A VOTE OF CONFIDENCE.
"It must take it out of one dreadfully to be so terribly in earnest,"
said May Webster, softly stroking the pug dog that lay curled up in her
lap.
"As who?" asked her mother, looking up from her writing.
"As Mr. Curzon; you might think his life depended on this school
business. I really could not follow all he said this afternoon; but,
apparently, he and Mr. Lessing have come to grief already about it.
There's another earnest one--with this difference between them: that
Mr. Curzon is earnest and agreeable, and Mr. Lessing earnest and
disagreeable."
"He's more tiresome than disagreeable, May. I call it tiresome to live
in a cottage instead of a house, and to keep his sister from church--I
suppose that that is his doing,--and to upset us all when we are quiet
and happy. He's paying such high wages, they say, to the men he has
set at work over the drainage of some of his cottages, that I expect
all our men will be asking us to raise theirs."
"I wonder which of them is right?" said May, returning to the subject
of the schools.
"Mr. Curzon, of course; he's a clergyman, my dear!"
"Then you will go to the meeting to-night."
"You must be crazed, May, to think of such a thing. I go to a school
meeting! If there is one type of woman I dislike more than another,
it's the one to be found on platforms."
"I had not thought of you on a platform exactly. It only occurred to
me that you would give Mr. Curzon your moral support, as your
sympathies go with him. You carry weight, you see," which was true in
more senses than one.
Mrs. Webster put the most favourable interpretation upon the phrase.
"Of course, if you really think it my duty, May," she said, softening
visibly, "and would come with me----"
"Oh, I intend going anyhow," interposed May, carelessly.
"It's such a new departure for you to take a prominent part in parish
things," exclaimed Mrs. Webster.
"Oh, parish has nothing to do with it! I'm going as a disinterested
spectator to see the two earnest ones fight it out."
"My dear!" remonstrated her mother in a shocked tone.
"If I have a bias it's in favour of the rector. I don't pretend to
understand the merits of voluntary versus board schools; but, as you
say, a clergyman is always right--most probably Mr. Curzon's is the
better cause, and most certainly he is the better man."
"Dear, dear; and we shall have to dine at seven, and keep as we are, I
suppose?" with a glance at the stately folds of her brocade dress.
"Yes; we won't treat a school meeting like a theatre," said May,
laughing. "Will it be considered unduly flippant on my part to go in
this muslin? or ought I to wear black, as at a funeral?"
"It cannot signify in the least; a change of dress would not alter your
flippant mind," replied her mother, with unusual smartness. "Dear Mr.
Curzon has really convinced me that it is a most important subject, so
I don't mind making a sacrifice for once in a way."
"By dining an hour earlier than usual and not changing your dress! All
right, mother; I'll order the carriage for ten minutes to eight. We
may as well be punctual."
The back benches of the schoolroom were crowded to overflowing when May
and her mother entered that evening.
"It's very hot, May. I'm not sure that I can stay," said Mrs. Webster,
pausing in the doorway.
"Oh yes, mother; we'll see it through to the bitter end," said May, in
an undertone. "There are seats in the front."
Mrs. Webster picked her way daintily through the crowd, and Mr.
Lessing, who was seated at the end of one of the desks, stood up to let
her pass. May's skirt caught against a nail, as she followed, and Paul
bent to set it free; but as May turned smiling to thank him, it gave
her a faint shock of surprise to read the dislike that found expression
in his eyes. Her smile faded, and she passed on her way with a haughty
little bow.
"I wonder why he hates me? I am not aware that any man has ever viewed
me with honest dislike before," she thought, as she took her seat by
her mother.
Paul, on his side, was inspired with the same unwilling admiration and
active irritation as on the occasion of their first meeting at
Brussels. Beautiful she undoubtedly was; so beautiful that his eyes
unconsciously followed her every movement. The cordial greeting she
accorded the rector--so different from her bow to himself,--and the
poise of her head, as she turned to look at the rows of expectant faces
behind her, giving a smiling nod to Mrs. Macdonald, who, duly impressed
with the gravity of the occasion, sat by the side of her John with her
hands clasping a clean pocket-handkerchief as if she were at church.
