KITTY
HOPE went out the next morning to make a few purchases at the village
shop. Coming home she passed a wooden gate in the lane, upon which a
red-haired girl sat, swinging her heels and whistling merrily.
She was a fresh-faced bonny creature to look at, though beauty had
not been given to her. Her skin, which was of that very white texture
that generally accompanies red hair, was much freckled. Her eyes were
blue and mischievous, and her lips, which were perhaps over-large for
the contour of her face, were now set in a merry smile. She jumped
down from the gate when she saw Hope, and revealed herself as a tall
well-grown girl of about sixteen or seventeen.
"I'm always caught out," she said, addressing Hope confidentially,
"when I am doing anything I shouldn't do! How shocked Avice would have
been—if she had noticed me—which is a doubtful point. You know father
and Avice, so we don't need an introduction, unless you don't know my
name."
"I'm afraid I don't," said Hope, with a smile. "I can only conclude you
are another of Mr. Parr's daughters."
"The only other one; and that one ought to have been a boy. My name is
Kitty, or Kate; but if we're going to be friends, I'll let you call
me Kitty. Shall I walk a bit of the way with you? I saw you going up
the village, when I was in the cottages, so I came out here and waited
for you. I've been quite excited over your coming, so has father, and
your small boys are gems! They told me this morning a lot about you. I
didn't pump them. You don't mind, do you?"
Hope looked at the eager girl with frank kindly interest.
"No," she said; "of course I don't mind. I like to feel that some one
is interested in us. It does not give one such a lonely feeling."
"Then may I come and see you by myself one day, and help you with
the poultry? That's one thing I'm really good at. I've managed our
poultry-yard ever since I was ten years old, and I know all the tips
for getting eggs when no one else has them! I shouldn't be in the way,
should I?"
"I shall be delighted. It is most kind of you. I want to relieve my
brother of a good part of it; but at present I am a complete ignoramus."
"You see," Kitty went on, in the same friendly easy tone, "I'm no good
as an ornament, so I go in for the useful! Avice does all the rest; she
can speak like an angel, and most of the villagers think her a saint.
I've always been at home, and father has begun and ended my education.
He has finished with me now. He's given me a knowledge of the classics,
and a thorough boy's training—he was awfully disappointed not to have
a son whom he could have 'trained for the ministry,' as he says. The
funny thing is that, though he says I've got the head for it, Avice has
the soul. So we're a compound of what a son ought to have been. And no
good, either of us!"
"Tell me more," said Hope, smiling, as Kitty paused; "I'm most
interested."
"It's rather low talking about myself like this, but I'll do it and get
it done, and then you'll know the sort I am; and if you don't care to
know me further, I'll understand. I hate the idea of being grown up.
That's why I keep my hair down, and then people don't ask me about,
with Avice. I like to root round and do things, and there are always
things want doing.
"We aren't well off, and we only keep our gardener, his wife, and their
small daughter to do the work of the house. I'm a kind of general help,
and I find enough to do picking up people's beginnings and finishing
them. You see, that's all I'm good for. I can carpenter, and I do
all the repairs of the house; and I go on errands, and make myself
generally useful. So, you see, my offer to help you with your poultry
is just what I love doing! Do you like the country? I know it's new to
you, from your look."
"I like it immensely," said Hope heartily. "And I am sure you will be
able to teach me a lot of things."
Kitty laughed merrily.
"Even to swing on gates and whistle!" she exclaimed.
And then she said goodbye, promising to come to the cottage the next
morning.
Hope watched her run along the road like any schoolchild, and came home
with a warm feeling in her heart for Kitty Parr.
Meanwhile that young lady had reached the Vicarage and flung herself
into the drawing-room with more haste than gracefulness.
"Avice! Father! I've seen her, and I've fallen in love with her! Why
didn't you tell me how beautiful she is? She is like a princess in
disguise. I'm going to do all I can to be real friends with her."
Mr. Parr was enjoying his afternoon tea. He had just come in from some
parochial visits, and Avice had been at the factory. She looked up at
her younger sister's vehement entrance.
"Whom are you talking about?" she asked. "And aren't your boots very
muddy, Kitty?"
"Oh, bother my boots! Whom should I be talking about but Miss St.
Clair? We've never had any one in the parish like her!"
Avice smiled.
"She seemed a quiet nice girl. Rather towny in her dress and style."
"Did she tell you how she liked the cottage? You seem to have got so
little out of her. And I'm afraid I only talked about myself to-day. I
don't know what she must have thought."
"Father, I met John Clark, and stopped to have a long talk with him."
Avice's mind was still upon the parish, as she poured out a cup of tea
for Kitty and passed it to her.
