Daddy went to dine at the Manor House, so Ross and I had dinner alone as
we weren't asked. My brother's mind is full of Monkeries, as he
persists in railing them.
'What a mug Eustace is,' said he. 'Fancy wanting to give up his dogs
and horses.'
'But giving up is very hard.'
'Yes, but it isn't giving up in his case; he was never keen on
horses--thought the Derby wicked.'
'Well, but Ross, you know----'
'Oh, for goodness' sake,' said Ross with great exasperation, 'don't tell
me that you think racing's wicked, surely _you_ don't believe that
because people gamble that the thing itself is wrong; you'll be going
into a Monkery yourself next,' he said, glaring at me angrily. 'What do
you suppose the horses were made capable of such speed for, if they
weren't to run? I suppose you think they ought to be kept in their
stables and fed on barley sugar, and you father's daughter,' said Ross
disgustedly. 'Oh, don't talk to me, Meg; people like Aunt Amelia and
Eustace make me sick. They just stick up a little set of opinions and
call it religion. They always say the things _they_ don't like are
wicked; can you see Aunt Amelia ski-ing or hunting? Would she exchange
that disgusting fydo for my bulldog? But because I like those things
they both say that I'm "worldly" and she calls me her "poor misguided
nephew." No, my dear girl, it won't wash, that sort of rot does all the
harm. And then the parsons! with their everlasting "venture to think."
When a chap in the pulpit gets up and says, "My brethren, I venture to
think," I always want to heave a hymn book at him and say, "Oh, don't
venture such a lot, get on with it." I never venture. I just think and
say so, why can't he?'
'Yes,' I murmured, 'I'm sure you do, Ross!'
'Look at the stuff they preach, too. Always harping on the mild and
simple tack! Who wants to be mild or simple? How can they think that
will attract _men_?'
'Or women,' I said as he paused for breath.
'No, or women,' agreed my brother.
'But, Ross, it does say He was meek and gentle.'
'But not mild, that's the hymn, and they only put it in to rhyme with
"child." I hate hymns, except "Onward Christian Soldiers," and "Fight
the Good Fight," and decent ones like that. Why do parsons nearly
always leave out the other side of Him? Think how strong He was, and
strong people are always gentle. Look at daddy. Could you have a
stronger man, mentally, morally, or physically, and yet he is most
extraordinarily gentle sometimes; meek, too, about some things. I wish I
was!'
'I were, Ross.'
'Oh, no! you weren't, _never_ Meg. I will not be reproved for grammar
by a twin. Oh, yes, you were meek once, about some bluebells. You're
rather a sweet kid sometimes; I mean you used to be,' my brother
corrected hastily, lest I should be puffed up with pride.
'Now, if _I_ went into a Monkery,' he continued, being thoroughly wound
up, 'it might be a good thing. It would be discipline for me. I should
never be able to say prayers all day. I'd always be falling foul over
the law of obedience, and if there were a dog fight outside I'd have to
go and separate them. It would take me years to get to what Eustace is
now and--oh these nuts have got bugs in them, pass me an apple.'
When I went to bed and thought over what Ross had said I remembered that
once when we were children, he and I and Eustace were taken round the
National Gallery by Aunt Constance, and Ross came up to me privately and
said 'Meg, I can't stand all these saints and Madonnas, and the
paintings of Him are beastly, why, they're only women with beards.
They're not a bit like the picture of Him that's in my head,' said the
little chap with a proud tilt to his chin.
'What's your picture of Him like, Ross?' I remember asking.
'On a horse, of course, with a sword and crown like it tells you in the
Revelation.'
And then, for that masculine English horror of 'talking religion' was
developed strongly in him even at that early age, he wouldn't say any
more, only, 'Let's come and see if we can find some lions!'
When daddy came in to wish me 'good-night' he said that Uncle Jasper was
still in a most frightful bate with Eustace about 'this idea that he has
got into his head,' and that Eustace has agreed to wait a year or two
before chucking up the army.
I can't understand my cousin. Last time I saw him his young man's fancy
had lightly turned to thoughts of loving me. Now he desires a Monkery.
But which is 'the idea'? that's the question that I felt would keep me
awake all night. Has he really a vocation? If so, I suppose I was
merely a kind of centipede that got, for a moment, into his sponge.
Time alone will give the answer.
But, oh dear me, I didn't keep awake all night. I only wish I had.
Instead, I had a most appalling nightmare. I dreamed that Ross was
going into a nunnery. He would do it, in spite of all I said to him. I
found myself in the passage in floods of tears, hammering on his door
and sobbing, 'Oh, don't, don't. Think of the privations.'
The next moment I was on my own bed with Ross and father beside me.
'Am I dying?' I asked, seeing my family gathered round my couch.
'Dying!' said my brother, giving me a shake with one hand and a stick of
chocolate with the other, 'it's we who are dying, with laughter.'
'I thought you were going into a nunnery,' I wailed, 'and----'
'And very nice too,' said Ross, 'if I had a nice little nun to cuddle.'
That woke me right up. I don't know how my brother can say such things!
Father says that really some of the family jokes _can't_ go in my novel.
But I can scratch them out after.
*CHAPTER X*
It's a whole month since I wrote a chapter of my book. I don't seem to
have had much time lately, although I know we all have all the time
there is, as the Bishop reminded the lady who complained that she had
not had enough in which to say her prayers!
And now it is full spring and the woods are a pageant of flowers, and
there is a glory of green over the garden. It is warm like summer and
the nights are still, and that wondrous thing called 'Love' has come to
me.
I wish that I could get its fragrance down and put into my book
something of its perfection.
My father twinkles at me and says that although I have got in William
I., and 'the strong love interest' has turned up, William II. and the
fauna of the South Pole have still to be inserted.