CATECHISINGS.
A June Sunday in the country, radiant, cloudless, odorous with the
breath of countless blossoms, thrilled with the melody of unnumbered
voices, was just beginning. The first blush of morning lay warm upon
sky and lake--the splendour above perfectly matched by the splendour
below,--as Rose Macleod opened her casement window fronting the east,
and looked out upon the myriad tender tints, the new yet ever familiar
harmonies of light and colour with which the world was clothed. The
gray walls of the Commodore's home on this side were hung with
climbing plants, and as his pretty daughter leaned out of her chamber
window a dewy branch of roses, loosened from its fastening, struck her
softly on the cheek. The touch gave her a thrill, delicately keen--a
pleasure, sharp as pain. No life was abroad yet except the birds, but
the morning-glories were all awake. She could see their wealth of
tender bloom outspread upon the rugged heap of rocks, warm with
sunshine, that separated between a corner of the flower-smothered turf
and the dark shadow of the almost impenetrable woods.
With her golden head drooped in drowsy meditation upon her folded arms
she would have made a picture for a painter, a picture rose-tinted and
rose-framed. But no painter was there to look upon her except the sun,
and his ardent attentions becoming altogether too warm to be agreeable
he was incontinently shut outside. She turned away with that slight
sense of intoxication that comes from gazing too long upon the
inexpressible beauty of a world that is dimmed only by the complaints
and forebodings of querulous humanity. In the cool dimness of the
pretty many-windowed room she stood a moment irresolutely, and then
went in search of inspiration to a row of well-used books, over which
she ran a pink reflective finger-tip. But nothing there responded to
her need. It is a rare book that is worthy to hold the attention of
maidenhood on a June morning.
So, as further slumber was impossible, she presently slipped down
stairs, and stepped out upon the broad veranda. Afterwards came the
younger children, Herbert and Eva, whose usually bright faces were
shadowed now with the consciousness that it was Sunday, a fact that
was aggravated rather than palliated by the radiant perfection of the
weather. The Commodore, who was the most sympathetic soul alive,
would, if he could have followed his own unperverted instincts, have
had his children as happy on Sunday as on any other day, but it was
necessary to make concessions to the Puritan spirit of the time, which
ruled that a certain degree of discomfort and restraint should mark
the first day of the week. But every dull look vanished as the
father's step was heard, for his was one of those genial, warm-hearted,
caressing natures, which are calculated to dispel the chill of even an
old-fashioned Sunday. There was also a hearty brusqueness in the tone
of his voice, something of the sea in the swing of his gait, and even
in the movement of his full kindly gray eye, which could not fail to
inspire confidence. His children flew to him at once, laying violent
hands upon him, and clinging to his arms with decorously subdued
shrieks of merriment, as he walked briskly to and fro.
"Where's Edward?" he demanded of his eldest daughter, as they
approached that young lady, who was pensively reclining in a rustic
chair.
"Not up yet, papa," she dreamily responded, uplifting her face for his
morning salutation.
"Not _awake_ yet," corrected Herbert, with a boy's unmistakable
contempt for the luxurious habits of his elders.
"Lazy dog!" commented the Commodore, in a voice whose irateness was
wholly assumed. "If I had come down late to breakfast when I was young
I would have been sent back to bed again."
"That is what Ed. would like," declared Herbert. "He said it was no
use calling Sunday a day of rest unless one could get all the rest one
wanted, and it was hardly worth while for him to get up at all on a
day when he couldn't fish or shoot or go out in his boat."
"The young barbarian! After all the care and pains expended on his
bringing up. What shall we do about it, Rosy?"
"Call him again!" said Herbert, who, with the ever-fertile mind of
tender youth, was never destitute of practical suggestions.
"Bright boy! run at once and ring the bell just outside his door." As
the child departed to make the clangour, so much more delightful to
his own ears than to those for whom it was intended, Eva observed:
"But he came in so late last night, papa, and looked very tired."
The Commodore patted the head of his little girl, but he continued to
direct towards her elder sister a glance of half-humorous inquiry.
Poor Rose knitted her pretty brows in troubled perplexity. She had
been informed in the "Advice to Young Women," "Duties of Womanhood,"
and other ethical works of the day, that a sister's influence is
illimitable, and she felt besides an added weight of responsibility
towards her motherless sister and brothers. "I don't know, papa," she
said at last, "unless we all take to the backwoods, live in a wigwam,
and feast on the fruits of the chase. Edward chafes a good deal under
the restraints of civilized life."
"Ah, here comes the prodigal son!" joyously exclaimed Eva, who ran to
meet her favourite brother, oblivious of the smiles produced by her
unflatteringly inapt remark.
"Don't kill any calf for me," entreated Edward, thrusting his younger
sister's straight yellow locks over her face, until it was hard to say
where her features ended and the back of her head began. "I deserve
it, but I don't like it. Veal is my detestation."
"Upon my word," said the old gentleman, looking very hard at a
discoloured spot just above the left eye of his eldest born, "it looks
as though I had been trying to kill the prodigal instead of the calf.
That's a bad bruise, my boy."
