A SAFEGUARD FOR HAPPINESS
May was at its height; all the apple-trees were in blossom, and the
crimson thorn-trees on the lawn. Through the open nursery windows a
soft wind brought the smell of hawthorn and lush green grass. Bright
patches of sunlight spotted the bare floor and Jane's red and white
quilt. It was early, and the children were still in bed. They were
wide awake--the sun had waked them an hour ago--and already they had
planned how they would spend the day. It was Saturday--a whole
holiday. Nobody had to do lessons to-day; the long, rich sunny hours
lay before them full of happiness. They had agreed that the rocks was
the place for to-day's picnic; no place would be half so beautiful.
This was the weather for the sea. As they lay quiet in bed each one
was thinking of the joys in store. First, there would be the walk
across the soft, spongy grass--past the whins for the sake of the hot,
sunny smell of the blossom. They would be tempted to stop and have the
picnic there; but they would go on, towards the sea, and the sheep
would move off as they came near, and rakish black crows would rise
slowly, and sail away. Then the sea would come in sight: so blue this
weather, how deep and full it looked, with what a soft splash it washed
against the black rocks, and how it stung your naked body as you slid
in for one dip and out again. Fly loved to look forward, as she called
it. Pleasures were worth twice as much to her if she were able to
think of them beforehand. Then there would be the long afternoon, when
you lay on your face on the rocks, and watched the ships sailing far
away, and now and then caught sight of a trail of smoke on the horizon,
that told you a steamer was passing by. A sound of singing came from
the convent garden, and in a moment all the five children were out of
bed, leaning out of the window, watching the long procession of white
nuns file slowly out of the convent door. The voices, low at first,
grew stronger and clearer as the procession came along the cindered
path. The nuns' white dresses, the black path they walked on, the
delicate green of the apple-trees on each side, the blue of the banner,
the shining gold of the cross, make a wonderful picture in the strong
sunlight. The children watched in silence. This singing procession of
white and blue was one of the things they liked best in May. It came
every fine morning to remind them how happy they were now that the good
weather had come. Lull said the nuns sang because May was the month of
Mary.
"Ave Maris Stella
Dei Mater Alma!"
They were singing hymns to the Blessed Virgin now; their voices, very
sweet and clear, seemed to fill the garden. They went on along the
path, paused by a black cross that marked a grave, then went round the
chapel, and the children could see them no longer. They listened till
the singing died away, and then began to dress quickly. Fly was always
last. The others teased her about it, but they could not make her
hurry. Fly had a reason for being slow. She liked to say her prayers
last. If she had been dressed sooner she would have had to say her
prayers at the same time as the others, and then, she thought, Almighty
God could not give her His undivided attention. Fly said her prayers
very carefully; sometimes when she had said them once she went all
through them again, in case she had forgotten anything. When the
others had gone downstairs she knelt down by her cot. She said her
proper prayers first, then added: "And, please, don't let any of us
have anythin' the matter with our heart our liver our lungs, or any
part of our insides that I don't know the name of; please don't let any
of us kill or murder anybuddy, or be hanged or beheaded; an', please,
remember that it's ould Mrs Bogue's turn to die first."
She rose from her knees, and ran downstairs. The hall door was open,
and the sunlight streamed into the hall. There was really no need to
say your prayers at all this weather, Fly thought; for, of course,
nobody ever died except in winter, when the wind howled round the house
and rain lashed the window-panes. Still, she liked to be on the safe
side. She was very proud of her prayer: the last petition she had
thought of in the winter, when Mrs Darragh had been ill. She had
reminded Almighty God that they had had a father and an uncle die,
while the Bogues had never had a death in their family. Therefore it
must be Mrs Bogue's turn next. Honeybird, the only one to whom she had
told this petition, was so pleased with it that she prayed it too.
Both children chuckled over the wisdom of it; for Mrs Bogue, in spite
of her eighty years, was a strong old woman--Lull had said she would
see ninety--so their turn could not come for years yet.
"It's the awful thing that people has to die at all." Jane's voice
came from the schoolroom. "An it's quare that God thinks anybuddy'd
like to go to heaven."
"Well, I niver want to go," said Patsy. "I'd hate the ould gold street
an' glass sea; I'd far rather have a nice salt-water sea, with crabs
an' herrin's in it."
Fly stood in the doorway. "What's happened?" she said.
