MRS. WALTERS GOES TO CHAPEL
HE sat for some time on the hill-side turning things over in his mind
and trying to make up some plan of action; in his pocket was the sum
of eightpence-halfpenny, which would just keep him in food for the
next day or two. At present, the bare idea of eating made him feel
ill, for his head had begun to ache violently after the climb. He had
no hat, and he thought it would be best to rest during the day and
keep his unprotected skull out of the rays of the winter sun, which
were very bright. Towards evening he might find a place where he could
pass the night under shelter, and to-morrow he would go to every farm
for miles round--always excepting Great Masterhouse--and do what he
could to get work, no matter of what sort. He might just possibly find
something, and, if unsuccessful, he would betake himself to Talgarth,
a small town some distance off in a different part of the country, and
try his luck there; at any rate, he had done with sheep-stealing for
ever.
He found a spot under a hedge by a running stream where he sat and
waited until the shades grew long. Now and then he dipped his hand and
bathed his wounded head with the icy water; in this way the day wore
on until light began to fail, and he set off westward again. As he
passed a small farm some dogs ran out barking, and a tidy-looking
woman called them back, putting her head out of a barn-door which
abutted on the path.
"Thank ye, ma'am," said George, coming to a standstill and hesitating
whether to address her further and ask for work.
She settled the question herself.
"Who be you?" she asked abruptly.
"I'm looking for work," replied he.
"I said, '_Who be you?_'" she remarked, putting her arms akimbo.
"My name's George Williams."
"And what do you want, George Williams?"
"Work."
"What sort?"
"Any sort."
"That's bad, because I haven't got none for you."
"Good-day then, ma'am," he said as he turned away.
The woman came out of the barn and stood watching him; she had never
seen a tramp before who had any pretensions to good manners. He looked
round and saw her, and some impulse made him go back.
"Please would ye let me lie in that barn to-night, if I may be so bold
as to ask ye?"
She stared at him for a considerable time without reply. Her eyes were
like gimlets.
"Do you smoke?" she inquired at last.
"No."
"Turn out your pockets."
He did so, revealing the eightpence-halfpenny, an old knife, and a
piece of string.
"Very well" she said, "but see you take yourself off again to-morrow."
"I will, an' thank ye kindly."
She opened the door wide, and he saw that half of the building was
full of straw; several fowls were scratching about on the floor and
talking in subdued gutturals. The woman pointed to a corner.
"You can take a bit of the straw and lie there," she said, "but mind
the nests." And in the misty darkness Williams was aware of the round
yellow eyes of a sitting hen fixed watchfully upon him.
"I'll be mindful," he replied, wondering at his good fortune.
"You'd better stop now you're here; it's pretty nigh dark," she
observed as she shut the door and went out.
He assented gratefully, and, fetching an armful of straw, made himself
a bed. The hen's eyes followed his every movement with that look of
latent malice peculiar to her kind.
It was with a sense of comfort that he stretched his limbs out upon
the softness; his head ached and the darkness was very pleasant.
Presently the door beside him opened and the woman's hand appeared
with a large round of bread and a piece of cheese in it; she gave it
to him with an abrupt nod and departed, noisily slamming the latch. He
had no appetite, but he put the gifts by carefully with a view to the
morrow and was soon asleep.
He was up by daylight and off again on his search. He passed Great
Masterhouse, and, at mid-day, had been to every place where it was
possible that labour was employed. But there was no chance for him
anywhere, it seemed, and he was much disheartened as he sat down to
eat the bread and cheese he had been given; he determined to go
straight on to Talgarth.
In the afternoon he struck into a lane leading down to the valley and
on to his destination; he was getting rather weary, having been on his
legs since before sunrise, and he was sick at heart from perpetual
rebuffs and disappointments. He came all at once upon a hollow
circular place whose green turf surrounded a building which he took to
be a place of worship of some kind. It was not an attractive spot,
and, though the door was open, there appeared to be no one in the
neighbourhood. A wall, not two feet high, enclosed the chapel; he
strode over this, glad to think that there would be something to sit
upon inside after his long trudge. When he had entered he was a good
deal alarmed to find that there were one or two people occupying the
wooden pews, and that a man in black was seated upon a raised platform
with a book in front of him. He would have turned and fled, but the
eyes of the man were upon him, and, in face of this, he lost courage
and went in as quietly as he could, taking an obscure seat in a dark
place beside the door. A little window was just by his head, and he
could see, without standing up, that the congregation was beginning to
arrive in twos and threes. Nearly every one went over the wall as he
had done, men and women alike. The man in black returned to his
reading and he felt more comfortable.
