SUNDAY.
THE Sunday morning rose fair and beautiful, and every one was stirring
in good time, for milk must be cared for and animals fed on Sunday as
well as on other days. Marion was a little late—not a very uncommon
occurrence; and when she came down, it was to find Aunt Christian doing
her special work of setting the table, placing the porridge-basins and
her father's pitcher of kirn milk (buttermilk) by his place as if she
had always done it.
"That is my work, Aunt Christian," said Marion, trying to speak
pleasantly, though she felt a little vexed, she hardly knew why.
"Is it? It always used to be mine. I believe setting the table is
always the work of the youngest member of the family. It seemed very
natural to fall into it again."
"Aunt Christian means to show us that she doesn't feel above us,"
thought Marion as she began to put things in order in the sitting-room;
but she was mistaken.
It never occurred to Aunt Christian to think that any should suppose
her capable of "feeling above" any one, least of all her own family.
"Did you preach while you were in Scotland, Duncan?" asked old Hector
as after prayers they sat down to breakfast.
"Oh yes, several times—once at St. Andrew's, where I had a famous
churchful of professors and students and the principal himself, two or
three times in other places, and once at I—, where the duke himself did
me the honour to come and hear me."
Marion cast a glance of triumph at Aunt Baby.
"That was very civil of His Grace," said Hector.
"Did he speak to you?" asked Marion.
"Yes; he made me a very pretty compliment and asked me to call upon
him."
"And did you?"
"Of course. I was bound to pay my duty to my chief and my father's
landlord; and besides, His Grace was pleased to desire some information
concerning his affairs in these parts which I was able to give him. He
was very gracious, asked specially after you, father—and presented me
his snuff-mull to give you, a fine silver one with a Cairngorm pebble
for a lid."
"That was very pretty of him," said the old man, evidently much
gratified. "I shall use it with much pleasure."
"How does he look, Uncle Duncan?" asked Marion.
"He is said very strongly to resemble your humble servant, my dear.
I think I am quite his equal in good looks, though I say it that
shouldn't."
"Were you frightened at preaching before him?" asked Marion, pursuing
her catechism.
"Not a bit. I was rather blate at holding forth before the principal
of St. Andrew's, but I soon forgot it. There is one great pleasure in
preaching to a Scotch congregation—you are sure that not a word will be
lost by inattention."
"But, Uncle Duncan, I thought you were a medical doctor, and not a D.
D.?" said Marion.
"Both, Marie; I preach on Sundays and practice on week-days."
"Then you do more than a good many people," said Uncle Alick.
"Mr. Parmalee will be after you to preach for him next Sunday."
"And I shall do so very willingly, but to-day I shall be very thankful
neither to preach nor practice in that sense. Do we walk or ride to
church?"
"We walk always in pleasant weather. It is only a mile. Come, children,
you must not sit talking any longer, or we shall not be ready."
The walk to church was a very pleasant one down the valley. A good part
of the way was by the bank of the clear little river which ran through
Holford, and was pleasantly shaded by birch and pine trees, while two
or three points gave beautiful views of the mountains which "stood
round about" the pretty village.
"'Look how the hills on every side Jerusalem enclose,'"
quoted Doctor Campbell. "I am always reminded of that verse when I come
down this road, though these green, shady hills are not much like the
arid mountains round Jerusalem."
"And you have seen Lebanon and Carmel since you were here last?"
remarked Alick.
"Yes, and the mountains of Moab and Olympus and Ararat, and many a
famous height besides."
"There is where I envy you," said Alick—"I mean your travels all over
the world. I believe I want to see Lebanon as much as ever Moses did.
If I had my wish, I would travel seven years."
"Why, Uncle Alick, I never supposed you cared for any such thing," said
Marion, with not a very polite emphasis. "I never supposed you thought
of anything but crops and cattle, you seem always so contented with our
humdrum way of living."
"You don't quite know Uncle Alick all through, Marie, for as long as
you have lived with him," answered Alick, good-humouredly.
"But if you like to travel so much, why don't you?"
"When you are as old as I am, you will know that the next best thing
to having what you like is liking what you have. Pray, what do you
suppose would have become of the farm and the stock if I should indulge
my fancy for wandering all over the world? So I do my travelling with
newspapers and books and stereoscopic views."
"Of which last I have brought you a bushel, more or less," said Duncan.
"One thing I can tell you, Marie: if you don't like what you have, you
will find you will never have what you like."
"I don't understand you, Uncle Duncan."
"Consider the saying as a wise oracle, to be worked out at your
leisure," said Doctor Campbell. "How does your church missionary
society prosper, Alick?"
Alick answered, and the two men walked on, engaged in earnest
conversation, while Marion, instead of considering her uncle's oracle,
began wondering whether she had not said something foolish—something
which would lower her in Uncle Duncan's estimation.