Paul tried to define the cause of his annoyance as he looked at her.
"It is the hard crust of indifference which society people cultivate to
such perfection; it's the assurance which beauty assumes. She has come
here most probably in search of a new sensation," he thought.
But the rector, who sat on a platform at the end of the room, with his
two churchwardens, was already on his feet, and Paul pocketed his
annoyance and settled himself to listen.
"My friends," he began, "we have met to-night to consider on what basis
our school shall be carried on; whether at this crisis in school
affairs, which demands an outlay of some seven or eight hundred pounds,
the voluntary system shall be continued; or whether it shall be turned
into a board school, paid for out of the rates, and managed by a
committee chosen by the votes of the people. It is not a question that
it has been necessary for us to discuss before. My people, I believe
to a man, have been content to entrust the education of their children,
the practical management of the school, to the churchwardens and
myself, supporting us by their voluntary subscriptions; but a murmur
has reached our ears that some of you are dissatisfied with this
arrangement. My churchwardens and I feel reluctant to retain the
management of the school unless fully assured that we are fulfilling
the wishes of the majority of the people. You one and all know my
views on this subject, and the principle that I believe to be involved
in your decision. Whichever scheme is followed will mean a
considerable outlay of money. It is for you to decide whether that
money shall be exacted from you by rate, or whether it shall be given
freely and liberally out of the means with which God has blessed you."
The rector closed with a request that any one wishing to address the
meeting would come up to the platform, and, in answer to the challenge,
Paul Lessing walked up the room and took his stand before the people.
He was clever, and gifted with readiness of speech, but something in
the audience baffled him; whether it was the stolid imperturbability of
the faces in the back benches, or May Webster's half-amused,
half-scornful smile just below him, he could not decide. But he pulled
himself together, determining to state his case as shortly and clearly
as he could.
He expressed no doubt that in times past the school had been well and
ably managed; but he reminded them that Government had seen fit to
place in their hands a power which the people in country places were
slow to recognize: that of exercising a control over the education of
their children. That all authority on a subject so important should be
vested in the hands of two or three men of the same way of thinking,
seemed to him, at the best, a one-sided arrangement; surely it was more
just that a committee of men should be chosen by the votes of the
people, and that every form of thought should find its exponent--thus
keeping the balance of opinion even. Much more he said, and said it
ably, ending with a strong appeal that each one there present,
unbiassed by any cry of party, should think out this subject for
themselves, and consider whether he was doing the best for the place in
which he lived by saying, that what had been should be and could not be
improved; or whether he would make use of that power vested in him by
Government, and should decide to let his voice, in the education of the
future generation, find expression in that great and powerful
development of modern times, a School Board.
Allison, forgetful of his fears about rates, murmured "Ooray!" as the
squire resumed his seat; and the rector, thanking the squire for his
able expression of his views, asked if there were any one else who
would give them the benefit of his opinion. There was a long silence.
It was hoped that Allison would have something to say and one and
another gave him a friendly nudge, but the blacksmith was too wise to
commit himself; he halted between two opinions. But there was a murmur
of astonishment as Macdonald rose and, supporting his burly form
against the wall, cleared his throat, and began to speak a little
huskily.
"No, thank you, sir," he said in answer to a nod from the rector to
come up to the platform. "I ain't scholard enough to stand up there,
but there's something I wants to say. The squire says as we should
know our own minds, and I'd like to tell you what's mine. Who should
have care of the children but the man who loves 'em like his own, who
goes reg'lar to see after 'em every day whilst we goes to work, who
teaches 'em to be good at school and to mind what their parents says at
home, and wants 'em most of all to love their God? If we voted him out
to-night we'd vote him in again to-morrow, and I'll give a pound
to-night to show as I'm ready to bide by my words. That's all,
gentlemen."
And Macdonald sat down with a very red face, which he promptly mopped
with a redder pocket-handkerchief, whilst Mrs. Macdonald unfolded her
clean one and wiped happy tears from her eyes. She dated every event
in after life from the night when "my John" made his speech in the
schoolroom. Its effect was electric, and roused the meeting to
enthusiasm.
