Leila gasped. For once, her better feelings came to the surface. The
enormity of the misfortune aroused her sympathy so fully as to drown
every less amiable feeling. Then she pulled herself together.
"It _can't_ be lost--you were thinking of it all church-time; you
couldn't have carried it carelessly. Feel in your other coat packet."
Chrissie shook her head.
"No, no," she said, "I _know_ I didn't put it in my pocket; and now I
remember that the last time I had the _feeling_ of it was in the church
porch, when there was all that fuss about the rain and the umbrellas. I
dropped it then, or in the street just after, and oh, if it was in the
street, it'll have got soaked in the rain and ruined! And I do believe
Auntie cares for it more than anything in the world. It was her
grandmother's. _Oh_, Leila," and she clasped her hands in misery.
"Don't begin crying about it," said Leila, though not unkindly. "Let's
hunt about a little," and her eyes wandered round the room. "Mightn't
you have dropped it on the staircase?" She turned towards the door, but
Christabel stopped her. "No, no," she said, "it's no good. I know now
that I didn't bring it home. And I hear them all coming in, Leila.
Don't seem to be looking for anything."
"Perhaps we may get it back," said Leila, who could use her wits to
advantage when she aroused herself to give her full attention. "The
thing to be done is to ask for it at the church. If we could but get
there by ourselves." Then her eyes turned to the window. "I wonder if
it's going to rain all day."
A sudden thought struck Christabel.
"What Sunday is it? The first of the month! Oh, I do believe it's the
Sunday when there's a Children's Service in the afternoon, and Mummy
said once that she thought it would be nice for us to go. Suppose we
ask her to let us?"
"If it leaves off raining," said Leila. "I don't think we'd be allowed
to go again if it pours. But it's looking brighter."
"Oh, do let's try to manage it," said Chrissie, clasping her hands.
"I'd rather--well, rather do _anything_, or have the horridest pain,
rather than tell Aunt Margaret that I've lost her book."
"Yes," said Leila, piling on the agony, "for, of course, you couldn't
call it an accident, as you'd no business to take it."
"And if _you'd_ been,"--began Chrissie, but she did not finish the
sentence, for at that moment the gong sounded for the early dinner--on
Sundays now everybody's dinner--and the children had to hurry
downstairs. On reflection, too, Chrissie said to herself that it would
be "awfully silly" to quarrel with Leila.
"She's been kind about it, and I could never manage without her," she
thought; and as they were entering the dining-room she whispered to her
sister, "_You_ ask; I really daren't."
It was new for Christabel to own to "not daring" about anything in the
world, and Leila felt rather gratified at being trusted in the matter.
Nothing was said till dinner was nearly over; the children were very
quiet and behaved to perfection. Mrs Fortescue felt pleased. This
state of things, following on Chrissie's attentive looks in church, made
her begin to hope that her anxieties about her little daughters were
likely to grow less, and inclined her to consent to Leila's unexpected
request.
"Mummy," she said, "Chrissie and I would like to go to the Children's
Service at church this afternoon. It's the Sunday for it, and we know
the way there quite well, of course. Mayn't we go?"
Mrs Fortescue smiled.
"I should very much like you to go," she said, "and I think I can quite
trust you by yourselves. But how about the weather?"
"It is clearing," said Mr Fortescue, "and the glass is going up. Yes--
I think they may safely go."
Chrissie's face, which had been looking unusually solemn, brightened up.
But it clouded again as her father went on, patting Jasper, who was
seated next him, on the head--
"And this little man? Wouldn't you like to escort your sisters to
church, Jap?"
"In course I would. I'll cally your numbrellas and your church-books--
all of them, if you like."
"Then that's settled. Roley and I are going a good walk," continued Mr
Fortescue. "We need a breath of fresh air, after working so hard all
the week, don't we, my boy? And it will give Aunt Margaret and your
mother a nice peaceful afternoon, which I am sure they will be glad of."
"Let's be ready early, Lell," said Chrissie, when they were by
themselves, "and then perhaps we could ask about it as we go in."
"If only Japs wasn't coming," said Leila. "But if we had seemed not to
want him, they'd have been vexed."
"P'raps he won't notice," said Christabel.
For once they were ready in exceedingly good time--too early, in fact--
so afraid were they of a sudden shower of rain, or any other unlucky
event, stopping their going. As they ran downstairs their father, who
had not yet started on his walk, called them into the drawing-room--the
door was standing open, and thus he heard them passing.