As they drew near the village they overtook Therese.
"I thought you were going to stay at home over Sunday?" said Marion.
"So did I," answered Therese, "but mother thought there would be a
storm this afternoon; and besides, I don't like to miss the Sunday
school. You have company, haven't you?"
"Yes; my uncle and aunt from Syria."
"What, the missionaries? How nice! Oh, Marion, do you think he will
talk to the Sunday school? Miss Oliver said perhaps he would when he
came. And have you asked him about our girl—little Rachel, you know?"
said Therese, with sparkling eyes and true French volubility.
"How you do ask questions, Therese! Uncle and aunt came only last
night, and I have not had time to ask them everything," said Marion,
who in truth had never thought of little Rachel. "I dare say my uncle
will give a lecture or do something of that kind; missionaries always
do."
"How does your class collection come on? Ours is almost made up," said
Therese.
"I supposed Kitty Tremaine's class would have finished first because
she gives so much herself," said Marion; "our teacher, Mrs. Buckley,
gives only ten cents a Sunday."
"Kitty gives only five, I know."
"Why, Therese Beaubien! As rich as they are, to give only five cents a
Sunday! Well, I would be ashamed."
"I don't think they are so very rich, Marion," said Therese; "Kitty has
only a dollar a month of pocket-money, besides the six dollars a year
she gets from her uncle in New York, which she keeps for Christmas. I
think if she gives away so much of her income, she does pretty well,
don't you?"
"I didn't think of that," said Marion; "but her mother might give her
more!"
"Yes, but then it would not be her contribution, you see, and now it
is."
"It is miserable to be obliged to calculate so closely, anyhow," said
Marion, impatiently. "I do hate to think about every cent I spend.
Uncle Duncan visited a gentleman in Scotland who has a million dollars
a year."
"Oh, Marion!"
"Yes, he has, and more than that."
"It must be very nice," said Therese. "But, Marion, I don't call you
poor. What would you do if you had to work for seventy-five cents a
week, as I do?"
"I wouldn't live at all," said Marion.
"Yes, but you would have to, whether you liked it or not," said
Therese, shrewdly. "People are not asked whether they will live or not.
They are set down in their lot and left to make the best of it."
"Eh, little lass, how is that? Left?" said old Hector, who was nearer
than the girls thought, and whose hearing was as sharp as ever,
notwithstanding his great age.
Therese turned round, blushing and smiling. She had a great reverence
for the old man and always felt pleased and flattered when he talked
with her, as he often did. In fact, there was a very warm friendship
between the old Highlander and the little French girl, despite the
difference in their ages.
"Why, yes, I suppose so," said she, doubtfully, in answer to his
question.
"I would think a bit more anent that matter," said Hector. "That would
be a dreary faith to sit down with, my dawtie—not much better than that
of the old heathen philosophers, poor souls! But here we are at the
kirk door even now. Take the thought with you, and see what you will
make of it before we meet again. It is a matter worth thinking of, I
can assure you, lassie."
So, you see, Marion and Therese had each her own problem to consider.
But the two treated the matter very differently. Marion wondered what
Uncle Duncan meant, then tossed the whole subject aside into a dark
closet of her mind, and fell to thinking what a fine thing it would
be to have such an income as the duke of Argyle. Some time, perhaps,
she may clear out—or, as Hector would say, "redd up,"—this same dark
closet, and find various matters hidden therein.
Therese, to continue the figure, laid her problem on a shelf in plain
sight, that she might often turn her eyes toward it as she went about
her daily toil.
There was quite an excitement when Mr. Parmalee proclaimed at the close
of Sunday school that Doctor Campbell would give a missionary lecture
in the church on Wednesday evening, and that Mrs. Campbell would meet
the girls of the missionary band at the parsonage on Saturday afternoon
at two o'clock.
"Won't it be nice?" said Therese, with sparkling eyes.
"Very," answered Marion, but she did not seem particularly interested
in the matter.
"Marion has had the advantage of us," said Kitty Tremaine; "she has had
the first news. Did your aunt bring us a photograph of little Rachel,
Marion? She said she would if she could."
"I don't know," said Marion, in the same dreamy way. And then, waking
up a little, "I couldn't ask her everything all in a minute, you
know. There were plenty of things to talk about, without beginning on
missions the first thing. Just think how long it is since aunt has seen
any of her friends! I do hope I have some consideration," said Marion
with her grand air.
"I dare say you never thought of it," said Lizzy Gates.
"Well, and if she didn't, it is no wonder," returned Kitty, seeing
from Marion's manner that Lizzy had, as usual, hit the mark with her
conjecture.
"Not a bit of harm," answered Lizzy, laughing. "Oh, Marion, where did
you get your watch? Did your aunt bring it to you?"