"Ould Mrs Bogue's dead," said Jane, with her mouth full of porridge. A
sharp pang of fear seized Fly. A moment before she had been altogether
happy, now the light seemed to have gone from the day. She looked at
Honeybird, but Honeybird was taking her breakfast calmly; she did not
realise what this meant. Their safeguard was gone. If Mrs Bogue had
died so suddenly and unexpectedly might it not mean that Almighty God
wanted their turn to come quickly? She swallowed her breakfast, and
went out into the garden. She could not go to the picnic with the
others; she was too miserable for that. Why, oh, why did God make
people only to kill them again? Why did He want them to go to such a
dull place as heaven? Honeybird's voice called her from the garden
gate, and the next minute Honeybird came running down the grassy path.
"Why didn't ye go for the picnic?" Fly asked.
"'Cause I know'd ye'd be sorry about ould Mrs Bogue," said Honeybird,
sitting down beside her. "I'm thinkin' mebby Mrs Bogue wasn't as
strong as we thinked. It might 'a' been better to say Mr Rannigan."
"That wouldn't 'a' been fair," said Fly; "he had a sister die. It was
ould Mrs Bogue's turn right enough, only it come far sooner that I
thought."
"What are ye goin' to do?" Honeybird asked.
Fly could think of nothing.
"Why don't ye pray to have ould Mrs Bogue alive again?" said Honeybird.
"That's no use wanst people's dead," said Fly.
"But couldn't God make her niver 'a' been dead at all?" Honeybird
asked. "I'd try Him if I was you."
Fly thought for a moment. "We'll both pray hard, and then we'll go an'
see." They knelt down under an apple-tree. Honeybird prayed first,
and then Fly. Then they started for Mrs Bogue's house. Honeybird
would have liked Fly to tell her a story as they went along the road,
but she dare not ask, for she could tell by Fly's face that she was
still praying.
The road was hot and dusty. Both the children were soon tired.
Honeybird thought of the others enjoying themselves on the rocks. She
wished she could have gone with them. She would have enjoyed it too,
for though she pretended to Fly that she was anxious, she really was
not troubled at all. She did not believe that Almighty God wanted one
of them to die. Lull said their mother had not been so well for years.
But she had shared Fly's prayers, and a sense of honour made her try to
share Fly's trouble now that the prayer had gone wrong. Fly was still
muttering. Every now and then Honeybird could hear: "For Christ's
sake. Amen."
When they came to Mrs Bogue's gate Fly said they were to say a last
prayer each, and then ask at the lodge. They shut their eyes.
"Make her alive an' well, Almighty God. Amen," said Honeybird.
They opened their eyes, and went up to the lodge, but while they were
still knocking at the door Mrs Bogue's big yellow carriage came round
the corner of the avenue. Inside the carriage was the old lady
herself. Fly gave a howl of delight. The children ran forward, and
the carriage pulled up.
"There ye are alive an' well," said Fly joyfully. "Och, but I'm glad
to see ye."
Mrs Bogue's wizened face expressed no pleasure at seeing Fly.
"Of course I'm well; I always am," she said in a thin, high voice.
"Ye were dead this mornin', though," said Honeybird.
"Dead! who said I was dead?" Mrs Bogue demanded indignantly.
"Lull tould us that iverybuddy said ye died last night," said Fly; she
was still smiling with delight.
Mrs Bogue turned to her niece. "Do you hear that, Maria? That is
twice they have had me dead. I don't know what the world is coming to.
They won't give people time to die nowadays."
"We'll give ye any amount a' time, Mrs Bogue," said Fly earnestly; "we
want ye to live as long as iver ye can please."
"It's quare an' nice for us when ye're alive," said Honeybird. Mrs
Bogue looked at them sharply. Both faces were beaming with happiness.
"You are very kind children," she said. She began to fumble in a bag
by her side. "Here is a shilling each for you."
The yellow carriage went on. Fly and Honeybird looked at each other.
Honeybird was thinking how glad she was that she had stayed with Fly
and had not gone off with the others. Fly was thinking how good
Almighty God had been to hear her prayer. They went on down the road
to Johnnie M'Causland's shop, and bought lemonade and sweets, and then
struck out across the fields towards the sea to find the others.
"Do ye know what?" said Fly, stopping in the middle of a field, with
her arms full of lemonade bottles. "Ye're always far happier after
ye're miserable. I believe He done it on purpose." She kicked up her
heels. "Let's run; it's a quare good ould world, an' God's a quare
good ould God, an' I'm awful happy."