"Children," he said, "don't try any short-cuts to church. Go as we went
this morning. I particularly want you not to go by Peter's Place--you
know where I mean?--a street of small houses round the first corner from
the church."
"Oh yes," replied Chrissie glibly. "I know. We did pass that way once,
but it's much nicer to keep to the wide streets."
"Then you quite understand? You promise to go the way we went this
morning," he repeated.
"Yes, certainly," said the two together. "Where's Japs?" Chrissie went
on. "I wish he'd come."
"I'm here," the little boy called out, running downstairs. "I'm
pairfitly ready. I didn't know you'd come down," and off the three set.
"Why did you say that about Peter's Place to the children?" Mrs
Fortescue inquired.
"Because," Mr Fortescue replied--"because I saw something in the papers
yesterday about an outbreak of scarlet fever there. It was quickly
stopped, and there are no fresh cases, but anything like that lingers
about, especially in cottage houses of that sort. And there is not the
slightest need to pass anywhere near the place."
"Of course not," Mrs Fortescue agreed. "But I am glad you remembered
to warn them."
"It was nothing locally wrong," he added. "It was brought from a
distance, I saw. Yes," he added, "on the whole, I suppose we are really
safer in London from epidemics than in most country places."
The children reached the church in good time, but though they glanced
about as they entered, the little girls saw no one of whom to inquire
for the missing prayer-book.
"We must ask as we come out," whispered Leila, for as yet the misfortune
had not been told to Jasper; "and do let us sit in the same place, or as
near as we can to where we were this morning, just _in case_ you dropped
it there."
But Chrissie shook her head.
"No," she replied, "I'm certain I didn't leave it in the church. It was
out here, I'm almost sure," and her eyes searched all round the porch,
but in vain.
The service was not long, and not dull. There was a good deal of
singing, which the children enjoyed, and the little address was
interesting and impressive. It was almost impossible _not_ to listen.
"Oh," thought Chrissie at the close, "if only we can find the
prayer-book, I do think from now I'll try to be less careless, and
`gooder' altogether;" and in her way Leila, too, felt the influence of
the wise and kindly words.
Outside they waited a few minutes till the little crowd of children and
mothers and governesses had dispersed, in hopes of seeing some one from
whom they could get information or advice. But they saw no one looking
at all like a verger, and almost in despair Chrissie caught hold of a
belated choir-boy, who was passing out.
"Please," she said, "I've lost my prayer-book. Who is there I can ask
about it?"
The boy stopped.
"Best ask the verger," he replied. "But you can't see him just now.
He's busy, I know. If you left it inside, it'll be in the vestry,
pr'aps. But if you dropped it outside--well, I'm sure I can't say," and
he gave a low whistle; but as he saw the distress on the child's face he
took pity, and went on. "It _might_ be took to his house, if a honest
person picked it up. I've known of such. He's well known about here,
you see--and they might have been passing that way."
"Where is it?" gasped Chrissie.
"Peter's Place," replied the boy, "number twenty-two," and off he ran.
Leila and Chrissie looked at each other.
"Peter's Place," they both exclaimed.
It meant nothing to Jasper, of course, for he had not heard Mr
Fortescue's warning.
"I know," he said. "It's a funny little street near here. We could go
home that way, or I could run down from the corner. I'se so solly,
Chrissie, about your prayer-book. Is it your best one?"
"No," said Chrissie, "I haven't got a best one. It's only Lell that
has. No, it's far, far worse. Japs," she went on, "you won't tell, for
p'raps we'll get it back and then it'll be all right and I'll _never_ do
such a thing again," and seeing that there was now nothing else for it,
she told Jasper the whole unhappy story.
He grew pale with sympathy: he was too sorry for her, much to blame
though she had been, to say anything to hurt her. No one certainly
could have called the little fellow a "prig" who had seen him then. His
one idea was to "help."
"Come along, quick," he said. "I'll show you the way to his house," and
he sprang forward.
"Chrissie," whispered Leila, "we daren't go--we mustn't go. We
promised."
"I know," Chrissie replied, "though I daresay Dads only said it for fear
of our losing our way. As if we were so silly! But _Japs_ didn't
promise, Lell?" Leila hesitated--the breaking a promise in the spirit,
if not in the letter, does not come easy to honest consciences, such as
these two little girls did really possess.
