THE DORCAS SOCIETY
The Dorcas Society was Jane's idea. She thought of it one Monday
evening as they all sat round the kitchen fire watching Lull make soup
for the poor. A bad harvest had been followed by an unusually wild
winter. Storms such as had not been known for fifty years swept over
the country, and now, after three months of storm, February had come
with a hard frost and biting wind that drove the cold home to the very
marrow of your bones. In winters past the poor had come from miles
round to Rowallan, where a boiler full of soup was never off the
kitchen fire. This winter, driven by want, some of those who
remembered the old days had come back once more, and Lull, out of her
scanty store, had filled once more the big boiler. On this Monday
evening, as she stirred the soup, she mourned for the good days past.
"Troth, Rowallan was the full an' plenty house when the ould master was
alive. Bad an' all as he was there was good in him. It was a sayin'
among the neighbours that if ye'd had three bellies on ye ye could 'a'
filled them all at Rowallan." Lull could have talked all night on this
subject. "An' the ould mistress, God have mercy on her; she'd have
blankets an' flannel petticoats, an' dear knows what all, for the women
an' childer; I'm sayin' Rowallan was the full an' plenty house wanst."
"Well, I wisht it was now," said Mick. "I met Anne M'Farlane on the
road the day, an' ye could see the bones of her through her poor ould
duds."
"Ah, I thought a quare pity a' her myself," said Patsy; "the teeth was
rattlin' in her head."
"That'll make me cry when I'm in bed the night," said Honeybird
sorrowfully.
It was then that the idea of a Dorcas Society, such as their mother had
told them of, came to Jane, and was taken up enthusiastically by the
others. "Ye get ould clothes, an' mend them, an' fix them for people,"
she explained to Lull. "We could have a brave one with all them things
in the blue-room cupboards."
"Is it the clothes of your ould ancestry ye're for givin' away? I'm
thinkin' ye'll get small thanks for that rubbidge," said Lull.
"Why, they're beautiful things, that warm an' thick," Jane protested,
"an' we'd fix them up first." Lull looked at the five eager faces
watching hers. She hated to damp their ardour, but she knew what the
village would think of such gifts.
"Say yes, plaze," Honeybird begged, "or I'll be awful sorry ivery time
I mind Anne M'Farlane shiverin'."
"Go on, Lull; many's the time I can hardly sleep when I think the
people's cowld," said Mick.
"We'd begin at wanst," said Fly eagerly, and Lull weakly gave in. "God
send they don't be makin' scarecrows a' the poor," she murmured when
the children had departed in joyful haste to begin their Dorcas
Society. For three days they could think and talk of nothing else.
Lull, watching them, regretted that she had not the heart to discourage
them at the first, for they took such pleasure and pride in their
society that she could not disappoint them now. She did drop a few
hints, but nobody took any notice. The clothes from the blue-room
cupboards represented the fashions for the past fifty
years--full-skirted gowns, silk and satin, tarlatan, and bombazine
calashes, areophane bonnets, Dolly Varden hats, pelerines, burnouses,
shawls, tippets. At these Fly and Jane sewed from morning till night.
Fly saw the hand of Providence in an attack of rheumatism that kept Mr
Rannigan in bed and put off lessons for a week. The boys were at
school, but directly they came home they sat down by the schoolroom
fire to help. Honeybird could not sew; she unpicked torn linings and,
on Lull's suggestion, ripped off all unnecessary bows and fringes,
working so hard that she had two big blisters where the scissors chafed
her fingers. On Wednesday evening all the sewing was done, and the
children prepared to take the clothes to the village. Lull regretted
her weakness still more when she saw how pleased they were with their
work. They brought her into the schoolroom to show her everything
before they packed.
"Look at that fine thing," said Honeybird, patting a red burnouse.
"That'll keep Anne M'Farlane's ould bones from rattlin'." Patsy held
up a buff-coloured satin gown, pointing out with pride where he had
filled up the deficiencies of a very low neck with the top of a green
silk pelerine.
"That's more like a dress now, isn't it, Lull?" he said. "I'm thinkin'
whoiver wore that afore I fixed it must 'a' been on the bare stomach."
They packed the clothes in ould Davy's wheelbarrow and the ould
perambulator, and started off. Jane and Mick wheeled the loads. Patsy
held a lantern, Fly and Honeybird carried armfuls of bonnets and hats
that would have been crushed among the heavy things. Lull felt like a
culprit as she watched them go. She waited with some anxiety for them
to come home, but they came back as pleased as they had been when they
started. Everybody was delighted, and had promised to wear their gifts.
