; the sun was setting
in a rosy glow of colour, and the children's happy day was nearly over.
James Lethbridge returned home before his family, and after getting his
own tea, stood outside the cottage door, looking disconsolately up and
down the deserted street. The silence indoors was oppressive, and he
felt quite glad when he saw Mrs. Mugford's portly figure step outside
her shop, and he immediately crossed the road to speak to her.
"Good evening, ma'am. So you haven't gone to the school treat, along
with every one else."
"No," she replied, with a smiling nod of greeting. "I couldn't leave,
you know. I should have shut up my shop if it hadn't been for the
post-office. You see I'm a public servant, and not my own mistress. But
I've not had a single person inside my doors since two o'clock to-day,
and I can tell you it's been the longest afternoon I've spent since—the
school treat last year."
"I've had to get my own tea," James Lethbridge remarked, "for the
missus has gone with the youngsters. She left everything ready for me,
and the door-key under a stone where I should know where to find it.
It's quite an event for my wife to go pleasuring!"
"Yes, I know she is a home bird," Mrs. Mugford answered. "This
half-day's holiday will do her good, I'm sure. Everyone enjoys the
Sunday-school treat—old and young alike!"
"I just stepped across to ask you a favour," James Lethbridge explained.
"Now, I hope it's something I can do!" Mrs. Mugford said pleasantly.
"'Tis only this. I want you to tell Jenny, when she comes home, that I
shall be up at the Hall all night. We've a horse took dreadful bad with
inflammation—a favourite horse of Mr. Talbot's—and he wants someone to
sit up with the poor creature, and attend to it. He asked me if I would
stay with old Burt to-night; he's the head groom, you know. Burt's
getting up in years, and the master thinks it would be too much for him
to be up all night alone."
"Mr. Talbot's very thoughtful for other folk's comfort," Mrs. Mugford
remarked. "I hope the poor horse will recover; I can't bear to see an
animal suffer. Yes, I'll give Mrs. Lethbridge your message; but, surely
you're not going to the Hall yet?"
"No, I shan't be expected till ten. I'm just going down the street for
a stroll, and maybe I shan't come back again."
Mrs. Mugford guessed he was going to the "White Hart," but she did not
like to offer a word of remonstrance.
At that moment, her companion happened to glance at the shop window,
and the first object that met his eyes was the picture of the Good
Shepherd, that his little daughter so longed to possess. He drew near,
and looked at it with interest.
"'Tis strange what a fancy our Molly's taken to that picture," he said.
"I've thought I should like to make her a present of it one of these
days!"
"I wish you would!" Mrs. Mugford answered impulsively.
"I can't well afford it—not just now; perhaps on Saturday when I get my
wages I'll buy it."
"I don't feel justified in giving it to her. You see if one keeps a
shop, it doesn't do to make presents of one's goods," said Mrs. Mugford.
"No, it wouldn't do to begin that sort of thing," James Lethbridge said
hastily; "and you've been too generous to my family as it is. I've
never thanked you, but—"
"Oh, please don't. Any little thing I can do for your wife, I'm only
too glad to do. And I love the children—I never had any of my own. Your
Jim's a fine, honest lad. I believe he'll make a good man some day;
and Dick's a dear, little fellow; and as for Molly—well there, I can't
tell you how fond I am of Molly! I wish you'd manage to give her this
picture. Save the money in some way!"
Mrs. Mugford paused abruptly, rather alarmed at the thought of how
her companion would take her last remark; but he was not offended, as
she half thought he might be. The kindly interest in Mrs. Mugford's
sharp, brown eyes disarmed his first feeling of resentment. He knew
well enough, if he refrained from going to the "White Hart" for a few
evenings that he would save the price of the picture, and he guessed
that was what Mrs. Mugford meant.
"Well, I've a notion I know what you mean," he said in rather a
shame-faced fashion; "and I don't know that I mayn't do as you say. I
must wish you good evening now, Mrs. Mugford," and he turned away, and
strolled down the street.
Mrs. Mugford watched his retreating figure out of sight, then she went
into her shop, and began making preparations for closing for the night.
Meanwhile James Lethbridge was halting outside the "White Hart,"
hesitating whether he should enter or not; but for once he allowed his
conscience to guide him, and put the temptation aside.