SMALL BEGINNINGS.
"EMILY, shall I go to market this morning?" asked Ethel, the following
Monday, after she had finished her usual morning's work of putting the
parlour to rights.
Emily looked up surprised from the work she was engaged in cutting out.
"To market!" said she. "Oh, I should be ever so much obliged to you,
Ethel. Jane is busy, and I have all this work to get ready for Mrs.
Markham. But you don't like to do marketing?"
"Oh, I don't mind—at least it does not matter whether I do or not,"
said Ethel. "'Don't like it' has been too much of an excuse of mine, I
think."
"But the dogs, Ethel?"
"Well, they won't eat me more than any one else, I suppose; and if they
do, I ought to take it as a compliment to the general sweetness of my
appearance. What shall I buy?"
"You may order a loin of veal, and ask Mr. Begg to send the sweetbread;
and as to vegetables, get whatever looks the best: only don't be too
extravagant."
Ethel made her way without accident through the throng of buyers and
sellers to the stall where she wished to deal. Mr. Begg was a big,
good-humoured Dutchman, with a flock of yellow-haired, fat-faced
children, two or three of whom were usually to be found tumbling about
their father's place of business. Ethel recognized one of them as a
pupil at the Sunday-school.
"Why, Greta, is that you?" said she. "What are you doing here? Helping
your father?"
Little Greta stuck her chin into her neck, and looked up from under
her eyelids, but was taken with a sudden fit of shyness, and would not
answer.
"Why don't you speak to the lady?" asked Mr. Begg. "You is always
talking about her at home."
"Greta is a very good girl," said Ethel; "and she sings nicely."
"She like her school first-rate," remarked Mr. Begg. "All the others
they want to go too; but my vife say there be too many of dem: the
young lady will not want dem all."
"But indeed we do want them all!" said Ethel, eagerly—"Every one of
them. Those who are too large for the infant room can go into the
other."
"Vell, you see, we live on the 'Hill,' and it a good way for dem to
go," said Mr. Begg, who was evidently much pleased.
"Then I will tell you how we can arrange it," said Ethel. "You know my
brother has started a Sunday evening service at the 'Hill,' and he is
to have a Sunday-school in the afternoon. Let the children come there
instead of to the large school. That will be only a short walk for
them."
"Is that gentleman that preached yesterday and the Sunday before your
brother? If I had known dat, I vould have went to hear him," said Mr.
Begg. "We went past when dey vas singing, and my vife say, 'Dat sounds
so good, I wish I vas up dere.'"
"Then you will let the children come next Sunday, and come yourself,
won't you, Mr. Begg?" asked Ethel. "You will come, won't you, Greta,
and bring all your playmates—the more the better."
"We will," said Greta, and then whispered to her father.
"Oh, the young lady don't want to see your puppies," said the butcher.
"The dog has got some pups, and the little girl she wants to show dem
to you."
[Illustration: _Ethel's Trial._ "Oh, yes, let me see them by all
means!"]
"Oh, yes, let me see them, by all means," said Ethel. "I never saw any
little puppies."
Whereupon Mr. Begg led the way, and Ethel found herself behind the
stall, admiring the three round little animated balls, and trying
hard not to shrink from the polite attentions of their mother, a big
collie, who was evidently much flattered at the compliments paid to
her offspring, and returned them by licking Ethel's hands and face as
she bent over the basket. At last she disengaged herself, and took her
leave, promising to be at the school to meet the children the next
Sunday.
"Well, brother, I have gained some new recruits for your school," said
Ethel to Mr. Dalton, as she met him at the gate. "All the little Beggs,
and all their cousins, the little Hagues: so I shall have to be there
on purpose to meet them, whether you want me or not."
"You know perfectly well, miss, that I do want you. But what about the
other school?"
"Oh, they can spare me as well as not; and it is time for some of the
other girls—Mary Rose or Maggy Flemming—to take their turn in helping
Mrs. Cummings. Not Anna, though; we must have her up at the 'Hill.' And
I don't believe I shall be afraid of Lion any more, because Mr. Begg's
big dog licked my face, and I never said a word, though I felt as if I
was being swallowed. I dare say I shall end by liking dogs, after all."
"And June-bugs too, perhaps?"
"No, indeed—the stupid things!"
"But, Ethel, I thought the whole Begg tribe were Romanists. I am sure
Mrs. Trim told me so."
"So they are; that is just the beauty of it," said Ethel. "I hope we
shall get at the parents through the children, just as Mr. Verplank
did at those McCormicks. They were all Romanists, and now they come
regularly to church; and two of the girls are in the Bible-class."
"I see you enter into the real spirit of the thing," said Mr. Dalton.
"Things look brighter to-day, do they not, Ethel?"