"Anne M'Farlane cried, she was that glad," Honeybird told Lull.
"An', mind ye, the things fitted quare an' well," said Mick. "The only
thing I have my doubts about was thon lilac boots ye give Mrs Cush."
"They went on her all right," said Jane.
"Ah, but I could see they hurted her all the same," said Mick; "but I
suppose they'll stretch." Lull thanked God in her heart that the
people had evidently taken the will for the deed. And perhaps, after
all, though the clothes were not fit to wear, some of them might be
useful--one of those satin dresses would be a warm covering on a bed.
Next morning she was skimming the soup when old Mrs Kelly came in.
Lull turned to greet her, and saw to her surprise that Mrs Kelly wore a
tight black silk jacket and a green calash. "Saints presarve us, Mrs
Kelly, woman," she exclaimed, for a moment forgetting the Dorcas
Society. Mrs Kelly smiled weakly.
"I suppose I look like mad Mattie; but I couldn't be disappointin' the
childer. Ye'll tell them, Lull, I come up in them, won't ye? I give
them my word I would." Mrs Kelly departed with her soup, and Lull sat
down to face the fact that the people had taken the children seriously.
"Dear forgive me, I'm the right ould fool. The village'll be like a
circus the day," she murmured. A tall figure in vivid colours passed
the window. "God help us, there's Anne," she gasped. The next moment
Anne M'Farlane stood in the doorway. She wore a brown bombazine dress,
a red burnouse, and a bonnet of bright blue areophane. Lull greeted
her as though there were nothing unusual about her appearance. But
Anne, in no mood to notice this, stood still in the doorway. Lull
turned towards the fire.
"Come on in an' warm yerself, Anne," she said cheerfully, trying to
ignore Anne's dramatic attitude. A burst of weeping was the reply from
the figure in the doorway.
"Luk at me--luk!" wailed Anne. "Did ye iver see the like in all yer
days?--all the childer in the streets a-callin' after me. An' when I
met the priest on the road, sez he: 'Is it aff to a weddin' ye are in
Lent, Anne?' sez he." Lull could find nothing to say. She tried to
make Anne come in and have some tea, but Anne's woe was beyond the
comfort of tea.
"Gimme the soup, an' I'll away home to my bed," she wept. "God help
me, I'd be better in my grave." She dried her eyes on the burnouse,
and took her soup, adding, as she turned to go: "Don't be lettin' on to
the weans, Lull. Their meanin' was a' the best, but it's an image upon
airth they've made a' me--me that always lived a moral life, an' hoped
to die a moral death." She went away crying.
"It's the sore penance I'll get for this day's work," Lull muttered.
Teressa was the next person to arrive, and to Lull's relief she wore
her own well-known green plaid shawl. On seeing this Lull took heart
again. Mrs Kelly and Anne M'Farlane were both such good-natured
bodies, perhaps they would be the only ones to wear the Dorcas
Society's gifts. But Teressa was charged with news. She was hardly
inside the door before she began. "Man, Lull, woman, but there's the
quare fun in the village the day. Ye'd split yer two sides at the
people. I niver laughed as many. Thon's the curiosities a' the
ould-fashionedest, to be sure. Silks an' satins trailin' round the
dours like tip-top quality rared in the parlour." She took a seat by
the fire. "God be thanked, the childer niver come near me; mebby
they'd 'a' made a kiltie a' me, like poor Mary M'Cann, the critter."
Before Lull had time to reply the door was once more opened, and old
Mrs Glover came in, looking very apologetic in the full-skirted,
buff-coloured satin gown that Patsy had made wearable.
"Good mornin' to ye, Lull," she curtsied. "Is that yerself, Mrs
O'Rorke?" She was evidently on the verge of tears. Teressa looked
pityingly at her.
"Och, but the quality does be makin' fun a' the poor," she said. Mrs
Glover's tears brimmed over. "The boyseys has laughed their fill at
me, an' me their ould granny," she quavered. "I'd do anythin' to
oblige, but I hadn't the nerve to come out in thon fur hat: Geordie
said I looked for all the world like an' ould rabbit in it."