"'Tis, sir," responded Edward, in a tone which implied that meek
assent was all that could be expected from him to a proposition so
very self-evident. He felt uncomfortably conscious that the eyes of
the assembled family were upon him, and glanced half enviously at Eva,
as though the ability to shake a sunny mane over one's face at will
was something to be thankful for. The breakfast bell roused them from
a momentary silence, but the shadow of this mysterious bruise seemed
to follow them even to the table. Herbert and Eva, aged respectively
ten and twelve, had that superabundant love of information so
characteristic of their tender years. They sat in round-eyed silence,
bringing the battery of their glances to bear upon their unfortunate
brother, who at last could endure it no longer.
"Upon my life!" he exclaimed, "one would think I was the
governor-general, or some wild animal in a menagerie, to become the
object of so much concentrated and distinguished attention."
"Which would you say he was, Eva?" asked Herbert.
"Which what?" inquired that young lady.
"Sir Peregrine Maitland, or a wild animal?"
"Oh, Sir Peregrine, of course. See what a lofty, scornful way he has
of looking at us. And yet he is not really proud; he is willing to sit
down with us at our humble board, just as though he was a common
person."
"Children!" said Rose with soft reproach, but her voice trembled, and
the imps were subjugated only outwardly.
"Anything particular going on in Barrie?" queried the Commodore,
turning to his eldest son.
"Really, I can't say. I haven't been over in several days."
"Oh, I imagined you were there last night."
"I never go there at night," protested the young man, with unnecessary
vehemence. It was clear to him now that his father and sister held a
very low opinion of him indeed. Probably they thought he had been hurt
in some vulgar tavern brawl, or drunken street fight. The idea was
loathsome to him. He had not a single low taste or trait of character.
"I'm afraid," said Herbert, shaking his head with mock regret, "that
you are a very wild fellow."
"He means that you are very fond of the wilds," interpreted Rose,
hurriedly endeavouring to avert the threatened domestic storm. "Eva,"
she continued, taking up that irrepressible damsel before she could
give utterance to the uncalled-for remark, which was but too evidently
burning upon her lips, "do you know your catechism?"
"Yes," replied her sister, in rather an aggrieved tone, for she did
not relish this change in the conversation, "I know it--to a certain
extent."
"Eva looks as though she would prefer to catechise Edward," slyly
interpolated her father; and under this shameless encouragement the
young lady boldly observed:
"Indeed, I should. I should like to begin right at the beginning with,
'Can you tell me, dear child, who made you'--have that big black
bruise on your brow?"
"I can," responded Edward, imperturbably. "It was a beautiful little
beast, not much bigger than you are, but a great deal prettier."
"Was it, really?" Any offence that might have been taken at the
uncomplimentary nature of the reply was swallowed up in eager
curiosity. "What was it?"
"Well, that I can't tell you. I never saw anything like it before."
"That's queer," said Herbert. "What colour was it?"
"Oh, black and brown and all the loveliest shades of scarlet--with
cruel, little, white teeth, sharp and strong as a squirrel's teeth."
"But it didn't bite you," said Rose, with a puzzled glance at the
white brow, whose delicate fairness made the discolouration more
conspicuous.
"No, but it looked fully capable of biting--enchanting little brute!"
"Why on earth didn't you shoot it?" questioned the Commodore, rousing
himself to the exploration of this new mystery.
The young man laughed a little guiltily. "To tell the truth the idea
never once entered my head. You have no idea what beautiful eyes it
had."
"Oh--sentimentalist!"
"Yes, I was sentimental enough yesterday, but it will be long before I
am troubled that way again."
"At any rate," said Herbert, as they drifted back to the shadowing
veranda, whose flowery screen the sun had not yet penetrated, "you
can't go to church."
"I wish I could take you all over in my sail-boat," said his elder
brother, wistfully surveying the blue waters of Kempenfeldt Bay.
"Ed., you are a heathen," declared Miss Eva, whose usual adoring
advocacy of her brother's opinions was paralized by this assault upon
the proprieties; "it's wicked to ride in a boat on Sunday."
"But it's perfectly right to ride in a carriage," added Herbert, with
a view to giving information, and not with any satirical intention.
There was no reply. If it is a crime to possess a too great
susceptibility to the ever-deepening charm of woods and waters then
Edward Macleod was the chief of sinners. In his father he had a secret
sympathizer, for the old gentleman himself was not without strong
leanings toward a free and careless, if not semi-savage, life. But no
hint of this escaped him in the presence of the younger children,
whose air of severe morality, born of renewed attacks and final
triumph over the difficulties of the Sunday School lesson, he
considered it unwise to disturb.
Church service was not a painfully long or tedious affair. The little
wooden structure, erected for that purpose in Barrie, had the air of
trying to be in sweet accord with the outlying wilderness, from the
dark green drapery of ivy which charitably strove to hide its raw
newness. The town itself (for in a new country everything in excess of
a post-office is called a town) was wrapped in Sabbath stillness. The
little church was well filled, for a bright Sunday in a country
village draws the inhabitants from their homes as infallibly as bees
from their hives. Workers and drones they were all there, bowed
together under the sense of a common need, and of faith in a common
Helper, which alone makes men free and equal.