A vote of confidence in the present management was proposed and carried
by an overwhelming majority, as seventy hands were counted in support
of it, and only five were raised against it. The subscription list lay
on the table, and not a few of the working-class, mindful of
Macdonald's example came up to enter their names under his.
"I shall make my subscription a hundred pounds, May; I really shall,"
said Mrs. Webster, feeling that her moral support was taking
substantial form. "Poor Mr. Curzon! I think Mr. Lessing's speech was
very uncalled-for, and that old Macdonald really surprised me. I
thought him a rude old man the only time I spoke to him, but to-night
he was simply charming. I felt almost inclined to cry. I'm going to
put down my name now. I wish Mr. Curzon to realize that I am on his
side, whatever the squire may be;" and Mrs. Webster swept towards the
platform.
Left to herself May stood and looked down the room which was emptying
rapidly. The squire stood apart but, catching her eye, moved towards
her with a slightly satirical smile.
"So you've lived it through, Miss Webster; you've faced the bitter
end," he said, quoting her words.
"Yes; and I've not been bored at all," she answered, resenting his tone.
"You came to scoff, in fact, and you remained to pray."
"I came with an open mind, prepared to be converted by the best
speaker, and I found him in Macdonald," said May, defiantly.
"Henceforth I shall be an ardent supporter of the voluntary system."
Paul laughed. "Will your ardent support take tangible form like old
Macdonald's?" he said. He spoke in pure jest, but May accepted his
words literally and flushed a little. "It's a question that your very
short acquaintance with me hardly justifies you in asking, does it?"
"Not in earnest, certainly; I spoke in the merest fun. If I vexed you,
I apologize."
"You did vex me. It is the second time to-night that you have put
yourself out of the way to say a disagreeable thing. People may think
as many disagreeable things as they like, but they have no right to
give expression to them."
"But now you are charging me with sins which I have not committed. I
have not spoken to you for five minutes, and no other sentiment of
mine, that I know of, needs a special apology."
"A look does! You looked cross as you stooped to unfasten my dress
from that nail when I came into the room: it bored you to render me
even that very slight service. Pray don't attempt to deny it! you
possess the merit of being strictly truthful."
"Truthfully disagreeable apparently," said Paul, a little nettled.
"And now," said May, restored to perfect good-humour by having spoken
out her mind, "the platform seems vacant; shall we go and consider that
subscription list, or will it hurt your feelings?"
"Not the least. I've suffered defeat, but I was glad of the
opportunity of speaking."
"Why?" asked May, as she mounted the platform.
"Because I have won four to my side; I made four people think."
"Then the people who followed Macdonald's lead, which includes myself,
are credited with not having the capacity of thinking. That is your
inference, is it not?" asked May, with a gay laugh.
"You have a sharp tongue, Miss Webster. All I hinted at was that
country people are slow to exercise their individual judgment on any
question. They follow each other like a flock of sheep."
"And aren't they wise to do it when they have so kind and good a
shepherd?" with a glance at the rector's handsome head, as he stood at
a little distance off, talking with a happy, radiant face to her
mother. "I wish you would tell me what possible motive you had in
trying to upset a man who lives in the hearts of his people."
Paul was interested in spite of himself, for he saw that May had passed
from brilliant nonsense to earnestness.
"It was not the man I wished to upset--nobody can fail to appreciate
his simple earnestness,--but it is his principle. And your very
intolerance makes me feel that I was right to state the other side of
the question."
"We won't quarrel any more; I'm tired of it," said May, with a quick
change of mood. "Let us look at all the people who are ready to bide
by their words, as Macdonald puts it."
The subscription list was headed by the rector with two hundred pounds.
"He's not a rich man," said May, pointing to the sum.
"And he can't be a poor one," retorted Paul.
May seated herself and toyed with the pen which lay upon the table.
"I'm in a difficulty; I want an opinion."
"Legal?" said Paul. "If so, I might help you.
"Moral rather."
"Oh, then it's a case for the man who lives in the hearts of his
people. Shall I call him?"