"Yes; Mr. Van Alstine sent it to me from New York," answered Marion,
displaying her treasure.
"How pretty!" "And your name on it, and all!" "What a nice man your
father-in-law must be!" said one and another.
"I should be looking to see what time it was a dozen times in an hour
if it was mine," said Lizzy. "Let us see yours, Kitty."
Kitty produced the one she wore, an old-fashioned open-faced watch with
ornaments of coloured gold and some very curious engraving on the back.
"But that isn't your grand one," said Lizzy.
"I mean the little green one with all the diamonds in the back."
"Oh, I don't wear that; mamma says it is altogether too fine for a
school-girl, and I must keep it till I am grown up. So I leave it
safely in its box, and use this, which Aunt gave me. And to tell
the truth, I like this a great deal better. But yours is lovely,
Marion—just the very thing."
"Such is life," said Lizzy, assuming a tragic air; "one person riots in
watches, and the next has only an eight-day clock—perhaps only a brass
one which needs winding every night. Here comes Julia Parmalee. Julia,
have you heard any more of the mission meeting? Are we to bring our
work, or what?"
"You can bring what if you like, but I would choose the work," said
Julia. "Anyhow, mother hopes you will all come prepared to stay to tea,
and we want to send to all the girls who are not here. Marion, can you
get word to the Bryants?"
"Yes, but they won't come. Mr. Bryant doesn't believe in giving money
to foreign missions."
"What does he believe in giving money to? Does anybody know?" asked
Lizzy.
"Hush, young woman! Restrain your intellect, and don't be satirical.
Anyhow, Marion, we will give them the chance, and perhaps they will
come for once."
"Especially if they know it is a tea-fight," said Lizzy the
irrepressible.
"Lizzy, I shall ask my father to take you in hand and give you a
lecture if you don't behave better. Come, now, be good. Will you
undertake to tell Eliza Bridgeman? You can't say she doesn't care for
missions, and she isn't here to-day."
"No, indeed! She cares for everything that is good, poor little dear! I
will not only tell her of the meeting, but I will coax Miss Perkins to
let her come. Now, is there anybody else?"
"Nobody that I can think of. Father will give out the notice in church
this afternoon, and we shall talk it all over in school. Here comes
Matty McRae; I must ask her specially. Matty, you will be sure to come
to the meeting at our house Saturday, won't you, and please tell all
the district school girls?"
"I shall not do any such thing, Miss Julia Parmalee, so there!"
answered Matty, with a movement of her whole person which I don't know
how to describe otherwise than as a flounce. "You may get some one else
to do your errands for you; and as for me, I am too proud to go where I
am not wanted."
The girls looked at each other, and Julia answered, gently,—
"But we do want you, Matilda. Why should you think we don't?"
"Because I know you all feel above me; you Crocker school girls think
yourselves above all the rest of the world. I think I am as good as you
are any day, if I don't wear a gold watch. And I must say, as for the
missionaries, I think, when they are able to give away gold watches to
their nieces, they are able to support themselves."
"Oh!" said Lizzy, in a tone which implied "Now I understand."
"But, Matilda, neither my aunt nor uncle gave me the watch," said
Marion. "It was sent me by my father-in-law, Mr. Van Alstine."
"Oh yes, so you say now! And you couldn't keep quiet about it, but must
look at it once in ten minutes all Sunday school time. I do hate such
ostentation."
"Matty, did you ever have a loose tooth?" asked Therese.
"Yes, I suppose so; what of it?" answered Matilda, forgetting her anger
for the moment in the oddity of the question.
"And didn't you keep touching it with your tongue or feeling it every
few minutes?"
"Yes, I suppose so; every one does."
"Well, was that because you were proud of it?"
All the girls laughed, and Lizzy exclaimed, "Well done, Therese! That
is what Miss Oliver would call an apt and pertinent illustration."
"You had better mind your own business, Therese Beaubien," said
Matilda. "I don't think Tone Beaubien's daughter has any business
crowding herself in with decent people, anyhow. Well, there! You
needn't all look at me as if I had committed murder," she added, with
an uneasy laugh, as she felt the glances of contempt which fell upon
her from all sides. "I shouldn't have said anything if she hadn't begun
it. I do think so, and a great many other people besides me."
"Then you and your 'great many other people' had better keep your
thoughts to yourselves," said Lizzy Gates, angrily. "You—Well, there,
Julia! I won't begin, so you needn't look at me so. Never mind, Therese
dear; nobody cares for what such people say."
"I think this missionary business is all nonsense, any way, and so does
pa," continued Matilda, feeling, to do her justice, rather ashamed of
her meanness and willing to divert attention from herself. "Pa says he
should come to church more only for this everlasting begging. He says,
too, that it is all nonsense to take the Sunday school collection from
the children and then give it to foreign missions. It ought to go to
support the school, and I think so too. I think we might just as well
use our forty dollars to buy new Sunday school books with."