"I think too much talking is worse than none in his case," said Mr.
Parr gravely. "Did you take his wife the soup?"
"No, I forgot it."
"I'll take it at once," said Kitty, jumping up; and, gulping down her
tea, she left the room.
"I promised it yesterday, Avice," said the Vicar, with mild reproach in
his tone.
"Yes, I am sorry, father, but soup, after all, is not a matter of vital
importance; John's soul is."
"You cannot always separate the body from the soul, Avice. John's
excuse for frequenting 'The Crown' is that since his wife's illness,
he gets no proper food. Perhaps if he and she had had that good soup
to-day, you would not have seen him come out of 'The Crown' in the
state he was."
Avice did not reply. She was, indeed, too absorbed in her thoughts to
notice her father's mild reproof.
The two motherless girls had sadly missed a mother's training and
care. Naturally precocious, Avice had at a very early age taken the
lead in all parochial matters. She was earnest and sincere, but
lacked the practical common-sense which characterised her younger
sister. The parish would have fared badly if it had not been for
harum-scarum Kitty. As she said, her sister and she would have made a
good compound. Apart, they were lacking sadly in the essentials for a
vicar's daughters. Avice was a dreamer; she regarded food, clothes,
and housekeeping as necessary evils. Kitty, preternaturally sharp,
saw where her sister failed, and filled up the breach. Both were
egotistical, and supremely impressed with their own importance, but
Kitty was more aware of her own deficiencies.
The next morning she appeared at the cottage before ten o'clock. Hope
had been instructing Mrs. Goddles, a fat, cheery little woman, with a
fluent tongue; and she was divided between the importance of cleaning
out the kitchen and making a batch of bread.
Kitty, seeing Hope's wistful looks over her dirty kitchen, solved the
question.
"Let me make the bread. I'm a lovely hand at it, and Mrs. Goddles can
clean away as much as she likes without minding me. You've a splendid
fire. Do let me do it Miss St. Clair."
"It's very kind of you," said Hope. "I will watch you, for I want to
learn how to do it. Only I must run away now and then to my father. My
brother is out mending and cleaning up the fowl-houses."
Kitty was in her element. She bustled about, getting the things she
wanted, and soon was kneading her dough with all the skill of a born
breadmaker. Brian, coming in a little later, was startled to find her
the sole occupant of the kitchen, and to hear a brisk conversation
being carried on between her and the unseen Mrs. Goddles in the back
kitchen.
"I says to him, Miss Kitty—'John,' I says, 'ain't you ashamed to talk
over a lady so?' And he says—"
"I don't want to hear what he said, Mrs. Goddles; he's a disgrace to
the village, and though you're his sister, I say so!"
"Ay, Miss Kitty, you do be too hard on us; but there, you be young,
so you be! And you don't take after your dear sister, bless her sweet
face! Her were a-saying to me only yesterday when I were a-carryin'
my basket of clothes back from Vicarage, and I were a-sweating up the
hill with it—'Mrs. Goddles,' she says, 'do you ever thank the Lord you
haven't to carry the burden of your sins?' With that she set to and she
preached me one o' the prettiest sermons I've heard tell for many a
day. Ah, Miss Kitty, 'tisn't many have the gift of preaching like Miss
Avice have! She never says a hard word to a dog, but she be just full
o' the goodness and the love of the Almighty, an' if she were chapel
born and bred, she couldn't be more supple wi' her tongue!"
Kitty's eyes met Brian's, as he stood in the doorway, and they twinkled
as only Kitty's could.
"Miss St. Clair has just gone into your father. I'm Kitty Parr. I saw
you when you came to talk to father about the boys, but you didn't see
me, for I was peeping through the chink of the door. I'm making bread.
It is the weekly batch. Doesn't it look good?"
"Ripping!"
Brian laughed back. He liked this young unconventional girl. It
reminded him of his beloved Canada.
When Hope returned a short time later, she found Brian and Kitty the
best of friends. Brian was sitting on the window-ledge peeling an apple
for the young lady; and he offered it with more courtesy than Hope
would have given him credit for.
The bread made, Kitty insisted on inspecting the poultry, and suggested
"swapping" a few hens, to which Brian agreed. Hope listened to the
merits of the different species with profound respect. It was all
unintelligible to her, but she was delighted to see Brian so animated
and boyish. Then he went back to his father, and Hope began to get the
dinner ready, Kitty helping her, and talking hard all the time.
"It is so delicious to do everything yourself, isn't it?" she said.
"And you seem to do it so daintily. How do you keep yourself so clean?