"You are not keeping the peace. For want of a better adviser I'll put
my difficulty before you."
"And I will give you my opinion for what it is worth; you need not act
on it unless you like."
"Oh no, I shan't. Should you think it right for me to put my name down
on this subscription list when I owe, I'm afraid to say how much, to my
dressmaker?"
"At the risk of being told again that I'm truthfully disagreeable, I
answer emphatically, No! I should call it a most immoral act."
"Well, I'm going to do it anyway, and the person who has influenced me
is yourself. You implied that I was unwilling to pay for my
convictions; and my dressmaker must wait."
And May dipped her pen in the ink and wrote her name boldly under her
mother's.
"Don't do it!" pleaded Paul, hurriedly. "Can't you see that the
dressmaker, who earns her money so hardly, and waits for it so long,
has the first right to yours?"
"May!" called her mother. "Are you never coming? I can't be kept
waiting all night."
May hesitated for a moment, and then, half ashamed of yielding to the
man whose dislike of her was fast deepening into contempt, she dashed
her pen through the name she had just written, bringing her hand, as
she did so, into contact with the lamp upon the table. With a
smothered exclamation Paul bent across her and tried to stay its fall,
but he was not in time. With a crash it fell forwards breaking the
bowl, and a trickling stream of blazing paraffin ran down May's muslin
skirt, enveloping her in flame. A piercing shriek from the other end
of the room showed that Mrs. Webster realized her daughter's peril, and
the rector dashed forward to the rescue; but Paul had already torn his
coat from his back, and was holding it closely upon the burning skirt.
"See to the platform! she's safe enough!" he shouted as the rector ran
up; and, almost before May realized the extreme danger from which she
had been delivered, she was lifted from the platform and laid very
gently on the floor.
"What are you putting me on the floor for? I'm not going to faint,"
she said, with lips that trembled a little. "I'm all right. Don't let
mother be frightened."
Paul could not but admire the girl's wonderful self-possession.
"And you are not burned? You are sure you are in no way hurt?"
"Thanks to your marvellous quickness, no," she answered.
But Mrs. Webster, tearful but thankful, was at hand, and Paul felt he
could not do better than leave May in her mother's charge.
The rector, meanwhile, with one or two others, was successfully
battling with the burning stream of paraffin; and in a few minutes all
serious fear of a conflagration was over.
"Now we had better see the ladies to their carriage," he said turning
to Paul. But already they had taken their departure. "We can't be too
thankful for such a narrow escape. The platform looked all on fire
when Mrs. Webster's scream made me turn round. Can you tell me how it
happened?"
"I think Miss Webster caught the lamp with her hand as she got up from
the table. She had been reading the subscription list."
"Which reminds me that the list is burned to a cinder. But it does not
signify; people will remember their promises," said Mr. Curzon.
"And nobody but myself will know that May Webster put down her name and
scratched it out at my request," thought Paul, not a little proud of
his moral victory over the haughty young woman.
"Well, I think everything is safe here; we may be going home. I want
to get back before my little Kitty gets news of the fire, or she will
worry herself into a fever. Late as it is, though, I must run up to
the Court."
"Why?" Paul inquired. "We know that Miss Webster is safe."
"She might wish to see me," replied the rector, simply. "And if she
does, she shall have the chance."
"Then I'll leave word at the rectory that you are all right, in case
Kitty is awake," said Paul, rather shortly.
May, from her couch in her dressing-room heard the rector's cheery
voice in the hall below asking after her.
"That's Mr. Curzon, Lancaster; run and ask him to come up and see me
for a moment," she said to her maid.
In another moment he entered, followed by her mother.
"Oh, my darling, you are not ill? Have you been burned and not told me
of it?" she gasped in terror.
"Oh no, mother," said May, trying to smile; "but it's just because I'm
not burned, nor scared, nor horrible to look at, that I want Mr.
Curzon. I want--I want----" And then May's high courage gave way, and
she burst into tears.
"Let us pray," said the rector, quietly. And he and May's mother knelt
down by the side of May's couch together.
When he rose up from his knees May's tears had ceased.