It may be said with fairness that the reception given by Miss Campion
for her nephew's bride left Bainbridge thoughtful. They had expected
the bride to be different, and they had found her to be different from
what they had expected. They could not place her; and, in Bainbridge,
everyone is placed.
"I understood," said Mrs. T. L. Lawson, whose word in intellectual
matters was final, "that young Mrs. Spence was wholly uneducated. A
school teacher who met her on the train told my dressmaker that she had
heard her admit the fact with her own lips. So, naturally, not wishing
to embarrass a newcomer, I confined my remarks to the simplest matters.
She did not say very much but I must confess--you will scarcely believe
it--I actually got the impression that she was accommodating her
conversation to me."
"Oh, surely not!" from a shocked chorus.
"It is just a manner she affects," comforted Mrs. Burton Holmes. "Far,
far too assured, in my opinion, for a young bride. I hope it does not
denote a certain lack of fine feeling. In a girl who had been brought
up to an assured social position, such a manner might be understood.
But--well, all I can say is that I heard from my friend Marion Walford
yesterday, and she assured me that Mrs. Spence is quite unknown in
Vancouver society. But, of course, dear Marion knows only the very
smartest people. For myself I do not allow these distinctions to affect
me. If only for dear Miss Campion's sake I determined to be perfectly
friendly. But I felt that, in justice to everybody, it might be well
for her to know that we know. So I asked her, casually, if she were
well acquainted with the Walfords. At first she looked as if she had
never heard of them, and then--'Oh, do you mean the soap people?' she
said. 'I don't know them--but one sees their bill-boards everywhere.'
It was almost as if--"
"Oh--absurd!" echoed the chorus. "Though if she is really English,"
ventured one of them, "she might, you know. The English have such a
horror of trade."
These social and educational puzzles were as nothing to the religious
problem. Bainbridge, who had seen Desire more or less regularly at
church, had taken for granted that in this respect, at least, she was
even as they were. But, after the reception, Mrs. Pennington thought
not.
"I felt quite worried about our pretty bride," said Mrs. Pennington.
"You know how we all hoped that when the dear professor married he
would become more orthodox. Science is so unsettling. And married men
so often do. But--" she sighed.
"Surely not a free thinker?" ventured one in a subdued whisper.
"Or a Christian Scientist?" with equal horror.
Mrs. Pennington intimated that she had not yet sufficient data to
decide. "But," she added, solemnly, "she is not a. Presbyterian."
"She goes to church."
"Yes. She was quite frank about that. She did not scruple to say that
she goes to please Miss Campion and because 'it is all so new.'"
"New?"
"Exactly what I said to her. I said, 'New?' My dear, what you do
mean--new?' And she tipped her eyebrows in that oriental way she has
and said, 'Why, just new. I have never been to church, you know!'"
"Oh, impossible--in this country!"
"Yes, imagine it! Perhaps she saw my disapproval for she added, 'We had
a prayer-book in the house, though.' As if it were quite the same
thing."
One of the more optimistic members of the chorus thought that this
might show some connection with the Church of England. But Mrs.
Pennington shook her head.
"Hardly, I think. Her language was not such as to encourage such a
hope. The very next thing she said to me was, 'Don't you think the
prayer-book is lovely?'"
"Oh!--not really?"
"I admit I was shocked. I am not," said Mrs. Pennington, "a Church of
England woman. But I am broad-minded, I hope. And I have more respect
for ANY sacred work than to speak of it as 'lovely.' In fact, in all
kindness, I must say that I fear the poor child is a veritable heathen."
This conclusion was felt to be sound, logically, but without great
practical significance. The veritable heathen persisted in church-going
to such an extent that she tired out several of the most orthodox and
it was rumored that she even went so far as to discuss the sermon
afterward. "Just as if," said Mrs. Pennington, "it were a lecture or a
play or something."
As a matter of fact, Desire was intensely interested in sermons. She
had so seldom heard any that the weekly doling out of truth by the Rev.
Mr. McClintock had all the fascination of a new experience. Mr.
McClintock was of the type which does not falter in its message. He had
no doubts. He had thought out every possible spiritual problem as a
young man and had seen no reason for thinking them out a second time.
What he had accepted at twenty, he believed at sixty, with this
difference that while at twenty some of his conclusions had caused him
sleepless nights, at sixty they were accepted with complacency. No
questioning pierced the hard enamel of his assurance. He saw no second
side to anything because he never turned it over. He had a way of
saying "I believe" which was absolutely final.
Desire had been collecting Mr. McClintock's beliefs carefully. They
fascinated her. She often woke up in the night thinking of them,
wondering at their strange diversity and speculating as to the ultimate
discovery of some missing piece which might make them all fit in. It
was because she was afraid of missing this master-bit that she went to
church so regularly.
