"DEFYING THE HUNT"
IN a few days Christina was the greatest of friends with her young
governess.
Puggy held aloof at first, not quite sure if he liked her. She had such
a fund of games and good stories at her disposal that it seemed a pity
to be out of it. Yet she never asked him to join, and seemed to ignore
him. Dawn, a little ashamed of the part he had played, kept away;
Christina was the one who profited most by Miss Loder's bright energy.
She enjoyed her lessons every morning. She had only an hour in the
afternoon, and the rest of the time was spent in walks and play.
Puggy shut himself up in the turret room and waved the green flag, for
Christina never seemed to want to play with him now. She was quite
happy with Miss Loder. When Dawn came over they took counsel together,
and finally they both marched to Christina's nursery, or schoolroom as
it was now called.
Dawn was spokesman, and he addressed Miss Loder, who was sitting by
the window with her needlework. Christina was on a stool at her feet,
listening with rapt attention to a fairy tale; for lessons were over,
and it was too wet for a walk.
"How do you do, Miss Loder? I'm Dawn." A queer little bow accompanied
this introduction.
"Puggy and I have come to say we'd like to be friends."
Miss Loder looked up with a twinkle in her eyes.
"I am sorry, but I gave my word of honour that I would have nothing
to say to either John Durward or Avril O'Flagherty. I never break a
promise."
"But it's all rot!" burst out Puggy. "That was only a kind of game, and
we didn't know you were a good sort."
"Yes, we're sorry we held you up; and if you like, we'll tear up the
paper you signed."
"That seems a pity," said Miss Loder slowly; "because really Tina and I
are very happy together. I don't know that we want to have much to do
with boys."
"But I'm an awfully nice boy," said Dawn enthusiastically; "dad says
so, and Puggy is ripping! I'm sure you'd like to know us, and we'd have
such fun. We've come over to invite you and Tina up to our den. We've
just cooked some toffee."
Miss Loder capitulated slowly.
"If you were to bring that paper here and burn it, I might forget my
promise," she said.
Puggy produced it promptly from his pocket and threw it into the fire.
Then Miss Loder rose from her chair.
"Come along, Tina, we'll go and have some of this delicious toffee."
Christina was delighted, and from that time the boys and Miss Loder
were thorough good friends. She tried to teach her small pupil to play
at hockey with them; but Christina never enjoyed a rough game. She was
in terror the whole time. She fought hard with her many fears, and took
to following Dawn's suggestion about climbing up the turret stairs on
her knees as a kind of penance when she had been unnecessarily timid.
She did not tell any one of this except Miss Bertha, and she confided
it to her when she went in to take her some flowers one day.
"You see," she explained, "I do so want to be a proper Maclahan. I
never shall, I'm afraid. But yesterday afternoon we went across a
field, and a cow came after us. I—I screamed and ran behind Miss Loder,
and Puggy laughed and called me a little coward. So in the afternoon
when I had finished my lessons, I went up the turret stairs on my knees
to punish myself. It hurts, you know; and as I went up I said your text
over and over and over. I hope I shan't be frightened when I see a cow
next time; do you think I shall? And you won't tell any one, will you?
It's all my own secret."
"I should say it was bad for your stockings," said Miss Bertha with a
kind smile; "but I love to hear of your fighting your fears, Childie,
and I shan't say a word against it!"
"Do you think the day will ever come when I can point to my heart like
Puggy and Dawn do and say, 'Fear dwells not here?'"
For answer Miss Bertha put her arms round her, and held her close.
"I believe one day you will astonish us all," she said cheerfully, but
she turned aside her head that Christina could not see the quick tears
that had started to her eyes.
And a few days afterwards Christina did astonish every one very much.
It was a bright sunny afternoon. Puggy had gone out hunting with his
sister. Mr. Maclahan was away from home. Miss Loder was busy writing
letters in the schoolroom, and Christina was amusing herself in the
garden. She had been up to the turret room and waved the flag for Dawn
to come over and see her, but he had not appeared. He had borrowed a
rough pony from a farmer, and had ridden off to the meet, with the firm
intention of proving to Puggy that he was as good a horseman as himself.
So Christina, feeling rather lonely, betook herself to a small plot of
ground that was considered her own. It was a bit of field fenced in
round an old summer house, and in the summer house, the boys and she
kept their garden games. She was tidying it up, an undertaking that she
loved, when she heard the baying of hounds and the shouts of the hunt.
They were coming right across the paddock in front of her. She came
outside the summer house, and there, toiling along, hardly able to drag
one foot before the other, covered with mud and slime, was the fox.
He was worn out, and, ignoring Christina, made straight for the summer
house.
In an instant the little girl's tender heart was throbbing with
sympathy for him, and as the whole pack of hounds came up in full cry,
she shut the door upon the fox, and stood outside it in a fever of
excited protest.
"You shan't have him!" she cried with scarlet cheeks and flashing eyes.
"You shan't have him! I won't have him killed!"