I know I have dabs of flour all over my face, and I generally spill
an awful lot of water over the place when I move the saucepans! Miss
St. Clair, forgive my curiosity, but why do you live in this little
cottage? You're not a bit suited to it."
Hope laughed merrily.
"It's the want of money makes it a necessity, Kitty; but I mean to
enjoy every bit of it."
"And don't you feel you want to sit down and read a book, or drive out
to see your friends, or go off for a long walk, instead of cooking the
dinner sometimes?"
"Yes, I do feel that. And the other day I gave way to the feeling, and
took up my book while my tarts were in the oven, with the result that
the tarts were burnt. I felt a great sympathy with King Alfred, I can
assure you!"
"But you had no one to scold you! I think if I had a cottage like this
I could be quite, quite happy. It's managing a house for others that is
the bother. You are your own mistress."
"Brian is the master," said Hope, with humour lurking in the corners of
her lips.
"Brian is your brother? Oh, I should think he was a jolly sort. He
looks so good-tempered."
"He is a dear boy."
Hope spoke with emphasis.
Kitty looked at her thoughtfully.
"I believe you are the right compound," she said. "Avice is too soft,
and I am too hard, so people tell me. Avice is always looking at the
beautiful in life, and I see the mistakes and muddles of it. Now you
are perfect, absolutely perfect, and oh, you are so sweet!"
The impulsive girl threw her arms round Hope and gave her a hug, and
though they had been only acquainted with each other for twenty-four
hours, Hope did not resent it. She could not, for Kitty's bright
personality had cheered her immensely. She no longer felt a stranger in
a strange land. When she left her that morning, Hope had promised to
let her come over on Monday in the same way.
"To-morrow is Sunday," Kitty said in parting. "Avice and father are
at it from morning to night. I'm the only one of the family who takes
a real Sunday rest. I did try taking a Sunday class, but I can't talk
goody, and if the children are naughty, I want to slap them, and that
doesn't work in our parish."
Poor Hope did not find that first Sunday morning very restful to her.
Jerry and Toby were home all day, and it was wet and stormy. In spite
of the rain, she took them to church in the morning, but getting the
breakfast herself, preparing the dinner, and leaving the house clean
and tidy before she started for church, was rather an exhausting
process.
"It's awful fun being really poor," Jerry announced, as he strode
sturdily along by her side. "I can't think why people like big houses
so much. It's ever so much nicer living in a kitchen."
"Yes," put in Toby, "but I should like to be a little farther away from
poor dad. Will he never get better, Hope? Shall you be always hushing
us till we grow up?"
"Oh, dad will die before that," said Jerry, solemnly. "I'm sure Brian
thinks he will, for I heard him say to that old Doctor he met in the
street last week when I was walking with him, 'You'll give him a year,
Doctor?' And the old chap shook his head."
Hope looked at Jerry in a startled way.
"There is a chance of father recovering, dear. The doctor told me so
himself."
Her little brother's words filled her with uneasiness and dismay, but
once inside the quiet little country church, Hope gave her mind up to
the service. And Mr. Parr's simple sermon, based on the Twenty-third
Psalm, and the reiteration of the opening phrase, "The Lord is my
Shepherd, I shall not want," filled her with strength and comfort.
Avice played the organ and led the little village choir with great
sweetness. Kitty, looking decorum itself in the Vicarage pew, smiled
recognition after the service was over; but Hope was in too great a
hurry to get home to wait to speak to her.
The rain had settled into a steady downpour; the meadow in front of
their cottage was like a sponge to tread upon, and Hope found the
process of changing and drying clothes and boots for herself and the
boys very trying in the confined space of the kitchen. When dinner was
over, she went into her father's room, and Brian told her he would look
after the boys for the afternoon.
Hope read the morning's lessons to her father. She saw from his face
that he was not averse to it. Then she talked to him about the Vicar
and his girls, and a little bit about the sermon. As yet she felt very
shy of speaking to her father about the things she loved, and the fact
of never being able to elicit a response from him made her the more
diffident in what she said.
"I liked his preaching," she said quietly. "It was so straight and
simple. He told us if we would only read the Bible and take the
sweetness out of it in a practical way, our lives would be very
different. And then he said if the Lord was our Shepherd, we should not
want. He asked us if we would each take Him for our Shepherd and make
this satisfying experience ours. I felt so glad to think that we can
all have it."
There was silence in the room. Mr. St. Clair's eyelids flickered. He
heard, but he could make no response.
Hope prayed silently for him, then added:
"'I shall not want.' I keep saying it over and over again, father.
