THE FIRST SUNDAY
WITHIN the next few days, Anstice made some discoveries.
One was that Ruffie possessed real talent in drawing, was fond of
music, and had a most beautiful little voice in singing. The other
was that Josie shared Ruffie's love for music, and that Georgie was a
rapacious reader.
After tea in the afternoon, she gave herself up to the children for
an hour. She took them into the drawing-room, and taught them songs,
played dance music; and lastly told them thrilling stories of adventure
and travel.
The weather turned stormy and wet, but the children seemed never at a
loss for amusement; and though the little girls kept away from her at
first during the day, they invariably turned up in the drawing-room at
six o'clock. Anstice was a born story-teller; they hung upon her words
with breathless delight; and her gift in this direction did much to win
them.
She was given no peace till the room was set apart for the little
girls' private use. A small bedroom on one side of the nursery was
chosen, and the children were induced to get it ready themselves. Then
one afternoon they went off to Penrith in the trap to choose carpet,
and curtains, and chair-coverings for it. There was a slight contention
at the outset when Josie insisted that she should drive. Anstice
quietly took the reins out of her hands.
"Not along the high roads, Josie. You know your father's command."
"Then I shan't come at all."
She flung herself out of the trap in a passion.
"I am afraid I shall have to help Georgie, then, in choosing the carpet
and curtains. You will have to be content with our choice."
Back into the trap dashed Josie.
"It has nothing to do with you."
Anstice looked at her.
And somehow or other a quiet look or word from Anstice was enough
to bring Josie to her senses. She coloured up and subsided, being
specially quiet and amenable for the rest of the day.
Mrs. Wykeham very soon arrived to call upon the bride. Anstice had to
bear a good many interrogatories about herself and her marriage.
"I can't understand your husband leaving you."
"I suppose," said Anstice slowly, "that it would have been better in
the world's eyes to have put off our marriage till he returned. He has
gone out partly on business, you know. He has some land out there. But
a mistress was badly wanted here; and I consented for the sake of the
children to marry him at once. Don't you think I have done rightly?
This house has missed a woman's hand over it. I shall improve many
things, I hope, by being here myself."
"Oh, you've done wonders already. I see it in the arrangement of this
room, in the look of the hall when you enter it. And in the appearance
of the children whom I encountered out on the terrace."
"With them a question of new frocks!" laughed Anstice.
"Partly. What do they call you? 'Steppie,' isn't it?"
"Yes. Ruffie has christened me that, short for stepmother. He and I
have become great pals already, over his drawing. That child is a born
artist."
"You may be glad to know that when I asked how everybody was, Josie
answered, 'We're all right. Have got some one at last with a little
sense!' 'I hope you're very polite and nice to her,' I said. 'Oh,
we shall treat her as she treats us.' 'And how is that?' I asked.
'Scrumptious!' was the short reply."
Anstice laughed.
"We shall get along," she said. "I shall have things my own way in
time; but I have to go slowly."
"Well, now; we must keep you from feeling lonely," said good-natured
Mrs. Wykeham. "Will you lunch with me next Tuesday, and I'll get some
of our neighbours to come and meet you?"
"Do you know that I would much rather come to you alone. I want to be
quiet here for the present. There is a great deal to see to, and to
arrange. I don't intend to be a hermit, but I don't want to plunge into
social life just yet. I would rather have no callers till the house is
more shipshape."
"I understand; then I won't ask a soul. There will be my husband and
myself only. I will send my car for you."
Then she asked about servants, and was able to recommend a good strong
girl who had been with her as kitchen-maid, and wanted to do housework
as she did not care for cooking.
"You shall see her when you come over."
Though she was thoroughly kind, Anstice was relieved when the visit was
over. Anstice was not fond of being managed; and Mrs. Wykeman always
gave her friends the impression that they were poor inefficients, and
that she was the only one in the neighbourhood who had sound common
sense and capability.
Anstice never forgot her first Sunday in her new home. It was a lovely
day in early June. At breakfast the little girls came in, and told her
they wanted to go on the lake.
"You have the boathouse key, Brenda says."
"Yes, but you and I are going to church this morning."
"Georgie and I hate church," said Josie hastily; "we haven't been for
months."