As a sound of wheels approached he looked out and saw through the
distortion of the ancient window-panes that a gig containing two women
had drawn up upon the grass, and that a boy whom he had not noticed
had risen mysteriously from a bush and taken hold of the horse's head.
The two were dressed much alike in bonnets and shawls, but it was
evident that they were mistress and servant from the way in which the
driver threw down the reins and helped the other deferentially to the
ground. She also went forward and had a struggle with the rusty wicket
while her companion awaited the result; it was plain that the ordinary
method of approach over the wall was not good enough for the superior
personality whom she served. George was rather interested, and would
have been more so had he known that he was looking at Mrs. Walters and
her servant Nannie.
As the new-comers entered the chapel they passed within a few feet of
the young man in his corner, and he had a vague sense of having seen
the taller woman before, though he did not recognize the other as the
person who had been in Bumpett's cart on the previous day, her face
being turned from him. There was a perceptible movement of heads
towards Mrs. Walters as she went up to her place, and she took a
prominent seat with the dignified air of one who knew that no less was
expected of her. Nannie sat a little way behind that she might examine
the other chapel-goers without the rebuke of her mistress' eye; she
had come under protest, it being far more abhorrent to her to go to
chapel on a week-day than to stay away from it on a Sunday. But it was
a special occasion, for the man in black--none other than the preacher
who had originally "brought truth" to Mrs. Walters--was leaving the
neighbourhood on the following morning and did not expect to return to
his flock for some months; and her mistress' orders admitted of no
question.
In a short time the chapel had half filled, and the service began with
a reading from the Old Testament, and a dissertation of immense length
upon the chapter read. It seemed interminable to Williams, as he sat
quietly in his place, glad of the rest and giving but little attention
to what was going on. He was so much absorbed by his own difficulties
and humiliations that when the assembly, led by a strange voice which
seemed to come from somewhere behind the man in black, began to sing a
metrical psalm, his mind leaped back to his surroundings with a start.
When the singing was over, all fell reverently on their knees and
prayed, following the extemporary supplications of the preacher in
silence. George knelt too. He did not pray, but the change of attitude
was pleasant; he rested his head on his arms and closed his eyes, for
the voice made him drowsy, and, unheeded by any one, he slid out of
consciousness into sleep.
After the prayers came another reading of the Bible, but he slept on.
His head, bowed on his arms, had a devout look which made those who
could see him suppose him a fervent worshipper unable to bring himself
down from the exaltation of prayer; but the congregation was one
accustomed to unconventional things taking place in chapel and paid no
heed. Only a few, as they trooped from the building, cast curious
glances at him, wondering what sudden conversion or tardy repentance
was going on under the window.
Nannie Davies had bustled out among the first, and was calling loudly
from the very door of the sanctuary to the boy to put in the horse;
she had a strident voice, and crooked her forefinger as she beckoned
him from his lair in the bushes with a gesture only known to the lower
orders.
Mrs. Walters was the last to remain. The man in black came down from
his platform and stood talking to her for some time with his back to
the departing people. At last they shook hands, and the black silk
skirt was rustling towards the entrance when she caught sight of the
sleeping man.
She paused in front of him, but he did not move. The window above his
head shone straight in her eyes, making his figure seem dim; she did
not doubt any more than did the rest of the worshippers that he was
praying devoutly, and, as she had only just turned in his direction,
she had no idea how long he had remained in that attitude. She
suspected some spiritual conflict, and, like Saint Paul, would fain
proclaim the Gospel in season and out of season. She touched him on
the shoulder.
"You are very earnest in prayer, young man," she said solemnly. "May
the words of Grace we have heard sink into your heart."
An overpowering confusion covered George. "I wasn't praying, ma'am; I
was asleep," he stammered as he rose.
"Sleeping in this holy place? In the very sound of the Word? Shame on
you! Shame on you indeed!"
"I couldn't help it. I didn't mean----"
"Come with me outside," said Mrs. Walters. "Let us not forget that we
are standing in the tabernacle of the Lord."
She went out in front of him and he followed. Embarrassed as he was,
he could not help being impressed, and, like Nannie, he felt that he
had met with a person to be obeyed, though his idea was the result of
instinct and hers of experience.
