After a time Catch and I reached the river. It was not now rolling by,
a muddy, silent, whilom sluggish, whilom busy stream. It was quite
transformed in its appearance and resembled more some frozen arctic
stream than the old Thames which I knew so well. Far as the eye could
reach, it was covered with sheets of broken ice, again congealed
together and piled up with snow--so many little bergs, that had been
born at Great Marlow and Hampton, and other spots above the locks;
gradually increasing in size and bulk as they span round and swept by on
the current, until they should reach the bridges below. Then, they
would, perhaps, be formed into one great icefield, stretching from bank
to bank, whereon a grand bullock-roasting festival might be held, or a
fancy fair instituted, as happened in the reign of James, the king, "of
ever pious memory:" that is, if my chronology be right and my memory not
at fault, as may very possibly be the case.
Doggy did not mind the ice a bit, however. He plunged in, time after
time, to fetch out my in-thrown stick, with a frisky bound; emerging
after the performance with ice-pendants to his glossy, silken ears and
coat smartly curled, as if he had just paid a visit to Truefitt's, and
been manipulated by the dexterous hands of one of the assistants at that
celebrated establishment, armed with the crinal tongs and anybody's best
macassar.
By-and-by we returned; and whom should I then meet on my way home but,
positively, my eye-glass acquaintance of Downing Street. Fancy his
being out before nine o'clock in the morning! It was an unparalleled
occurrence.
"Hullo, Horner!" I sang out, "'morning, old fellow. Compliments of the
season!"
"Bai-ey Je-ove! Lorton, how you stawtled me--'do!"
"You don't mean to say," I asked, on getting closer to him, "that you've
actually taken to early rising?"
"No, 'pon honah, I asshaw you, my deah fellah, no!" he replied, quite
excitedly. "No, I asshaw you, no," he repeated.
"Well, then, what on earth makes you come out at this early unearthly
hour?" I said.
"Oh--ah! you see--ah, my deah fellah," he answered, "it was all those
confawnded little bahds and the bells kicking up such a raow; that, 'pon
honah, I couldn't sleep and so I came out. I asshaw you it was all
those bweastwy little bahds and the bells!"
"At all events, I must congratulate you on your reformation," I said.
"Yaas? But it was all those bweastwy little bahds and the bells, you
know; and it's only once a ye-ah you know, Lorton," he added.
"So you will never do so again till next time--is that what you mean,
Horner?" I asked.
"Yaas! But, bai-ey Je-ove, I say, Lorton, my deah fellah, were the
Clydes those ladies in hawf-mawning, eh?" said he, smiling feebly in his
usual suave manner. He thought he had got hold of a grand joke at my
expense.
However, I was not in the least angry with him. I felt too happy to
have lost my temper with any one, especially Horner, whom I generally
regarded as a poor creature to be tolerated rather than blamed.
"Did you ever hear, Horner," said I, "how Peabody made his first
fortune?"
"No, 'pon honah, I asshaw you, no."
"Well, then, I'll tell you, Horner," said I. "It was by minding his own
business, my dear fellow."
"Bai-ey Je-ove!" he ejaculated, adding, after a pause, "Weally, Lorton,
you dawn't mean it?"
"I suppose," I continued, "that you are also just as ignorant again how
Mr Peabody made his second and greater fortune, eh?"
"Yaas," he drawled out.
"Ah," said I, "he got _that_ by letting other people's business alone!"
"Bai-ey Je-ove!" said Horner, quite staggered at this second blow.
"Vewy amusing anecdote, indeed! Thank you, Lorton. Much obwiged, and
all that sawt of thing, for the in-fawmation. Yaas, bai-ey Je-ove! And
so I'll say good day. Good day, Lorton; good day to you!" and he
started off, with a quick step, in the very opposite direction to that
which he had been previously going. I went on homeward, with Catch
following obediently at my heels.
Which way did we go?
Can you not guess, or must I have to tell you?
How very obtuse some persons are!
Why, by The Terrace, of course. Was it not there that Min lived; and
might I not chance to get a glance from her love-speaking, soft grey
eyes? Only one glance--and I would be amply repaid!
I passed by her house. Yes, there she was at the window, attending to
her flowers and carefully shielding a much-prized little maidenhair fern
with a bell glass from the rays of the sun, which beamed as though
Phoebus had mistaken the season and thought it a summer day.
She saw me as I sauntered by, recognising me with a little nod and smile
and a sudden heightening of colour; and came to the door. Of course I
went up the steps and spoke to her. _You_ would have proceeded on your
way with a passing bow? Oh, yes!
"Good morning, Mr Lorton," she said. "How very early you are out to be
sure! I thought gentlemen were always lazy, but you're an exception to
the rule, it seems;" and her soft grey eyes sparkled.