"A dacint woman like yerself. I'm sayin', I wonder the childer would
do the like," said Teressa sympathetically. Lull felt her temper
rising, but she was powerless to reply. Teressa invited Mrs Glover to
sit down.
"They're stirrin' weans, an' I'm not aquil for them," Mrs Glover
murmured.
Teressa nodded from the other side of the fire. "Families does be
terrible like other," she said.
"'Deed ay; that's no lie," said Mrs Glover plaintively. "I mind their
ould grandfather afore them; many's the time the people be to curse the
Pope for him afore he'd let them have the wee drap a' soup."
Lull rose in wrath. "Is it the weans ye're namin' wi that ould
ruffan?" she said fiercely--"an' them stitching an' rippin' for a pack
a' crabbit ould women that the saints in glory couldn't plaze."
Teressa and Mrs Glover both got up hastily, full of apologies, but Lull
would not be appeased. She gave them their soup, and sent them off.
"People does be thinkin' quare things," she murmured as she watched
them go. "How an' iver am I going to tell the childer thon?"
She had no need, however, to tell the children. The news came from an
unexpected quarter. Dinner was waiting on the schoolroom table, and
the children, standing by the fire, were still discussing their Dorcas
Society, when there came a tap at the door, and Miss Rannigan, the
rector's niece, walked in.
Miss Rannigan was a little woman, prim and bird-like in her movements.
She came to stay at the Rectory about twice a year, and the children
avoided the place while she was there. She had never been to Rowallan
before, and they thought she must have come to tell them that Mr
Rannigan was dead. Her first words dispelled this fear.
"Fie! oh, fie!" She pointed a black-kid finger at Jane. Jane quickly
reviewed her life to see which sin had been discovered. "The whole
village is intoxicated, you cruel child." They all stared at her.
"They tell me it was you made such shocking guys of those poor,
benighted old women who are now dancing in the street like drunken
playactors." A scarlet flame leapt from face to face; the children
turned to each other with burning cheeks. "If my uncle had been able
he would have come here himself," Miss Rannigan went on.
"We--we--we----" Jane stammered; she could not tell Miss Rannigan about
the Dorcas Society.
"Do not try to make excuses," said that lady.
"We make no excuses," said Patsy wrathfully. "We done it a' purpose,
just for the pure divilment a' the thing."
"Wean, dear!" Lull remonstrated.
"Their meanin' was good, miss," she began. Andy's head appeared round
the door.
"If ye plaze, Miss Jane, wee Cush is here, an' she says for the love of
God will ye come an' take them fancy boots off her ould granny that ye
put on last night, for ne'er a buddy else can. The ould woman niver
got a wink a' sleep, an' the two feet's burnin' aff her."
"I should like to teach you what a mother is," said Miss Rannigan
grimly.
"Do ye think she was tellin' the truth?" said Mick when she had gone.
Jane was putting on her hat. "I'm goin' to see," she said. She
departed for the village, and the others went with her, in spite of
Lull's entreaties to them to stay and eat their dinner first. Lull put
the dinner in the oven, and then sat down and cried. They came back
miserably dejected. Miss Rannigan's tale was only too true. "There's
hardly wan sober," Jane explained. "Ould Mrs Cush is, 'cause the boots
hurted her that much she couldn't put fut to the flure. I had to cut
them off her."
"Where did they get the drink?" Lull asked.
"At the Red Lion. John M'Fall had them all in, an' made them drunk for
nuthin', 'cause they looked that awful funny in our clothes." Jane put
her head down on the table, and cried bitterly. Mick tried to comfort
her, while Fly and Honeybird wept on Lull's lap.
"Sure, ye did it all for the best, dear," Lull said. "It's meselfs the
bad ould fool not to see how it would be from the first."
Suddenly Patsy began to laugh. "I can't help it if ye are cross wi'
me, Jane, but I wisht ye'd seen ould Mrs Glover in thon furry hat."
Jane raised a wrathful face. "It's awful wicked of ye, Patsy, when
mebby they'll all be took up and put in gaol through us."
"They can't be that," said Patsy, "for Sergeant M'Gee's as drunk as
anybody."
Jane's face cleared. "Are ye sure?" she demanded.
"Sure! didn't ye see him walasin' round in thon tull bonnet? I heard
him sayin' they'd burn tar bar'ls the night." This relieved their
anxiety, but it could not do away with the disgrace. The children
avoided the village for weeks, and never again mentioned the Dorcas
Society.