"They do, indeed; thanks to you," replied Ethel, with that sudden
brightening of the face which made her look so wonderfully pretty.
"Thanks to the great Comforter of all," said her brother. "Ethel, when
shall we take up our great subject again?"
"Please, Henry, I wish you would wait a little first," answered Ethel.
"I am thinking of it all the time; but I would rather wait awhile—say
till Christmas—before saying any more about the matter."
"Very well; I will agree to that. What are you going to do now?"
"Practise music till luncheon-time. Will you come and sing duets with
me?"
At luncheon-time, Dr. Ray came in—an unusual circumstance, for he
rarely ate lunch.
"What is going to happen?" asked his wife.
"Nothing very bad, I hope. Here, young lady, is a nest of June-bugs for
you."
"A nest of June-bugs!" said Ethel, looking at the pretty morocco box
which the doctor handed her. "Shall I open it?"
"Of course; what else is it for? Emily, I don't mind if I take a cup of
tea, seeing you have it made."
Ethel opened her box, and discovered a pretty gold pin and
sleeve-buttons, each set with a diamond beetle.
"Oh, how lovely!" she exclaimed, "Are they enamelled?"
"No; they are the real insects—first cousins to your friends the
Melolonthites. I had the date put on them, you see."
"What a quaint fancy and what a pretty one!" said Ethel, examining the
brilliant green-and-gold insects. "I shall think all the world of them,
Matthew. Nobody else would have thought of such a thing."
"Well, I owed you some reparation for laughing at you; and I thought
you would like them as mementos of your grand victory. I must be off
again, though. Don't wait dinner for me if I am late, Emily."
The next Sunday found Ethel and Anna at the chapel, as the girls liked
to call it, in good season. The room was more than half filled with
children, and almost every one had some brother, or cousin, or friend
who was "coming next Sunday." To Ethel were assigned the infants, as
she had desired, including all the Beggs, and their cousins the Hagues:
Anna had a nice class of girls from nine to twelve. Two other classes
of younger girls were given to two moulders' wives, nice, motherly
women, and Mr. Dalton himself took the large boys.
"Richard, you must just turn to and help," said he to Richard Trim.
"I was going into your class," said Richard, colouring.
"Yes; but we can't spare you to go into my class—not at present, at any
rate. We want you to teach those boys in the corner."
"But I don't know enough to teach," objected Richard.
"You can teach what you know, and what you don't know you can learn."
"I can ask ma, to be sure," said Richard. "She knows a great deal about
the Bible. Well, I don't want to shirk, Mr. Dalton, so I will take the
class; at least until you can get somebody else."
"Very good. But why is your mother not here? I depended on her most of
anybody."
"I wanted her to come, but she would not," said Richard. "She said
she was too old, and, did not understand the new-fashioned ways of
managing; and the young people would not want her."
"We don't intend to have any new-fashioned ways; and we do want her,"
returned Mr. Dalton. "I shall come and have a talk with her. Well, it
seems the classes are all provided, for the present. Some of them are
too large; but that can be rectified when we have more teachers. I must
look out among the men for somebody to take another class of boys."
"Mr. Murdoch would be a good man," said one of the boys.
"Who is Mr. Murdoch?" asked Mr. Dalton.
"Why, don't you know him? Why, he's the boss-moulder," replied the boy,
in a tone of great surprise, as if not knowing the boss-moulder argued
one's self unknown.
"You know I have not lived here very long," said Mr. Dalton, excusing
his ignorance of that great man. "Why do you think Mr. Murdoch would be
a good man, David?"
"Oh, he knows lots about the Bible, and everything. They say he reads
Latin and Greek; but I don't know about that. Anyhow, he is mighty
pious, and won't let any of the men swear or use bad words in the shop;
but he is real good, though."
"I can easily believe it," said Mr. Dalton, gravely. "Has he any
children?"
"Oh, yes. Them two red-haired girls over there is his'n; and he has got
a boy, but he don't live at home, now. He has gone in the country, on a
farm."
"I must make his acquaintance," said Mr. Dalton. "Now we will go on
with our lessons."
It is not my purpose to follow out particularly the history of the
Iron Hill Mission, as it soon came to be called. The school grew and
prospered. Mr. Murdoch was found out, and at once consented to take a
class. He was a big, red-haired Scotchman, and Mr. Dalton ascertained
that he really did understand, not only Latin and Greek, but also
Hebrew, and was very curious about things in general, especially about
the Eastern tongues. They fraternized at once.
"Ye see," said Mr. Murdoch, in explanation, "I began to be educated
for a minister, at the University of Glasgow; but my father died, and
my mither was left with a handful of lasses to put out in the world,
and but little to do it with. I could have worked my own way through
the University, you know, but then there were the lasses. So, as I had
always a turn for working in iron and brass, like Tubal-Cain of old,
and as a cousin of my own had a place in one of our great works, why I
just left the University and took to the foundry. But I saw no reason
why I should forget what I had learned, or why I should not learn more;
so I kept my father's old books—he was a minister, and a well-learned
man—and studied them whilst I had time."