"Well, I don't know that, Miss Clyde," I said. "I suppose I'm just as
lazy as the rest. I only came out to give my old doggy a walk and a
dip, as I generally do every morning before breakfast. If it were not
for him, I do not believe I would get up sooner than anybody else; but
he's such a pertinacious fellow that he won't be denied his walk, always
rousing me up at eight o'clock `sharp.' Would you believe it, he brings
my boots up to my door, and it is a trick he taught himself!"
"Dear old doggy," she said, stooping down and patting his head. "What a
nice sagacious fellow you are! Come here, sir, and give me your paw!
Now, shake hands. Doggy, do you like me?" Catch could tell a friend at
once; so looking up, he licked her hand, expressing, as intelligently as
possible, that he was pleased to make her acquaintance. "How I love
dogs!" she ejaculated, rising up again.
"Do you!" said I. "Ah, Miss Clyde! `Love me, love my dog.'"
"What nonsense, Mr Lorton!" she said, with a warm blush tinting her
cheek. "But, I declare you haven't wished me the compliments of the
season yet. How very ungallant you are! I will set you an example--a
merry Christmas, Mr Lorton!"
"A thousand to you, Miss Clyde; and each happier than the last!" I
said.
"Oh dear, dear!" she exclaimed in mimic dismay; "I am sure I would not
care about having so many as that! Fancy a thousand Christmases--why,
what an old, old woman I should be then!"
"And a very nice old woman, too," said I.
"Merci pour le compliment, Monsieur," she replied, making me an
elaborate curtsey and laughing merrily. "And what have you got there?"
she asked, pointing to a little bunch of violets that I was extracting
from my overcoat pocket, and which I had procured for her when Catch met
his friend the gardener's dog.
"I got them for you, Miss Clyde," said I, somewhat bashfully; "and--
and--"
"Oh, _thank_ you, Mr Lorton," she said, quite pleased. "I love violets
more than any other flower. You could not have given me a nicer
present. I was only wishing for some just now. But, I hear mamma
coming down stairs; so, as I've not made the tea yet, I must go in--
good-bye!"
"Good-bye," I echoed, clasping her tiny hand in mine. "Good-bye, and
many good wishes for the day, _my darling_!" I courageously added the
last two words, lowering my voice over them, as she gently closed the
door.
She was not offended, if she _had_ heard the term of endearment I used,
for she gave me another nice little bow and smile from the window.
Still I think she _did_ hear me. I fancied I saw a conscious look in
the dancing grey eyes, a blush yet lingering on her damask cheek.
I went home with joy in my heart--joy which fed upon itself and
increased each moment. Don't you remember what Herder says? Let but
the heart once awake, and wave follows wave of newborn feelings--
"So bald sich das Herz ergiesst,
Stromt Welle auf Welle!"
I only know that I was as happy as possible, and astonished everybody by
the breakfast I ate.
You fancy, perhaps, that I wasn't really in love, or I wouldn't probably
have been hungry? Nonsense! Let me tell you that happy lovers are
always hungry, and have great appetites. It is only your poor,
miserable, disappointed suitors, who are in a state of suspense, that go
about with a hang-dog look and cannot eat. I firmly believe that
Shakespeare intended to convey the idea that Valentine was mad, or he
would never have put into his mouth such ridiculous words as those, that
he could "break his fast, dine, sup, and sleep, upon the very naked name
of love!" If that gentleman of Verona had been sane knowing how his
passion was reciprocated and that his lady loved him in return, he would
have had just as good an appetite as I had that morning; when, joyous as
a bird, I was as hungry as a hunter.
As for dog Catch, you should have seen how he galloped into his oatmeal
porridge after his walk--how the oatmeal porridge galloped into him
would, however, be a more correct form of expression. You should have
only seen him, that's all!
Next came church; and, of all occasions when church-going strikes even
an uninterested spectator, generally lacking in religious zeal, with
feelings of unwonted emotion, commend me to Christmas day. Then, to
paraphrase the well-known lines of the poet, those in the habit of being
regularly present at worship "went the more;" while those go now "who
never went before." People make a practice of visiting church on that
day who seldom, if ever, attend a religious service at any other time,
taking the year all through. It is like the wedding feast to which the
lame, the halt, and the blind were invited. Every one goes then; every
class and clan is represented.