Nothing upon earth as long as I live, nothing certainly in our home
above. We seem to want so much sometimes, and if God cuts it all down
to what He considers is sufficient for us, we can be content. That is
what Mr. Parr told us."
Mr. St. Clair moved his head restlessly on the pillow. It was a sign
that he had heard enough. So Hope sat still, and thought of many things
that Sunday afternoon whilst her father dozed. She could hear the
boys' voices in the next room, and occasional sharp ejaculations from
Brian as he rebuked them. The whiff of smoke that penetrated into the
bedroom from the kitchen told her that he was enjoying a pipe. Soon the
monotonous sound of his voice, and the sudden silence of the boys, told
her that he was reading aloud. She wondered if there were many other
young fellows of his age who would spend their Sunday afternoons in
such a manner.
Then her thoughts turned suddenly away to the one who had criticised
him—to Lancelot Dane. She thought of his words, "A friend comes into
one's life to stay there." He had certainly come into hers; would he
always stay there? Hope dwelt on his words, on his quiet determined
chivalry towards her, and then, with a flush on her cheeks, she shook
her head at her wayward thoughts.
"I am not a foolish, inexperienced girl. I have seen enough to know
that men can be friendly to women all their lives, and want nothing
more than their friendship. That I will give him gladly."
Then she opened her Bible again, and presently her father required her
attention, and so the afternoon wore away.
When she came out into the kitchen, she found Brian gravely cutting
bread and butter for the boys. The tea was laid, the kettle boiling,
and the kitchen looked a picture of cosy comfort.
"What a good boy you are!" Hope exclaimed, as she came to the table. "I
feel quite rested. Why, you are better than I am at getting tea!"
"He likes it!" said Toby, grinning. "He's awfully glad that cheeky
Anne is out of the way. It feels like home to be in a proper kitchen
again, and we've been hearing 'Adventures in the South Pacific.' It's
stunning!"
"Well," said Brian, ignoring his small brother, "I fancied you looked
pretty fagged this morning, so I hope the rest has done you good."
"Indeed it has."
Hope sat down to tea and chatted cheerfully through it. Then, when
Brian went back to Mr. St. Clair, she washed up the tea-things and made
the boys help her. It was too wet to go to church again. Finding that
Toby and Jerry were getting quarrelsome, she sat down by the fire with
them and said she would tell them a story.
"About Indians taking scalps?" said Toby eagerly.
But Hope shook her head. She was always trying to influence for good
these young brothers of hers, and seized this opportunity at once.
"I will tell you a story of a giant," she said, and in a few minutes
the boys were listening breathlessly to the legend of St. Christoferus.
When she paused, Jerry said with a sigh:
"I should like to have been that chap. Awful fine, taking people over
the river on your back! You could give a ducking to those who cheeked
you!"
"I wish," said Hope, looking into their bright eyes with great
earnestness—"I wish that you two boys would take service with the
strongest Master in the world."
There was no reply. The boys looked at each other, then at her.
"You see," Hope went on, "it is always nice to serve the best. No one
can lose if Christ is their Master, for He is on the winning side. And
He is so strong that He makes His followers strong. They need never
fail to conquer if their Master is with them."
"That sounds all right," said Jerry cautiously, "but boys who go in for
being 'pi' aren't thought much of!"
"Aren't they?" said Hope, a little drily. "I wonder what the angels and
people in heaven think of them, not to speak of their Master who owns
all creation?"
"Well, they get laughed at in school."
"They can afford to laugh back if they're on the winning side."
Jerry fidgeted.
"Me and Toby know you're religious, because you smile when things go
wrong and are sorry when you are waxy. But we're boys, you see, and
they can't be good."
Hope tried to show them the fallacy of this argument, and they talked
over the fire till supper-time. When she went to wish them good-night,
Toby pulled her head down to his on the pillow. In a fervent whisper he
said:
"I'll have a try. I'll tell Christ to-night. I'll take service with
Him. What do you think my name will be altered to? Christ-Toby?"
Hope did not know whether to laugh or cry, but the earnestness of the
small round face, with the soft cheek pressed to hers, filled her
with thankfulness; and she left him with a few more words and came
downstairs to Brian, feeling that Sunday had been, in spite of the
rain, a truly restful day.
The next morning brought her Kitty, full of enthusiasm about
the poultry. She and Brian worked out of doors all the morning,
constructing coops and enclosures out of old boxes and odds and
ends. Hope, from her father's room, heard their cheerful voices and
congratulated herself upon having a young friend who was as acceptable
to Brian as to herself. She asked her to stay to the early dinner, but
Kitty refused.
"I must be back, for Avice is having a mothers' meeting this afternoon,
and I help with the club. How did you like my bread?"