"There's nothing else to be done," persisted Christabel, trying to talk
down her own misgivings. "We won't go home that way, Lell, we'll keep
to the big street, and let Japs run round to the house. He knows where
it is, and we'll wait for him."
And to this the elder sister at last consented. "No, Japs," she said,
as he was hurrying them on by what was actually the nearest way to
Peter's Place, "we don't want to go that way. It's rather slummy.
We'll keep to the wide streets, and when we get to the corner--you know
where I mean?--you can run back, you see, and Chris and I will wait for
you."
"Werry well," said Jasper, "but Peter's Place isn't at all dirty. It's
kite neat and clean, somefin' like where Nurse's cousin, what Mumsey let
me go to see, lived."
But he was pleased at the importance of being trusted, and ran off
eagerly when they reached the corner in question.
"Japs has a natural affinity for slums," Leila remarked in her rather
lordly manner, as they stood awaiting his return with what patience they
could. "He'll probably go in for Holy Orders and work himself to death
in the East End, when he grows up."
"He might do worse," sighed Chrissie. "Any way, I wish I was as good as
he is now."
It seemed a long time--in reality barely ten minutes had passed--before,
hurrying round the further corner from where they were waiting, for
Peter's Place did not run directly out of the main street, they at last
caught sight of the little figure, and--yes, oh joy!--in his uplifted
hand he was waving something,--something too small to be seen
distinctly, but which, from Jasper's manner, there could be no doubt,
was the precious prayer-book.
"Got it! got it!" he shouted, almost before he was near enough for them
to hear what he said. "It _was_ there. Somebody picked it up what
lives near, and brought it to the church-man's house."
"Oh Japs, darling Japs, how glad I am," said Chrissie. "I've never been
so glad in my life. Now I can put it back on Aunt Margaret's table, and
it'll be all right."
Jasper beamed all over; it was not often that he was spoken to as
"darling" by either of his sisters. But suddenly a new thought struck
him, and an anxious look came over his face.
"But you'll tell Mumsey all about it, won't you, Chrissie?" he asked.
Chrissie wriggled and Leila frowned.
"I'll see about it," said the former. "I won't tell her to-day--it's
best not to bother her on Sunday, the only day Daddy's at home."
Leila murmured something, but Jasper did not hear what it was. Indeed,
he did not listen, and his expression cleared a little.
"Not to-day or any day," had been the elder sister's whisper. "There's
no need ever to tell."
And great temptation _never_ to do so! For now, the indirect disregard
of their father's orders as to not passing by Peter's Place had involved
Leila as well as Christabel in confession, if such ever took place.
"And I needn't have been mixed up in it at all, except out of
good-nature to you," she said afterwards to Chrissie; "so if you tell,
it'll be the meanest thing you ever did."
"Why were you so long, Japs?" they asked, rather wishing to change the
subject. "Did the verger's people make a fuss about giving it to you?"
"Oh no," was his reply, "the minute the little boy's mother sawed me,
she gived it me. I told her it was a werry old book, though it was so
pretty. It was lyin' on the table where he was on the sofa, but he said
I must wait till his mother came."
"What _do_ you mean?" said Leila impatiently. "Who was lying on the
sofa?"
"The little boy--I said the little boy," answered Jasper. "He's been
werry ill, though he's almost kite better now. But his mother didn't
let me shake hands wif him--fear of disturbin' him, she said. She
wasn't werry polite--not _werry_. She said, `Now, sir, you'd better be
quick and go.'"
"I daresay she was busy," said Chrissie carelessly, "but she didn't need
to say `be quick,' for you didn't want not to be quick."
"In course I didn't. She'd kept me waitin'," agreed Jasper, whose
feelings had been evidently slightly ruffled. "I was only shakin'
hands--goin' to, I mean. Still," he added, with his usual kindliness,
"it was polite of her to say `sir' to me."
By this time they were close to their own house. Arrived there, the
little girls ran upstairs as quickly as possible. As quickly as
possible, too, did they take off their hats and jackets, though in spite
of Chrissie's new resolutions I fear I must own that her jacket, if not
hat, found its resting-place on the floor, and as to what became of
boots and gloves I really could not say!
For on their way past the dining-room, the door of which had been
purposely left slightly open, they had heard their mother's voice
begging them to come down at once. "Tea is ready. Your aunt and I are
waiting for you," she said.
To be quickly obedient, I am sorry to say, was not the motive that
inspired their haste.