Saint Canon's was a sight. Its garland-twined oaken columns, its
wreath-hung galleries, its scroll-work in the chancel--where "Unto us a
son is born," and the message of glad tidings, which the shepherds of
Bethlehem first heard when they "watched their flocks by night," and saw
the star in the east, two thousand years ago, shone forth in blazonments
of red and purple and gold--all reminded the congregation of the
festival they had assembled to commemorate; the day of peace and good-
will to all, that had dawned for them once more, as I trust it will dawn
again and again for us yet on many more future anniversaries. The
place, too, was crammed, contrary to Lady Dasher's fears concerning the
spread of unbelief and the degeneracy of the present age. Everybody was
there that could go at all, for it was a year in which we had to be
specially mindful of mercies vouchsafed to us. Even old Shuffler, who
had not been seen inside a place of public worship before within the
memory of man, was not an absentee.
I was not thinking of him, however, nor of the display which the
decorations made, nor of the congregation--indeed, I hardly attended to
the service. All my thoughts were centred on Min.
A madonna-like face, a pair of honest, steadfast, speaking, grey eyes
were ever before me; although I could not actually see her, except when
we stood up during the service, according to the ordinances of the
rubric, as she sat a long way off. Notwithstanding my usual attachment
towards them, I felt inclined to quarrel with the high pews that hid her
from my sight; and, I'm afraid, despised Bishop Burnet for his
innovation. The vicar, they told me afterwards, preached a simple,
beautiful sermon, that struck home to the hearts of every one present;
but I heard none of it. My sermon was in my heart, and bore for its
text one little word of four letters. O Min, Min! you had a good deal
to answer for.
"Long was the good man's sermon,
Yet it seemed not so to me;
For he spoke of Ruth the beautiful,
And still I thought of thee.
"Long was the prayer he uttered,
Yet it seemed not so to me;
For in my heart I prayed with him,
And still I thought of thee!"
After service, of course everybody met everybody else, each of their own
respective little world, at the church door, exchanging those good
wishes and seasonable greetings proper to the day.
There was a grand throng without the porch. Horner was there. It would
have been nothing at all without him and his eye-glass. He did not
appear to bear me any hard feelings, I was glad to see, for my
unkindness of the morning. He nodded affably, and said "'do!" to me, in
his usual way, as if he had not met me before.
Min and her mother did not linger as did the other parishioners; so, I
had only an opportunity of a passing bow, without that other tender
little hand-clasp which I had hoped for. But she looked at me, and that
was something.
Lady Dasher, however, stopped for a minute or two; so did her daughters.
"Beautiful weather for Christmas, Lady Dasher," hazarded I. She
evidently did not agree with me, for she looked about her mournfully,
with a down-drawn visage, just as if we were all attending a funeral, of
which she was the chief mourner.
"Really, Mr Lorton, do you think so?" came her answer at length.
"Don't you find it very cold?"
"Dear me, ma! why you said last Christmas that it was too warm!" said
her daughter Bessie.
"Ah! Mr Lorton," continued her mother, not noticing her remark, "we
never have those good, old-fashioned Christmases that we had when my
poor dear papa was alive!"
"No, I suppose not," I answered; "people say that it is because of the
vast American forests being gradually cut down, admitting freer currents
of air all over the world; while others put the change down to the
influence of the Gulf Stream. Still, I dare say, it will all come right
again at some time or other."
"Ah, Mr Lorton," said Lady Dasher, "I'm afraid it will _never_ come
right again. You are too sanguine, like all young people."
"Oh, `never' is a long day," I said; "we should all be hopeful and
merry, I think, at least on this one day in the year."
"I could never be merry again, Mr Lorton," she said, with a prodigious
sigh, which seemed to come from the depths of her heart, "since poor
dear papa died;" and she then passed on mournfully homewards, with
Bessie and Seraphine in her wake. Their cheerful faces, as they nodded
back and smiled at Horner and myself, contrasted strongly with their
mother's lugubrious visage. I wonder if anybody ever saw her laugh?
I've got my doubts about it.
Then came out Miss Pimpernell, her kind old face beaming with smiles as
she bowed here and there, and gave a cordial greeting to us young
fellows, who still stood around the church porch. She did not forget
me, you may be certain. "God bless you, Frank, my boy!" she said, in
her affectionate, purring way; dismissing me home with a light heart to
eat the traditionary roast turkey and plum-pudding, at peace with all
mankind, and in love with all womankind for her sake.
What a happy, happy day it had been!
That night I passed and repassed Min's house a dozen times at least,
only that I might see her shadow on the blinds, weaving luxurious
castles in Spain the while. I would be a great general, a distinguished
orator, a famous statesman, a celebrated author! I would do some grand,
heroic action. I desired to be "somebody," something, only great and
glorious! And yet, as One above is my judge, I had not one selfish
craving, not a single purely-personal thought in connection with these
mad wishes. It was but for _her_ sake that I longed for honour and fame
and advancement. Only for her, only for her!