Like a light in a dark place gleamed the bright head of Rose Macleod
in the farthest corner of the family pew. A vagrant sunbeam, like a
golden arrow, pierced the gloom about her, but to the disappointment
of _one_ interested observer, it failed to reach the rich coils, so
nearly resembling it in colour. This observer presently reminded
himself that he had come there to worship the divine, as revealed in
holy writ, not in human beauty; nevertheless he could not forbear
sending another stealthy glance, which, more accurately aimed than the
sunbeam, rested fully and lingeringly upon the shadowy recess, where a
glowing amber-golden head bloomed richly forth against the frigid
back-ground of a bare wooden wall. The dainty little lady, enveloped
in the antique richness of a stiff brocade, should have been made
aware by some mysteriously occult means of a strange thrill at the
heart, caused by the protracted gaze of a handsome fellow-worshipper,
but to tell the truth her thoughts were piously intent upon the
enormity of her own sins, and the necessity of reclaiming her brother
from the very literal wildness of his ways.
Service was over; the still air seemed vibrant with the notes of the
last hymn, and tender with the just-uttered words of the benediction,
as this stately little damsel, with the peculiar air of distinction
which set so charmingly upon her doll-like personality, passed down
the aisle and out into the sunshine. She had looked on him--she had
been conscious of his existence; but it was seemingly in the same way
that she had noticed the wooden pews against which her rich little
robe was trailing, and the floor which felt the pressure of her dainty
feet. Allan Dunlop standing among the outcoming worshippers, whose
greetings he mechanically responded to, silently anathematized the
soulless edict of society, which forbids a man to stand and gaze after
a vanishing vision in feminine form. The receding figure was not
wholly unconscious, however, of the mute homage of which she had been
the recipient.
A few hours later this lovely possessor of all the graces and virtues,
according to the newly-awakened imagination of her unknown admirer,
reclined in her shell-pink apartment, in which the breezes blowing
through the lattice sounded like the _andante_ of the sea, and sighed
for the forbidden fruit of a half-finished novel. But the sigh
perished with the breath that gave it birth. The next moment she
sternly doubled a very diminutive fist, and demanded of herself
whether that was the best use that could be made of her time and
opportunities. Then she looked about for some missionary work. It was
not far to seek, for the children, weary of purposeless drifting on
the still monotonous tide of Sunday afternoon, came battering at her
door with united hands and voices, demanding a story. In the midst of
her recital she suddenly bethought herself of Edward and inquired
after his whereabouts.
"Roaming up and down the strawberry patch," said Eva.
"Seeking what he may devour," added her brother, unconsciously giving
a scriptural turn to his information.
"For shame, Herbert!"
"Shame enough! He never offered me one."
The subject of this discussion passed the open door shortly after and
looked rather forlornly in upon the interested trio. On his way
upstairs a casement window that stood ajar swung softly open as he
passed it, touched by the invisible fingers of the breeze; and the
young man was not comforted by the picture suddenly revealed to
him--the picture of a slim shape in a light canoe darting bird-like
over the water. Rose felt a vague pang of pity, but had no opportunity
to go to him. Her ministrations were in active demand by the younger
pair from whom she was unable to free herself until twilight fell,
when they voluntarily resigned her to a need greater than their own.
On many a summer night in years past they had seen their father and
mother pace the winding length of the avenue together. Now, when the
tender gloom of evening was beginning, and the solitary figure of the
Commodore was seen going with drooped head toward his favourite walk,
it was Rose who ran with eager step to take the vacant place at his
side. If his heart was saddened by that shadowy presence, which walks
at eventide by the side of him who is bereaved, it could not be wholly
cast down so long as warm clinging hands were about his arm, a bright
face looking up into his, and a clear voice, from which every note of
sadness was excluded, murmuring a thousand entertaining nothings in
his ear.
If Rose was a never-failing fountain of alluring fiction to Herbert
and Eva, and the comfort of life to her father, she was the
sympathizing _confidante_ of her elder brother, who unburdened his
heart to her in a private interview just before retiring.
"But what under the sun made you kiss her?" inquired this practical
young lady.
"Oh, murder, Rose, what a question! What under the sun makes one taste
a peach or pluck a flower?"
"But if the peach or the flower does not belong to you? Well, I'll not
lecture you, Edward; you have sufficiently expiated your offence."
"I never dreamed," returned the delinquent, "that a kiss for a blow,
which is the Christian's rule of morals, could be translated by the
poor savage into a blow for a kiss."
"Probably you terrified her. That old chief has brought her up in the
belief that the white man is a compound of all the vices."
"Well, she behaved as though I might be that. She never paused to
consider the ruin she had wrought, but darted off like a flash of
lightning."
Rose laughed; but after she departed the smile upon her brother's face
quickly vanished. Not that the bruise on his brow was so severe, but
he found it impossible to forgive the blow to his vanity.
"Beautiful little brute!" he muttered under his breath, "I haven't
done with her yet. She'll live to give me something prettier than this
in return for my caresses."