ARCHIE'S MOTHER.
"THAT'S a preacher of the right sort," Dunn said warmly, as they left
the Churchyard. "He speaks right from his own heart, and straight to
ours. I like your Mr. Wilmot, Stuart; that I do!"
"I'm sure it's a comfort to have such a Church to go to in a new
place," added Susan.
The two children were alone in front, pacing quietly together. Dunn
walked between his wife and Nancy, and Archie had managed adroitly to
place himself on Nancy's other side.
"I don't know that I've seen things just in that light before," Archie
remarked hesitatingly. "Mr. Wilmot seemed to make out religion to be a
manly sort of thing. And there's a good many who count it—"
"Count it womanish and namby-pamby, eh?" Dunn said, as Archie stopped.
"I'll tell you one, thing, lad, which you may as well remember. If
ever you see a feeble namby-pamby sort of fellow trying to serve God,
you may be quite sure it isn't his religion that makes him so. He'd be
a deal more feeble and namby-pamby if he didn't serve God. Fighting
against evil and striving to do what's right, don't make any man less
manly than he is by nature. It makes a man more manly. But it don't
work a miracle, and turn a dull man into a clever man, nor a puling
weak sort of chap into a strong spirited one."
"I don't know, though, as I could quite hold with what Mr. Wilmot
said," observed Archie. "I mean about a man giving up himself to be a
sort of slave to God's will. A man likes to feel he's free."
Nancy's eyes gave a quick look up at Archie, and then at her father.
"A man is free—in one sense," said Dunn. "God made man free,—gave him a
will of his own, and power to choose what he'll do and be. But there's
a deal of clap-trap talked about freedom and independence: for after
all there's no man living who stands altogether alone, and don't depend
on others. And more than that, there's no man living who don't choose
for himself a master. Mr. Wilmot spoke true enough there. It was a
command to the Israelite people of old,—'Choose ye whom ye will serve.'
For they were morally sure to serve somebody; and it's the same now."
Archie made a sound of dissent.
"Think not? Why, look around you," said Dunn. "One man's a slave to
money; and another's a slave to drink; and another's a slave to evil
habits; and another's a slave to bad temper; and most of them are
slaves to self. And everybody who don't own Christ for his Master is
under the dominion of the Evil One. Is that freedom, I wonder?"
Archie was silent.
"A soldier gives himself up to the service of his Queen,—does it
willingly,—and then he's bound just to go where he's bid, and to do
what he's told, and to fight for his Queen and country whenever the
command comes. But you don't count that slavery, eh, lad?"
"Well, I'll think about what you say," observed Archie, standing still.
"I've got to turn off here. Mother 'll be expecting me. It's very good
of you to let me go to Church with you all, and I'm glad I went."
"That's a nice young fellow," Dunn observed, when Archie was out of
hearing.
"It seems to me odd his mother shouldn't have been in to see us yet,"
Susan said. "I did think at first I must go right off and thank her for
what her boy did for our Nannie. But when I said something of the sort
to him, I could see at once he didn't want it. What sort of a woman
used she to be?"
"She used to take a sort of pride in keeping herself to herself," said
Dunn.
Susan shook her head slightly, and remarked: "Well, I'm not one to push
myself on her, anyway."
Nancy said nothing. She was not much of a talker at any time.
Meanwhile Archie strode home at a brisk pace, and found dinner just
ready, and Mrs. Stuart in her best gown and cap, looking very tall,
starched, upright, clean, and solemn.
She greeted him with a short,—"You're late to-day."
Archie knew in a moment that something had happened in his absence to
annoy her.
"I went to Church," he said.
"That's a new notion," said Mrs. Stuart.
"Well, I didn't see why I shouldn't. I do go sometimes—in the morning,
I mean."
"Four months since last time," she rejoined sarcastically.
"I suppose you've nothing to say against it, if I like to go once in
a while, morning as well as evening?" observed Archie, his own tone
growing somewhat tart.
"What made you like to go to-day?"
Archie had no immediate answer to give. Mrs. Stuart was dishing up, and
the talk was in abeyance for some minutes. When they were both seated,
and Archie had made some way through a large helping of roast beef
and vegetables, she began again where they had left off, wording her
question differently,—
"Who got you to go to Church to-day?"
"I'd thought of going before," said Archie.
"And left your Prayer-book behind?"
"Well, yes,—I hadn't made up my mind," said Archie.
"Who made it up for you, I should like to know?"
Archie was sure by this time that somebody had seen him with the Dunns,
and had reported the fact to Mrs. Stuart.