"I see!" said Mr. Dalton. "I dare say you found your books a great
comfort."
"Indeed and I did. There is wonderful comfort to be found in books, if
you use them right. And so, Mr. Dalton, if you can lend me the books, I
will take a look at the Syriac with much pleasure."
"I will not only lend you the books, but give you all the help in
my power, if you need help," said Mr. Dalton. "It will keep me in
practice. But in return, you must take my class of boys. You are the
very man I want in the Sunday-school."
"I shall do it with much pleasure," said Mr. Murdoch, and so the matter
was settled.
Mr. Murdoch soon gained unbounded influence over his class, who looked
up to him with immense reverence and regard.
"Emily, have you seen a Syriac grammar lying about among your
books?" asked Mr. Dalton, a few days after his conversation with the
boss-moulder.
"I cannot say that I have noticed it," replied Emily, gravely: "but you
know I have not much time for light and trifling reading, so I may have
overlooked it."
"You might easily have done so, for it is unbound, and looks very much
like a paper-covered novel," said Mr. Dalton. "I can't think what I
have done with it. I want it to lend to Mr. Murdoch."
"Perhaps Ethel may know something about it. She takes a general charge
of all the books in the house. I will ask her when she comes in. How
much she has brightened up lately, has she not?"
"She has, indeed. I hope she has turned the corner of that crisis we
were talking of the other day, and that she will now go on in a course
of steady improvement."
"At the same time, to quote Matthew again, we must not be surprised or
discouraged, if she has some drawbacks," remarked Emily, smiling.
"Of course not," said Mr. Dalton. "How old is Ethel? I always forget
people's ages."
"Ethel is sixteen," replied Emily. "Don't you remember? She was born
and mamma died the year you went abroad for the first time."
"Then in three years she will be nineteen," said Mr. Dalton, musingly.
"Yes, I suppose so. People generally grow old at about that rate, if
they live: I know what you are thinking of, Henry," she added, more
gravely: "but I hope you will not be hasty. I cannot think that there
is in our timid little sister much of the stuff whereof martyrs are
made."
"A missionary is not necessarily a martyr," said Mr. Dalton. "I do not
consider myself one by any means. On the contrary, though I have had a
good many unpleasant things to encounter, and have passed through some
trying scenes, I think I have enjoyed life as much as I should have
done in any situation whatever."
"Yes, but you are not Ethel," said Emily. "Consider how she has been
brought up how she has been petted and indulged, and how she has always
shrunk from anything in the least degree disagreeable or dangerous.
When she first came here, she would scream if she saw a caterpillar,
and alarm the whole house on the bare suspicion of a mouse."
"I know," said Mr. Dalton; "but Emily, have you not noticed a change in
Ethel lately?"
"I have, certainly," replied Emily. "There was that affair at the
chapel—nobody could have behaved better than she did on that occasion.
Then she has lately taken the marketing upon herself, and she does it
very nicely too. It was her own offer to undertake it. I asked her if
she would not be afraid of the dogs, but she said she must learn not
to mind such things. Yes, I do think she is making a great effort to
improve; but yet—"
"Don't you think, Emily, that what Ethel needs most is a distinct,
definite object in life—an object grand enough to overshadow and reduce
to their true proportions all these small difficulties of hers?"
"Perhaps so. It is what everybody needs. But still, I cannot imagine
Ethel made into an effective missionary. To be sure, I remember that
Janet Beecher used to be as much afraid of cows and caterpillars as
Ethel herself. However, there is time for a great many things to happen
in three years, and perhaps Ethel may find an object nearer home than
Persia."
"Still, I would not say anything to discourage her, Emily."
"Oh, not a word, of course. Indeed, I would do everything in my power
to help her, if I thought her heart was really set upon the work."
"Wait and see," said her brother. "Here she comes. Little sister, have
you seen anything of a Syriac grammar?"
"It is in my room—I was looking it over," said Ethel, blushing. "I will
bring it to you directly."
"Any time to-day will do," said Mr. Dalton. "I have promised to lend it
to Mr. Murdoch."
"Oh, dear!" said Ethel, in a tone of disappointment. "What does he want
with it?"
"To study it, I suppose, my dear. I have another, however, which is
much at your service; only I would not advise you to undertake the
language alone. Whenever you are ready to begin, I will help you."
"Thank you. I should like it ever so much," said Ethel. "I will go and
find the book directly."
As she left the room, Mr. Dalton and Emily exchanged glances, but said
nothing.