"Now's our time, Lell," said Chrissie. "There's no one in the
drawing-room. We can put it back at once on Auntie's table. I'll just
slip it a little under some of the other things, so if she possibly
_has_ missed it, she'll think afterwards she had made a mistake."
"Do it yourself," said Leila, and then it was that she added her warning
as to what she would think of Chrissie if she ever "told," to which no
reply was vouchsafed.
And the prayer-book was replaced, and when the little sisters made their
appearance, with, as I have said, unusual quickness, in the dining-room,
their mother greeted them with her brightest smiles.
"I really think," she was saying to herself, "that things are beginning
to improve wonderfully with them."
But Aunt Margaret, though always ready to hope and believe the best,
felt less sanguine. There was a certain flurry and excitement about
Chrissie, a half-veiled uneasiness about Leila, a sort of reluctance in
both to look one frankly in the face, which made her anxious, though she
could have given no real reason for this.
And Jasper was very silent, and for once the cheerful and ever-ready
little fellow seemed absent and self-absorbed.
"What can it be? or am I growing fanciful in my old age?" thought Miss
Fortescue.
The evening passed quietly. The sisters answered intelligently to a few
questions from their mother about the little "sermon for children" they
had heard, and Jasper added a word or two. It was evident that all
three had listened with attention, and this somewhat reassured their
aunt.
"Good-night, my darlings," she said, when she kissed them, as they were
all going to bed, for on Sunday evenings Jasper too was allowed to sit
up till eight o'clock. But--_was_ it fancy?--did not Leila shrink away
a little; was there not a slight catch, as of a very far-away sob, in
Chrissie's throat; and why did Jasper's blue eyes, which always looked
dark at night, strike her as sad and mournful?
"What can it be?" she repeated to herself.
Nor would she have felt reassured, but, on the contrary, still more
perplexed, had she overheard the little boy's whisper as the three made
their way upstairs.
"You will to-morrow, won't you, Chrissie?" and Chrissie's impatient
"Nonsense, Japs. You're not to interfere--it's no business of yours."
The child went to sleep with a heavy heart.
"And I _were_ so pleased at findin' it," he thought. "It would all have
been kite happy, if only Chrissie would tell."
For he, of course, had no idea that his very readiness to help in the
matter had been accepted by the others in direct defiance of their
father's warning.
And though the next day and two or three days after were bright and
sunny, and though Leila and Chrissie really seemed more anxious to
please their mother and to keep to her rules, a sort of cloud hung over
the house, though Aunt Margaret was the only one who said to herself,
with increasing misgiving--"The children have something on their minds.
What can it be?"
But before a week had passed, already the impression had faded, if not
entirely, yet very nearly so. The shame and regret, the wishing, and
for a time meaning, to be, as Chrissie had called it half-jokingly to
herself, "gooder," had no root; they had made fair promise for a moment,
and then they "had withered away." For if children--and people--allow
themselves just to be governed by their inclinations; to put off till
"more convenient seasons" real penitence, real turning in the right
direction; to fill their minds and thoughts with pleasanter subjects
than their own faults and failings--why, nothing is easier than to do
so! And, on the other hand, more and more difficult does it become to
take up the good resolutions again. For in this world we never stand
still in character, any more than in our bodies; every day we are
growing older, and every day, if we are not growing _better_, we are
growing worse.
So the sudden improvement in her two little daughters, which had brought
such happy hopefulness about them to their mother's heart, proved but
sadly passing--indeed, they fell back in several ways, as if, instead of
being the better for making the start, they were the reverse; the truth
being that, after all, their consciences were _not_ at rest, though they
tried to silence them and sometimes succeeded. The sight of the
prayer-book always gave Chrissie a twinge, and still worse was the look
in Jasper's reproachful eyes, though after a day or two he left of
reminding her of what, in his innocence, he had looked upon as a
promise.
And Leila was as lazy and disobliging as ever, often ungenerously
taunting Chrissie with ingratitude, which naturally led to very unlovely
quarrels.
Neither helped the other in the last. They grew more and more
unpunctual and careless and ill-tempered. They only just stopped short
of actual rudeness to poor Miss Greenall, and even the pleasant French
lessons with their aunt, seemed to have lost their flavour.
"Something has gone wrong," she said to herself over and over again.
"What can it be? I wish I knew what is best to do--how really to make
some impression on them. I used to think I was able to influence
children," and she could not help sighing.
She little thought that her own words were so soon to come true.
"Sharper lessens will be sent if they do not listen to gentler
teaching," she had said.