"Yes, I know that; but you are coming with me to please me this
morning. You have a big family seat, I hear. How can I fill it by
myself? You will come to church with me to-day, and then I will come on
the lake with you to-morrow. Isn't that just and fair? You know you are
not allowed to boat alone."
"We weren't going to. We were going to sit in the boat when it was tied
up, and make it rock a bit."
They stood there with mutinous eyes. Anstice smiled at them.
"Have a piece of toast and honey," she suggested; "it will make things
easier. I always think honey acts as oil on troubled waters."
She handed them each a slice of toast. For a moment there was doubt as
to which side would win, but the honey did it.
"We hate wearing best frocks," said Josie, munching away contentedly.
"You look very nice in those you are wearing now."
Georgie gazed at her light brown jumper suit rather scornfully.
"Everybody comes to church in their best; as if God cares what we wear!
But we don't want to be different to the others."
"I don't mind what you wear as long as you are neat and tidy. How long
will it take us to walk to church?"
"Ever so long; it's right away from the lake. It will tire us out."
"Oh, we aren't made of china. I'll be ready at half-past ten."
The little girls slipped out of the room with down-fallen faces, and
Anstice drew a sigh of relief. At present, her authority was a very
uncertain fact. She wondered, even now, if the children would come with
her.
But at half-past ten, they were in the hall waiting for her. They had
changed into their new white crêpe-de-chine frocks, and wore their best
straw hats with wreaths of small roses round them. It was the first
time of wearing, and they were a little self-conscious of the fact.
"I hope I look as nice as you do," said Anstice with her bright laugh.
"Now come along. You will have to show me that way."
"It's just as if we're going to a party," muttered Josie.
"Well, I suppose we are," said Anstice. "It is a gathering together to
meet a King in His Palace."
They walked for a mile along the high road, then turned up a lane
between buttercup meadows and arched over with lime trees, which were
sending their sweet flowering scent over the fields.
"I'm making a plan for this afternoon," Anstice said. "I wonder if you
will fall in with it. I thought we would take Ruffie down to the lake
side by the little chalet, and then we can all sit out there, and have
our tea in the chalet, and I will read you a lovely story that I used
to read when I was a little girl. It is about some adventures of some
pilgrim children."
"Then we can have the boat anchored and sit in it," said Josie.
"Yes, perhaps you can. It is such a lovely day that it is a pity to
stay in the house."
By and by they came to the church, which was on the road with the Fells
rising up steeply behind it. The bell was tolling; and a few country
people were making their way into it.
Very curious gazes were sent in the direction of the Squire's seat that
morning. It was one of the side seats in the north apse of the church.
There was a good congregation for a country church. Anstice was aware
that there was a fair sprinkling of the upper classes. Mrs. Wykeham and
her husband occupied the first seat under the pulpit. Behind them were
an old couple with their two daughters, who showed, from their bored,
indifferent faces, how little interested they were in the service.
Farther back in the church was a strikingly handsome, grey-haired
woman. Anstice wondered who she was, and thought that she would like to
know her.
Then she took herself to task for wandering eyes and thoughts, and for
the rest of the service was unconscious of those around her.
The little girls behaved wonderfully well until the sermon commenced.
Then they began to whisper and giggle.
In front of them were seated a stalwart farmer, his wife and two small
boys. Suddenly there was a yell from the smallest of these two, and he
clasped his head with his hands. His mother promptly cuffed him, and
tried to hush his sobs. Finally she took him out of the church.
Anstice's quick eyes had seen the cause of his outcry. Georgie, sitting
behind him, had pricked his head sharply with a pin. Without a word,
Anstice made her move to the other side of her. When separated, the
little girls had looked as black as thunder, and wriggling into the
corner as far away from Anstice as she could, Georgie had muttered
audibly: "I hate you!"
This rather distracted Anstice from the sermon. The Rector, Mr.
Bolland, was very earnest and forcible in what he said. His sermon
was short, but straight and simple enough for even the children to
understand.
When they came outside the church, Anstice saw that Georgie was
prepared to make a bolt of it, so she turned to her quite pleasantly,
and said:
"I am afraid I made you very angry in church, Georgie, but I had set my
heart upon being proud of my small stepdaughters. You both looked such
darlings that I was horrified when I realized that you would disgrace
us all. It was only fun to you, but it wasn't fun to the poor little
boy. Would you like to have been in his shoes?"