The hounds were upon her. She did not seem to hear or see them, and
the huntsman, without a word, seized hold of her and lifted her up on
his saddle. It was all the work of a moment: the hounds were through
the open window, and poor Reynard met his fate, but Christina was
struggling passionately in the huntsman's arms.
She did not heed the crowd of people round her. The fate of the poor
fox was more to her than anything else.
"I hate you all!" she exclaimed when she was put down on the ground.
"You are murderers!"
And then she fled into the house, still sobbing as if her heart would
break.
Miss Loder could not understand what had happened. It was a long time
before the excited child could be soothed.
"Oh," she cried, "why does God let people be so cruel? Why can't they
be punished? The poor tired little fox! Oh, Miss Loder, how could they
let him be killed by those cruel dogs! I tried to save him, and I
couldn't! They snatched me away!"
Half an hour later Puggy came in with a grin upon his face.
"You're a nice one!" he said to the tearful Christina. "The cheek of
you, trying to spoil our sport! How dared you do it! You pretend you're
so frightened of everything. Why, those hounds might have torn you in
pieces, they were so wild to get past you!"
"I don't care!" sobbed Christina. "It was wicked to kill the fox!"
"Yes, Miss Loder, she stood up and stayed the whole hunt; she told them
she hated them, and that they were murderers! She did make a silly of
herself, I can tell you! My sister was awfully astonished. I expect
you're in for a scolding, Tina!"
Christina was past minding moldings, but she did not get any; her
stepmother never alluded to the incident. It was her father who called
her to him with a twinkle in his eye.
"Well, my little lassie, you are a staunch champion for the oppressed,
I find. You have begun early. It is a pity you have not the
corresponding power necessary, but a great many champions wish for
that!"
"Don't talk nonsense," said his wife; "the child won't understand you.
When she gets older she will think differently."
Mr. Maclahan said no more, but Christina was not to hear the last of it.
Two days afterwards Dawn came across to invite Christina and Puggy to
tea.
"It's dad's invitation, not mine, and it's a very special one, and Aunt
Rachael has made a big cake and some little ones."
Miss Loder gave her consent. Dawn came to escort them there, and on the
way he informed them that the tea was in Christina's honour.
"Dad's awfully pleased with Tina taking the fox's part the other day.
I told him all about it. He's begun a fresh picture, and he's going to
put her into it; at least, it's either her or me, I'm not sure which:
but I've been standing like Christina did, and dad is painting me,
and I have to wear a girl's frock. Just fancy! But you see dad is an
artist, and the son of an artist has to do everything; it's like my
wearing curls, it has to be, because we care more about pictures than
what people say!"
"I think it's all rot!" said Puggy. "No man would do what Christina
did!"
Christina was by this time rather ashamed of her daring. Puggy was most
emphatic in his condemnation of it, and yet as she assured Miss Loder:
"I feel I couldn't help trying to save the poor fox! If I saw him
again, I'd do it again, I know I would!"
Dawn's father welcomed the children heartily, but he laid his hand on
Christina's shoulder, and looked down upon her with a pleased look in
his eyes.
"I wish I'd been there!" he said. "I have to thank you for an
inspiration, Christina. I was wanting a subject badly, and you have
given it to me. Do you know what my picture is going to be called?
'Defying the Hunt!'" He laughed as he spoke, then showed Christina a
large canvas on which were the bare outlines of a few horses, a pack of
hounds, and a very small child in the midst of the pack beating them
back with her tiny hands, whilst her back was firmly set against an old
wooden door.
"I want you to come and sit for me, will you? Dawn is such a
flibberty-jibbet that I can't keep him still. And so you gave them a
piece of your mind, did you? I'm not a sportsman, and I'm not sure that
I'm not on your side."
"Oh, you couldn't be on Tina's side!" exclaimed Puggy. "I think she was
an awful silly!"
"That's John Bull's opinion, but it isn't mine."
Mr. O'Flagherty delighted in Mrs. Maclahan's fancy about the children.
He always called them the "United Kingdom," and Puggy was never
anything but "John Bull" with him.
Puggy looked slightly abashed. He had a great admiration for Dawn's
father, and did not like his disapproval in any shape or form.
"Well, you can't say hunting is wrong!" he said.
Mr. O'Flagherty laughed.
"We won't have any arguments to-day. We're going to enjoy ourselves,
and Scotland is top and foremost. She shall have the seat of honour!"
He led them gaily into the dining-room, where Miss O'Flagherty was
already making the tea. She was a tall, silent woman with a sweet
smile, and Christina held up her face to be kissed with the assurance
of being welcome.
"You are going to pour out tea for us all," she said to the little girl.
"But I would rather not," said Christina, "it won't be a treat if I do,
for I shall be afraid of doing it wrong!"
"You are never going to be afraid of anything or anybody any more!"
said Mr. O'Flagherty.
And then Christina without a word sat down behind the big teapot, and,
aided by Aunt Rachael, poured out the tea quite successfully.