The Sunday after the reception was exceptionally hot. It was
exceptionally dusty too, for Bainbridge tolerated no water carts on
Sunday. It was one of those Sundays when people have headaches. Aunt
Caroline had a head-ache. She felt that it would be most unwise to
venture out. She even suggested that, no doubt, Desire had a headache,
too.
"But I haven't," said that downright young person, looking provokingly
cool and energetic. Her husband groaned.
"Don't look at me," he said hastily. "My excuse is not hallowed by
antiquity like Aunt's but it is equally effective. I have to go down to
the cellar to make ice-cream."
This, as Desire knew, was perfectly legitimate. No ice-cream of any
kind could be bought in Bainbridge on Sunday. Therefore a certain
proportion of the population had to descend into its cellars and make
it. It was even possible to tell, if one were curious, how many
families were going to have ice-cream for dinner by counting the empty
seats at morning service. Nearly all of the more prominent families
owned freezers while many of those who were freezerless did not go to
church, anyway. From which it would seem that, in Bainbridge at least,
the righteous had prospered.
On this hot morning, therefore, Desire collected Mr. McClintock's
belief alone. It was an especially puzzling one, having to do with the
origin and meaning of pain and founded upon the text, "Whom the Lord
loveth he chasteneth."
"There is a tendency among modern translators," began Mr. McClintock,
"a tendency which I deplore, to render the word 'chasteneth' as
'teacheth or directeth.' This rendering, in my opinion, is regrettably
lax. We will therefore confine our attention to the older version. It
is my belief that...."
Desire listened attentively to a lengthy and blood-curdling exposition
of this belief and was still in the daze which followed the hearty
singing of the doxology on top of it when the assistant Sunday School
Superintendent asked her to take a class. He was a very hot assistant
and a very hurried one. Even while he spoke to Desire his eye wandered
past her to some of his flock who were escaping by the church door.
"Do take a class, Mrs. Spence," he urged.
"Do you mean teach one?" asked Desire. "I'm sorry, but I don't know
how."
"Beg pardon? Oh, but of course you do. It is only for today. We are so
short. You will do splendidly, I'm sure. They are very little girls and
it's in the Old Testament."
"But I don't--"
"Oh, that will be quite all right. It's Moses. Quite easy."
"I have never--"
"It doesn't matter, really. Just the plain story, you know. I find
myself the best way is to adopt a cheerful, conversational manner and
keep them from asking questions. At that age they never ask the right
ones. Stump you every time if you're not careful. Give them the facts.
They'll understand them later."
"I don't understand them myself," objected Desire. But by this time the
assistant's eye was quite distracted.
"So very good of you," he murmured, "if you will come this way--"
Desire went that way and presently found herself seated in the Sunday
School room in a blazing bar of sunlight and facing a row of small
Bainbridgers, surprisingly brisk and wide-awake considering the weather.
"We usually have our boys' and girls' classes separate," explained the
assistant. "But this is a mixed class as you see."
Desire saw that the mixture consisted of a very round boy in a very
stiff sailor suit.
"Now children, Mrs. Spence is going to tell you about Moses. Mrs.
Spence is a newcomer. We must make her welcome and show her how well
behaved we are."
"I'm not," volunteered an angel-faced child with an engaging smile.
"I got a lickin' on Friday," added the round boy, who as sole member of
his sex felt that he must stand up for it.
The assistant shook a finger at them cheerfully and hurried away.
Desire became the focus of all eyes and a watchful dumbness settled
down upon them like a pall. Frantically she tried to remember her
instructions. But never had a light conversational manner seemed more
difficult to attain.
"I hope," she faltered, seeking for a sympathetic entry, "that your
regular teacher is not ill?"
The row of inquiring eyes showed no intelligence.
"Is she?" asked Desire, looking directly at the child opposite.
"Ma says she only thinks she is," said the child. The row rustled
pleasantly.
"I understand," went on Desire hastily, "that we are to talk about
Moses. How many here can tell me anything about Moses?"
The row of eyes blinked. But Moses might have been a perfect stranger
for any sign of recognition from their owners.
"Moses," went on Desire, "was a very remarkable man. In his age he
seems even more remarkable--"
A small hand shot up and an injured voice inquired: "Please, teacher,
don't we have the Golden Text?"
"I suppose we do." There was evidently some technique here of which the
hurried assistant had not informed her. "We will have it now. What is
the Golden Text?"
Nobody seemed to know.
"I don't see how we can have it, if you don't know it," said Desire
mildly.
Another hand shot up. "Please teacher, you say it first."
There was also, then, an established order of precedence.
"I don't know it, either," said Desire.