Georgie didn't reply.
"Are you going to punish her?" inquired Josie eagerly.
"I hate punishing," said Anstice. "I am sure Georgie won't do such a
thing again. We will say no more about it. I expect you know every one
in church. Who was that tall, grey-haired lady who sat by herself in
the middle aisle?"
"That's Mrs. Fergusson," said Josie. "She's got a boy who's got a
sailing boat; he's at school now. But when he's home, we go out on the
lake with him. Georgie and me mean to sail a boat of our own as soon as
we can save up money to buy one."
"I wouldn't like to sail on this lake by myself," said Anstice.
They were just in view of the lake now, and she pointed out a small
sailing boat that was staggering under a strong wind.
"Can you swim?" she asked.
"No."
"I can. I must teach you. Could we bathe in our tiny cove?"
"Dad does, but do let us, do!"
"We'll see. If I'm with you, I don't think you would come to harm."
Georgie had quite recovered her temper. And when they came towards the
house, and Josie had run on to the stables to call the dogs out, she
pulled hold of Anstice's sleeve.
"I'm sorry I said I hated you," she said in a bashful voice with
downcast eyes. "I don't really."
"I'm so glad," Anstice said cheerfully, "because I'm getting to like
you very much, Georgie, and I'm anxious that every one else about here
should like you too."
"Everybody hates us," said Georgie carelessly; and then she ran on to
join her sister.
Two hours later, a happy little party was established on the borders
of the lake. Ruffie lay in a nest of cushions under the shade of the
acacia tree. Josie and Georgie had pulled the boat out, and as it was
tightly moored to its post, Anstice allowed them to get into it, but
she had prohibited them from having the oars in the boat, and there had
been at first a great commotion over that. Anstice looked at them with
a twinkle in her eye.
"I know how you would be tempted," she said, "and I'm going to save you
from temptation, if I can. When I would be deep in my story, one pair
of hands might softly steal up and unfasten the painter, the other pair
of hands would slip the oars over into the water, and away you would
go, laughing at my helplessness. I should have helped you to disobey
your father."
This was so exactly in accordance with the children's intention, that
they stared at her in angry dismay.
"You're a kind of witch," muttered Josie, giving up the argument.
"No, but I'm not a fool," said Anstice, "and when I was a little girl,
I was rather like you, a bit of a tomboy. I had a boy chum and we were
up to every kind of mischief. That's why I shan't be hard upon you.
Because I understand and remember."
"And I can't do nothing, never at all!" exclaimed Ruffie plaintively.
"Well now, we'll settle down, and read about some children who did a
good deal."
The story-book proved enchanting. It was an old-fashioned book, an
allegory of children who started on a pilgrimage somewhat after the
style of "Pilgrim's Progress." As the children had never seen or read
the latter book, the idea was quite a fresh one to them.
Josie's comment on it, as Anstice closed the book, and said it was time
for tea, was:
"There, you see! How well those children managed for themselves without
any grown-up person to interfere with them! And we could do alone, I
know we could. We don't want governesses to bother our lives out."
"Or me," put in Anstice, laughing. "But, Josie, see how much trouble
these children got into, until they got hold of and held on to the
golden thread. And you know who held the other end of that thread? It
was the King Himself, the King of the Golden City. We ought to be all
travelling with our fingers on that thread. Heaven is the city, and
prayer is the golden thread which keeps us in touch with our Saviour
and King. We cannot and ought not, any of us, to travel through life
entirely on our own."
There was silence; Josie was rocking the boat to and fro, but she was
thinking, and Ruffie's beautiful eyes were dreamily gazing over the
lake to the opposite hills, which were tinged with gold from the sun
behind them.
"I'd like to have a message to me to set out there," he said very
softly.
Anstice could not reply. A lump came in her throat. Could she, had
she the knowledge and the power to place his tiny fingers on that
golden thread? Was she reading and talking of what she herself had not
experienced?
She sprang to her feet.
"And now we'll have tea; but first we must put the boat back till
to-morrow."
"Can't we leave it where it is?" questioned Josie. "We shall want it
early to-morrow morning."
Anstice stood and looked at them.