It was a merry meal. Mr. O'Flagherty was like a boy himself; he told
funny stories and asked riddles and cracked jokes, and Dawn was
bubbling over with mirth and high spirits.
When tea was over, they had a game of hide and seek indoors. Mr.
O'Flagherty hid in the kitchen copper, Dawn put himself inside a
bolster case upon his aunt's bed, and Puggy nearly drowned himself
in the cistern. When they were all tired out they came into Mr.
O'Flagherty's studio; the boys lay down before the big wood fire, and
Christina sat on the artist's knees. Then they began to talk about fear
and what it was and who had it, and into the middle of their talk came
Miss Bertha, who had been asked to tea, but had not been able to leave
some visitor who had arrived.
She sat down by the fire too.
"Englishmen are never afraid!" asserted Puggy.
"They say they are not," said Mr. O'Flagherty, "and they're a pretty
plucky race as a rule, but they're too cock sure of themselves!"
"Isn't it good to be sure?"
"Not sure of ourselves," said Miss Bertha softly, "but sure of Some One
better than ourselves."
"We're all afraid of something," said Mr. O'Flagherty. "Now we'll make
our confessions. I'm afraid of fine ladies with a 'taste for art'!"
"I'm afraid of schoolmasters," admitted Dawn. "I don't like my master
in London. He can't take a joke!"
"I'm afraid of an easy life," said Miss Bertha; "it spoils one so!"
Puggy knitted his brows hard in his endeavour to be strictly true. "I
think I'm afraid of being laughed at," he confessed.
Mr. O'Flagherty nodded approvingly at him.
"Now let Scotland speak."
Christina looked up with great earnest eyes.
"I believe the thing I'm really afraid of most is being a coward. I'm
always just going to be one, and I know I am one already, but I'm so
frightened in case I shall really be an awful one, one day!"
"Ah!" said Mr. O'Flagherty, taking out his pipe after asking Miss
Bertha's permission to smoke. "We're a bad lot with our fears. Now
we'll make a bonfire of them. Write them on slips of paper, and we'll
throw them on the fire."
This was done. Mr. O'Flagherty threw his upon the red coals with a
tragic air.
"Now," he said, "shut your eyes, and I'll tell you what I see. There
they go! Tall ladies, short ladies, spectacled ladies, young ladies,
severe ladies in all their finery, and with all their art jargon on
their lips. They make a glorious blaze. May they never come back to
frighten and annoy me. Now, Miss Bertha, away with your fear!"
Miss Bertha laughed and threw her slip of paper into the fire.
"Ah!" said Mr. O'Flagherty. "There he goes, the spirit of luxury and
indulgence! He's nearly asleep, his fat cheeks tell of his good living;
but he looks so jolly and good-tempered, that I'm quite sorry for him.
Still, he must not be allowed back to frighten our self-denying little
lady. Now, John Bull, into the fire with yours!"
Puggy obeyed instantly.
"What do you see?"
"I see hundreds of merry little fellows flying up the chimney, and yet
some of them have rather evil faces. I think you're well rid of them,
Johnnie. Now, Will-o'-the-wisp, in with your schoolmasters! What a
royal blaze they make with their lesson books and canes and long words
of wisdom! We are having a grand clearance. Where is yours, lassie?"
Christina's face was very solemn as she threw her slip of paper into
the fire.
"The fear of being afraid," said Mr. O'Flagherty thoughtfully; "that's
a wonderful little spirit. You can't get hold of him properly, but he
ought to be burnt, and he must be. There he goes! May he never come
back to trouble you, for he is a perfect fraud, he's a shadow wrapped
in a big black cloak, there's nothing in him!"
Silence fell upon the little group.
"True courage," said Miss Bertha quietly, "is losing sight of self in
an emergency."
"And yet," said Mr. O'Flagherty, "I admire the man who is really full
of fear, acting as if he had none."
"Yes," the little old lady said with a quick, bright nod at Christina.
"It doesn't matter about feelings. Life is doing, not feeling."
Christina looked up. She was the only one of the three children that
caught the idea, and the dawning intelligence in her eyes amused the
artist. He pointed his finger at his small son.
"That bit of quicksilver will be ruled by his feelings all his life, I
fear. That tough young Briton—yes, I'm speaking of you, John Bull—will
be ruled by his head, not his heart."
"And me?" asked Christina breathlessly.
"Neither your head nor your heart, but your conscience will be your
master," Mr. O'Flagherty said, laughing.
"No," said Miss Bertha very gently and softly; "my prayer for Tina
is, 'The love of Christ constraineth us.' He is a better guide than
conscience."
"The talk is getting very difficult and dull," sighed Dawn.
The little party broke up then, but as Christina walked home between
Puggy and the maid who had come to fetch them, she murmured to herself:
"So it doesn't matter if I feel a coward as long as I don't do like a
coward. Oh, I hope I shall remember in time!"