This might have precipitated a deadlock. But, fortunately, the row did
not believe her. They smiled stiffly. Their smile revealed more clearly
than anything else how unthinkable it was for a teacher not to know the
Golden Text. Desire, in desperation, remembered the paper-covered
"Quarterly" which the assistant had put into her hands and, with a
flash of inspiration, decided that what the children wanted was
probably there. She opened it feverishly and was delighted to discover
"Golden Text" in large letters on the first page she looked at. She
read hastily.
"And thou Bethlehem in the land of Juda--"
A whole row of hands shot up. "Please teacher, that was last
Christmas!" announced the class reproachfully.
With shame Desire noticed that the lessons in the Quarterly were dated.
But she was regaining something of her ordinary poise.
"You ought to know it, even if it is," she remarked firmly. This was
more according to Hoyle. The little boy's hand answered it.
"'Tain't review Sunday, teacher."
Teacher decided to ignore this. "Very well," she said. "We will now
have the Golden Text for today. Who will say it first? I will give you
a start--'As Moses--'"
"As Moses," piped a chorus of small voices.
"Lifted up," prompted Desire.
"Lifted up," shrilled the chorus.
"Yes?" expectantly.
The chorus was silent.
"Well, children, go on."
But nobody went on.
"You don't know it," declared Desire with mild severity. "Very well.
Learn it for next Sunday. Now I am going to ask you some questions.
First of all--who was Moses?"
She asked the question generally but her eye fell upon the one male
member who swallowed his Sunday gum-drop with a gulp.
"Don't know his nother name," said the male member sulkily.
Desire realized that she didn't know, either. "I did not ask you to
tell his name but something about him. Where he lived, for instance.
Where did Moses live?" Her eye swept down to the mite at the end of the
row.
"Bulrushes!" said that infant gaspingly.
"He was hidden among bulrushes," explained Desire, "but he couldn't
exactly live there. Does anyone know what a bulrush is?"
The row exchanged glances and nudged each other.
"Things you soak in coal-oil," began one.
"To make torches at 'lections," added another.
"Same as cat-tails," volunteered a third condescendingly.
"Well, even if they were anything like that, he couldn't live in them,
could he?" Desire felt that she had made a point at last.
"Could if he was a frog," offered the male member after consideration.
To Desire's surprise the row accepted this seriously.
"But as he was a baby and not a frog," she went on hurriedly, "he must
have lived with his mother in a house. The name of the country they
lived in was Egypt. And Egypt had a wicked King. This wicked King
ordered all the little boy babies--" She paused, appalled at the
thought of telling these infants of that long-past ruthlessness. But,
again to her surprise, the infants now showed pleasurable interest. An
excited murmur rose.
"I like that part!" ... "Why didn't he kill the girl babies, too?"
... "Did he cut their heads right off?" ... "Did their mothers
holler?" ... While the male member offered with an air of authority,
"I 'spect he just wrung their necks."
"Well, well! Getting along nicely, I see," said the assistant,
tiptoeing down the aisle. "I felt sure you would interest them, Mrs.
Spence. You will find our children very intelligent."
"Very," agreed Desire.
"They all know the Golden Text, I am sure," he continued with that
delightful manner which children dumbly hate. "Annie, you may begin."
But Annie refused to avail herself of this privilege. Instead she
showed symptoms of tears.
"Come, come!" chided the assistant still more delightfully. "We mustn't
be shy! Bessie, let us hear from you. 'As Moses--'"
"As Moses."
"Very good. Now, Eddie. 'Lifted up.'"
"Lifted up."
"Very good indeed. Mabel, you next. 'The ser-'"
"I'm scared of snakes," said Mabel unexpectedly.
"Well, well! But you are not afraid of snakes in Sunday School."
"I'm s-cared of snakes anywhere!" wailed Mabel.
"Oh, there is the first bell--excuse me." The relief of the assistant
was a joyful thing. "That means that you have three minutes more, Mrs.
Spence. We usually utilize these last moments for driving home the main
thought of the lesson. Very important, of course, to leave some
concrete idea--sorry, I must hurry."
Desire felt that she must hurry, too. She hadn't even time to wonder
what a concrete idea might be. One can't wonder about anything in three
minutes.
"Children," she began. "We haven't learned much about Moses. But the
main idea of this lesson is that he was a very good man and a great
patriot. He had been brought up in a King's palace, yet when the time
came for him to choose, he left the beautiful home of the mother who
had adopted him and went to his own people. His Own People," she
repeated slowly. "Do you understand that?" The class sat stolidly
silent. Desire's eye rested again upon the little girl with the prim
mouth.
"Ma says 'dopting anyone's a terrible risk," said the prim one. "Like
as not they'll never say thank yuh." ...