"It's quite delicious. I hope I shall be as successful when I try."
Kitty laughed as she ran away. Brian looked after her with a smile.
"She ought to be in the colonies," he said; "that's the sort we want
out there!"
And higher praise than that could not be given by Brian. That afternoon
Hope was surprised by a visit from Hester Chesney, who brought Lady May
Fosberry with her.
"May is staying with us for a couple of days, so of course wouldn't
be satisfied until I brought her over. Now I know you two would enjoy
a talk together, so don't mind me. I shall go out and inspect your
poultry, and I want to get a plant that Miss Rill told me could be
found in her hedges, and which is a great favourite of the bees."
Hester walked off, and Lady May sat down in the one easy chair in the
kitchen and looked about her with interest and delight.
"I can't believe it is you, Hope. You were the last girl I should have
ever thought would live in a cottage, and yet here you are, looking as
dainty as ever, and happier, I think, than in the old times, though you
have had such trouble!"
"Yes," said Hope gravely, "I am happier, May, in spite of all, but I
have longed for a talk with some one who understands."
"Yes, and so have I, though I have made one or two friends in town who
help me. How strange it is, Hope, that your circumstances have all
been changed for you, whilst I, who pine for change, can't get it.
What a useful life you lead! No ceremony, nothing that would spoil the
simplicity of life and come between your soul and God."
"No," said Hope, "I suppose not. But I am thankful that I learnt to
take my comfort in the unseen things before all this came upon me. I
don't think I could have borne it if I had not been strengthened by God
Himself."
"You're an angel!" said impulsive May. "Let me tell you how I have
fared. Oh, Hope, I was burning, longing to give myself to the
mission-field. I felt I must try to be one of the labourers, if I
could manage it. The first blow was my mother's flat refusal to let me
go. And our stupid doctor told her I would not be strong enough. Then
I begged her to let me do some parish work under our vicar in town.
She reluctantly consented. I suppose I worked too hard, for I had a
breakdown, and now they've got it into their heads that I have a weak
chest, and I am ordered abroad for the winter. Father and mother have
taken a villa at Cannes, and I am to be there the whole winter. We
leave in a fortnight's time." May's face was lugubrious.
Hope smiled at her.
"If you believe our circumstances are ordered by God, May, it is all
right, is it not?"
"Yes, I do believe it," May responded, brightening at once. "But I
forget it, and of course the Riviera life is not enticing. It is such
an idle one. What can I do there? I don't doubt God means me to go, but
I keep thinking that He may have found me unfitted to be one of His
messengers—that is what troubles me."
"I expect you will find a good many opportunities of helping those
amongst your own friends," observed Hope thoughtfully. "After all, it
is only a question of class, isn't it? You want to speak to the lower
classes and influence them. God wants you to speak and influence the
upper classes. They want the message of life quite as much as the
ignorant and uneducated do. You helped me first, remember! You can help
other girls in the same way."
May's expressive dark eyes glowed with delight. "Yes, I see it! How
clearly you put it, Hope. I am not going to be shut away from all
intercourse with my fellow-creatures. And I haven't to pick and choose
and settle in my own mind who needs help most. Everybody needs help
everywhere. Oh, you have comforted me!"
Hope smiled, but looked somewhat wistful.
"My circle is a very small one," she said. "I almost envy you your
opportunities!"
"Oh no, never! You are a perfect heroine. I am not."
Then they talked over their Bibles. May got her little pocket Testament
out and gave Hope the rough outlines she had heard of a reading on a
chapter in Ephesians. Hope listened breathlessly. It was all so new to
her, and she felt she had so much to learn; but their time was limited,
and Hester soon sauntered back to them.
"I know I am not welcome," she said; "but I forgot to bring lamps, and
it is getting late. I'm afraid you must come, May."
"You're a dear!" said Hope, laying her hand affectionately on Hester's
arm. "But come over and see me by yourself when May has gone. I feel we
have treated you shabbily this afternoon."
"Oh, I understand! There's a kind of freemasonry between you good
people. I suppose May has confided to you her woes. She is not allowed
to leave the world at present. Fate has not been as kind to her as to
you."
"She doesn't want to leave the world," said Hope quietly.
"No," said May, as she kissed her and wished her goodbye. "I shall be
content now wherever I am."
Hester looked at her queerly, but said nothing till they were both in
the trap. Then she looked back and nodded to Hope.
"I believe in you," she said, "and I shall believe in May if she takes
a leaf out of your book. I hate the cowardly way religious people
rush away from their homes and friends to preach sermons to the poor,
because they're afraid of tackling their own sort!"