"I met some friends going, and I went with them," he said, with assumed
carelessness. "I don't see why I'm to be catechised like this, mother,
as if I was in my pinafores still! One would think I'd done something
wicked."
Mrs. Stuart's long nose became pinched, and her thin lips grew rigid.
"What friends?" she demanded.
"Only the Dunns."
A pause followed. Archie glanced up once or twice from his plate to
Mrs. Stuart's face.
"There's no harm if I did go with the Dunns, or anybody else," he
continued. "They're out-and-out nice people; and Dunn's a really good
fellow, if ever there was one. I'm sure of it. There's lots of things
he can talk about."
Silence answered him. Mrs. Stuart helped herself to another potato, and
disposed of it in four big gulps, as a relief to her feelings.
"I haven't been to see them again, because I knew you wanted me not.
But they've been expecting me; and they must count it odd you not
going. I do think you might, when Dunn knew father, and all! And when
I want it too! Anyway, I'm old enough to choose my friends. If it was
a bad sort of friends I'd got hold of, things would be different. But
people like the Dunns,—I can't see why on earth you should mind."
Mrs. Stuart avoided looking at her son.
"I didn't know I should meet them, of course; but I did. It wasn't
likely I should pass them by. I'd had thoughts of going to Church;
and when Dunn asked me, I didn't see why I shouldn't. They lent me a
Prayer-book."
Mrs. Stuart went on eating solemnly, her eyes downcast.
Archie had a temper as well as his mother: not a sullen temper like
hers, but sometimes a hot one. He was very good-humoured up to a
certain point; but he could be roused; and her manner was irritating.
"If you don't mean to speak to me about them, mother, I shan't speak of
them to you neither," he said. "And another time you needn't catechise
me,—that's all. I'm not a baby to be kept in leading-strings."
Still no reply. Archie bolted the remainder of his big helping, pushed
back his chair, and stood up.
"Well, if I'm not to have civil words here, I'll go where I can get
them," he said, in a passion.
Mrs. Stuart did not look up, but she said coldly,—"You're not going to
those Dunns?"
"I don't see why not. Mrs. Dunn won't treat me like this, anyway."
Archie lingered for two or three seconds near the door. Even in his fit
of anger, he knew himself to be acting wrongly. He really did not wish
to grieve or trouble his mother. She had been a good mother to him, and
Archie could not but know it. He had good reason to be grateful and
forbearing, even apart from the fact that she was his mother. Archie,
of course, did not fully know how much he owed to her: young people
seldom do. Nevertheless, he waited, hoping she might say some little
word which should make it easy for him to come back to the table. Truth
to tell, he would not have objected to so doing, since he was hungry
still.
No such word came, however. Mrs. Stuart rose, and stalked with long
offended strides towards the fireplace.
"Mother!" Archie said hesitatingly.
Mrs. Stuart looked round. "Oh, you're not gone yet!" she said, though
she had been aware of the fact before.
Archie walked off at once, and banged the front door. Mrs. Stuart saw
him pass the window.
A change came over her face then. The thin nose began to work, and the
thin lips to tremble. She had not expected Archie to take her at her
word. Though Mrs. Stuart was a proud woman, with a cold manner and a
bad temper, yet down below she had a loving heart towards this only boy.
Al! the morning she had been working for him; and in the oven now were
the rice pudding and the fruit tart which he liked.
Mrs. Stuart was wounded to the very quick. It seemed so hard that he
should turn against her, only for the sake of these new people, almost
strangers to her. She did not want to know the Dunns. She looked
upon their standing as inferior to her own; and Mrs. Stuart was a
proud-spirited woman, very particular as to whom she would associate
with. Moreover, there was a girl at Woodbine Cottage—a pretty winning
girl. People had not been backward in talking about Nancy's looks, and
about Archie Stuart's evident admiration. That was just the thing which
Mrs. Stuart most feared. She wanted to keep her boy to herself for many
a year to come.
A neighbour had run in before dinner to gossip about the matter, having
seen from her window Archie's encounter with the Dunn family on their
way to Church.
"And you may depend upon it, things won't stop there," the neighbour
had been so kind as to add. "Archie's a likely young fellow, and he'll
be easy caught; and Mrs. Dunn's a woman that knows what she's about."
This was enough for Mrs. Stuart, and she gave her caller very plainly
to understand that nothing of the kind ever would or should come to
pass. Archie was not going to marry anybody yet awhile, and most
certainly he was not going to marry Nancy Dunn.
Poor Mrs. Stuart! She had never yet learnt that difficult lesson, which
almost all have sooner or later to learn—that we cannot have our own
way in life, either for ourselves or for others.