"But where would be the charity in that, Matilda?" asked Marion. "It
would be just taking money out of one pocket to put it into the other."
"Or we could have a nice Christmas festival," continued Matilda. "Pa
says he gave a dollar and a half last year, and the presents we had off
the tree didn't come to more than a dollar."
"Because all the nicest and prettiest things went to the poor
children," said Julia Parmalee, who never lost patience in explaining
matters.
"Well, anyhow, I am not going to give money to help buy gold watches
for anybody's niece," said Matilda, and with that she departed.
"Now she will tell that story to her aunt, Miss Perkins, and it will
go all over the town," said Lizzy; "and I dare say she won't let Eliza
come to the meeting, after all."
"But then I told her just how it was," said Marion.
"Yes, much she will care for that, or Miss Perkins, either. Never mind,
Marion; it wasn't your fault."
"I wish I hadn't worn my watch at all," said Marion; "I am sure I
didn't mean to make any display of it. But that's just the way it
always is," added Marion, with a sigh. "There is never anything nice in
the world but somebody comes to spoil it."
"'I never nursed a dear gazelle
To glad me with its soft black eye
But when it came to know me well,
And love me—'
"Somebody was sure to say 'My uncle gave it to me,'" quoted Lizzie,
slightly altering the verse to suit the occasion. "Dear me, Marion! If
you are going to let your pleasure in your watch be spoiled so easily,
you don't deserve to have it."
"And as for the story, it is only one more," added Julia. "I wouldn't
mind about it. I don't believe Matilda will influence any one who would
have given anything. Kitty, how does your class get on?"
"Oh, pretty well," answered Kitty. "The bother of my class is that as
soon as the children really begin to learn anything I have to send them
away. I sent out three of my nicest children this morning—two little
Lenoirs and your cousin Madelaine, Therese. Why, where is Therese? I
thought she was here."
"She has gone home, I fancy," said Julia. "Poor child! I am so sorry
for her."
"I do think it is the meanest thing that ever was in the world to twit
that child with her father," said Lizzy Gates, with her usual emphasis.
"Just as though she was to blame!"
"It is a shame," said Kitty. "Miss Perkins asked mother if we were not
afraid to trust Therese about the house. She said she should always be
expecting her to get up in the night and let her father in at the back
door. But I think Therese will live it down. She has a great deal of
force and of real principle too."
"Miss Perkins needn't say anything. One reason why Lenore Beaubien has
got away so much of her custom is that people who took lace and velvet
to Miss Perkins thought they didn't get it all back again."
"Hush, Lizzy! You shouldn't say so."
"Well, perhaps not, after your father's sermon on evil speaking this
morning. I can't help being vexed for Therese, and she never says a
word for herself. But there goes the bell for afternoon church. You are
not vexed at me, are you, Marion?"
"No, of course not," said Marion; "only vexed at having made such a
fuss."
"It was not you that made the fuss. I wouldn't mind about it, anyhow.
Don't let it spoil your Sunday, as mother says to me when anything
disagreeable happens."
"I don't see why Kitty Tremaine should have a class in Sunday school
any more than the rest of us," said Marion to Julia when the rest had
gone and they were left alone together for a few minutes. "She is only
six months older than I am."
"Well, you know it begun three years ago, because Kitty was the only
one in the school besides her mother and Miss Oliver who could speak
French," * said Julia. "Kitty would like very well to give up her
class, and come into school, but your uncle won't hear of it because
she manages the infants so nicely."
* See "Kitty's Christmas Tree," American Sunday School Union.
"Oh yes, Uncle Alick thinks she is the eighth wonder of the world. I
don't see anything so remarkable about her. Just think how intimate she
used to be with that horrid Fanny Duskin, and what scrapes she used to
get into."
"But that was a long time ago, Marion. Kitty has not been in a scrape
in school for more than two years. I don't mean, of course, that
she never does wrong, but I do think she tries to be a consistent
Christian."
"Your geese are all swans, Julia."
"Well, that is better than thinking all my swans geese. But, Marion, if
you really want to try teaching, why don't you ask Mr. McGregor to let
you have Emily Sibley's class? You know she won't be here after this
Sunday, and you couldn't wish for a nicer class than that."
"I mean to ask him about it this very day," said Marion.
"I wonder what old Mr. McGregor meant by what he said to me this
morning?" thought Therese, as she brushed away a few tears, "I'm sure
my lot is a hard one enough, and I don't see any best to be made of it.
I ought not to say I am left, either, I suppose, when I have so many
good friends. I wonder if that was what he meant?"