"I don't properly know you yet," she said. "Do you keep promises? Can I
trust to your honour, not to touch the boat, if we leave it out?"
"Of course we're to be trusted," said Josie, tossing her head in the
air. "We won't touch it."
So the boat was left where it was, and the little girls helped Anstice
get the tea. Brenda had gone up to the farm to tea. It was not often
that she got away, but Anstice had promised to be with the children
till six o'clock.
Nothing marred the happiness of the little party. And when Brenda
returned, she informed Anstice that she had never known a Sunday pass
so peacefully. Anstice wisely left the children, when Brenda took
charge again. She knew that her presence with them from morning to
night was not desirable; and she determined to go off to evening church.
As she walked along the quiet country lane, a great desire sprang up
within her heart. The reading of the childish story had fostered it;
the sermon in the morning had begun it. Mr. Bolland's text had been:
"Have I been so long time with you, and yet hast thou not known Me?"
And Anstice knew that though brought up on her Bible and Prayer Book,
they had never been inspired books to her. She had had a religious
training, but it had only taken possession of her head, and not of her
heart. She had never gained a real knowledge of her Lord as a personal
Friend. And she felt now that she had children to teach and train and
influence, that she must have something worth passing on.
The service in the little church soothed and rested her. The evening
light stole in through the coloured windows. There was a great hush
and peace in the atmosphere. Only the country people formed the
congregation. She knew that few of the upper classes now attended
church twice a day, and when the sermon commenced, she settled herself
back in her seat to listen almost hungrily to it. She could not forget
her first talk with the Rector. Mr. Bolland had impressed her as few
clergymen had of late years. He had life, and force, and reality of
conviction, which made his words go home to the hearts of his hearers.
And his text was:
"Ye who sometimes were far off are made nigh."
He began by saying: "Is the world getting nearer to its Creator and to
God, or farther off?"
Then he touched on the characteristics of the present generation,
comparing them with those laid down in the Bible which were certain
to come, even when Christianity was spread throughout the nations. He
finally made a personal appeal to his congregation.
"We will leave generalities and other people, and come straight away
to ourselves. As the years roll by, are we getting to know our Master
with a deeper love, and a greater reality, or with less affection and
conviction than when we were young?"
Anstice listened spellbound. She said to herself: "I have never really
known Him at all. I have always been far off from Him." And she came
out of church with an ache in her heart. She was standing a little way
from the church, on a rising hillock overlooking the lake, when a voice
behind her made her turn.
"Good evening, Mrs. Holme."
It was the Rector. She did not know in her present frame of mind
whether she was glad or sorry to see him.
"I am coming your way," he said. "I want to see a sick parishioner in
Butterdale—"
They talked of various things, and then Anstice said impulsively:
"You have made me very unhappy this evening."
"How? My mission is to make people happy, if I do my work rightly."
"You have shown me what I have suspected, that I am far away. I don't
think I have ever been really near."
"No? But that can very soon be remedied."
"It is my turn to ask 'How?'" said Anstice wistfully.
"Did I not make it clear?"
"Yes, in a way you did. But belief and faith have been with me from a
child. I believe everything."
"Men can believe in a general, a leader; but they never get near him
until they come to him and give themselves up to him as his fighters
and followers. Perhaps you may never have enlisted—dedicated yourself,
shall I say, to His Service? In Baptism and Confirmation you have had
the opportunity, but I have known many pass through those times, and
still be very far away."
A flash of enlightenment came to Anstice.
"I don't believe I have ever done that," she said.
"It was what the young ruler lacked," said Mr. Bolland. "His life was
outwardly blameless, but he could not bring himself to cast in his lot
with the Master and follow Him to the death."
Mr. Bolland said little more. He was a man of few words out of the
pulpit, and Anstice wanted no more from him.
When their ways parted, she walked on by herself, and when she came to
her gate she turned down across the park towards the lake. Here she sat
down on a low seat by the boathouse and looked out across the shining
water. With hands clasped loosely round her knees, her thoughts and
resolves were wafted beyond the earth.
Quite quietly, quite unemotionally, she gave herself then and there to
the One whom she wanted to know. And when, about half an hour later,
she walked back to the house, there was a peace and joy in her heart
that she had never experienced before. The stillness and sweetness of
that Sunday evening were to remain with her for many a long day to come.