As they stood in the afternoon light she looked rather severely at his
untidy dress; though he had put on the best clothes he possessed to go
and see Mary, he had since trudged in them for the greater part of two
days and slept in them on the preceding night. His unhandsome aspect
did not speak well for him.
"Do you not remember Eutychus, the youth who slept while Saint Paul
was preaching?" she continued. "He fell from the window where he sat,
and would have perished in his sins but for the apostle of the
Gentiles. The sin of irreverence is great. Remember you may perish in
it."
He stood silent. The people had all departed and the place was
deserted. Only Nannie waited by the horse's head, impatiently watching
her mistress.
"Why did you come here if you had no heart to pray?" inquired Mrs.
Walters.
"I was tired, ma'am--cruel done. The door was open and I thought I
could sit down quiet-like. I'd no notion there was preaching to be."
"Where have you come from? Where are you going to?"
"It's work I'm after. I've gone high and low, and up an' down, and I
can't get none. There's nothin' I'd turn from if I could get enough to
keep me from starving." His voice almost shook.
"What can you do?" she asked, being a practical woman.
"I can turn my hand to a power of things about a farm. And I'm a
proper fine hedge-and-ditcher," he added simply.
In every accident of daily life Mrs. Walters was inclined to see a
special working of Providence, and it was in her mind that this man,
so strangely encountered, might be a brand to be plucked from the
burning and reserved for her hand. She began to think deeply, and, as
Williams saw it, he fixed his eager eyes on her face. Help from this
stern woman seemed to be a futile hope, but he clung to it.
"Do you know how to grow vegetables?" she said at last.
"No, I don't. Nothin' but potatoes, more's the pity."
"But you might learn."
"I'd try hard, ma'am. Be sure o' that. But I can't tell how 'twould
do."
Mrs. Walters prided herself on her accurate reading of people, and, to
do her justice, she was generally aware of the sufficiently obvious.
"I think you are honest," she said, looking hard at him.
Poor George thought of many things and became crimson.
She noticed his extreme confusion.
"Perhaps you have not always been so," she observed.
"No, I've not," he replied, looking down at his boots.
"Man! man!" she cried suddenly, her eyes lighting up. "Repent, repent,
while yet you may! The day of grace has not gone by! Turn from your
sins! Abhor them! Flee from them! Put behind you the evil and strive
after a new life." She raised her hands as she spoke, and her voice
rang over to where Nannie stood by the cart.
This outburst of exhortation had the effect of making Williams very
shy. Intensely reserved himself, it was a real shock to him to see a
stranger so entirely carried away by feeling; he did not know where to
look, and could only stare at a little tuft of moss growing in the
wall of the chapel. His face appeared almost sullen. He could see that
her lips were moving, and that she passed her handkerchief once or
twice over her face. Presently her calm returned.
"Do you wish to lead an honest life?" she asked.
"I do indeed; Gospel truth I do."
"You are a strong man and ought to do a good day's work. Will you do
it, if I give it you?"
"None shall do a better than I."
"Then I will try you. You must come to me to-morrow at mid-day, and I
will speak to you. You do not know who I am, I suppose?" she inquired
as an after-thought.
"No, ma'am, I don't indeed."
"I am Mrs. Walters of Great Masterhouse," she replied with a certain
stiffness. Her position as a rich woman, the isolation she had made
for herself, and the interested looks which followed her whenever she
went abroad were not without their charm for her, for, like many who
take the effacing of themselves very seriously, she had a touch of
what might be called inverted vanity.
The familiarity of her face now explained itself to George, and he had
a strong feeling of repulsion at the thought of working among
everything which had belonged to Rhys. But a man struggling for his
daily bread can take no account of such imaginings, and he knew that
he ought to be sincerely thankful for what had happened.
She went down the path to her cart, cutting short his thanks, and he
turned to enter the chapel again. She looked round and called him.
"Why do you go back?" she inquired, with a faint hope that her words
had moved him to pray, possibly to give thanks for the prospects she
held out.
"I have left my bill-hook, ma'am. 'Tis lying on the ground in the
bottom o' the seat."
A slight expression of annoyance was on her face as the maid-servant
helped her up to her place and brushed her dress where the wheel had
rubbed it. Nannie was a clumsy driver, if a safe one, and she turned
the horse round in an immense circle on the short grass. As George
came out he saw the cart disappearing up the lane, the two women's
backs shaking as the wheels ran into sudden hollows, mistress' and
maid's alike.