"Miss Jenny and Polly
Had each a new dolly,
With rosy red cheeks and blue eyes,
Dressed in ribbons and gauze;
And they quarrelled because
The dolls were not both of a size."
_The Daisy_.
Nobody offered a hundred golden guineas to bring Elizabeth and Anne
Morris to school, nevertheless they appeared there at the end of the
second week. They were heartily tired of home, where there was washing
to be done, and their eldest sister Patty banged them about, and they
had no peace from the great heavy baby. Besides, there had been a talk
of prizes at Christmas, and they weren't going to let them Moles and
Pucklechurches get the whole of them. Moreover, others were going back,
so why should not they?
Yes, Nanny Barton's children "did terrify her so, she had no peace."
And Betsy Seddon's Janie had torn her frock as there was no bearing, and
even the Dan Hewletts were going back. Little Judy had cried to go, and
her Aunt Judith had trimmed up the heads of her sisters, for Dora
Carbonel had not been a first-rate hair-cutter, and it was nearly the
same with every one, except the desperate truant, Ben Shales, and the
cobbler's little curly girl, who was sent all the way to Downhill to
Miss Minifer's genteel academy, where she learnt bead-work and very
little besides.
The affair seemed to have done less harm than Captain Carbonel had
expected, yet, on the other hand, the motives that brought most of the
scholars back were not any real desire for improvement, but rather the
desire of being interested, and the hope of rewards. It would take a
long time to make the generality of the people regard "they Gobblealls"
as anything but curious kind of creatures to be humoured, for the sake
of what could be got out of them.
Of the positive love of God and their neighbour, and the strong sense of
duty that actuated them, few of the Uphill inhabitants had the least
notion. It would be much to say that if these motives were always
present with Edmund and Mary, it was so in the same degree with Dora and
Sophy; but to them the school children were the great interest,
occupation, and delight, and their real affection and sympathy, so far
as they understood, were having their effect.
They were hard at work at those same prizes, which filled almost as much
of their minds as they could those of the expectant recipients, and
occupied their fingers a good deal. And, after all, what would the
modern scholar think of those same prizes? The prime ones of all, the
Bible and Prayer-book, were of course, in themselves as precious then as
now, but each was bound in the very plainest of dark-brown calf, though,
to tell the truth, far stronger than their successors, and with the
leaves much better sewn in. There was only one of each of these, for
Susan Pucklechurch and Johnnie Hewlett, who were by far the foremost
scholars in the Sunday School.
Then followed two New Testaments and two Psalters, equally brown, for
the next degree. Sophy had begged for stories, but none were to be had
within the appointed sum, except Hannah More's Cheap Repository Tracts,
really interesting, but sent forth without wrappers in their native
black and white. Then there was a manufacture by the busy fingers,
frocks made of remnants of linsey and print, of sun-bonnets of pink or
blue spotted calico, of pinafores, and round capes, the least of all
these being the list tippet, made of the listing of flannel, sewn on
either in rays upon a lining, or in continued rows from the neck,
leaving rather the effect of a shell. There were pin-cushions,
housewives, and work-bags too, and pictured pocket-handkerchiefs, and
Sophy would not be denied a few worsted balls for the very small boys,
and sixpennyworth of wooden dolls for the lesser girls, creatures with
painted faces, and rolls of linen for arms, nailed on to bodies that
ended in a point, but all deficiencies were concealed by the gay print
petticoats which she constructed, and as neither toys, nor the means of
buying them were plentiful, these would be grand rewards.
The Christmas-tree had not yet begun to spring in England, magic
lanterns were tiny things only seen in private, and even such
festivities as the tea had not dawned on the scholastic mind. So, on
the afternoon of Christmas Day, all the children were assembled in
school before Mr Harford, the ladies, and the schoolmistress, while the
table was loaded with books and garments, and beside it stood a great
flasket brimming over with substantial currant buns, gazed on eagerly by
the little things, some of whom had even had a scanty Christmas dinner.
Such a spectacle had never been seen before in Uphill, and their hungry
eyes devoured it beforehand.
Mr Harford made them a short speech about goodness, steadiness, and
diligence, and then the distribution began with the two prime Sunday
scholars, and went on in due order of merit, through all degrees, down
to the mites who had the painted dolls, and figured handkerchiefs with
Aesop's fables in pink or in purple, and then followed the distribution
of buns, stout plum buns, no small treat to these ever hungry children,
some of whom were nibbling them before they were out of school, while
others, more praiseworthy, kept them to share with "our baby" at home.
Johnnie Hewlett received a Bible, his sister Polly a warm cape, Lizzie a
petticoat, little Judy a doll, but on the very last Sunday, Jem, always
a black sheep, had been detected in kicking Jenny Morris at church over
a screw of peppermint drops which they had clubbed together to purchase
from Goody Spurrell. The scent and Jenny's sobs had betrayed them in
the thick of the combat, and in the face of so recent and so flagrant a
misdemeanour, neither combatant could be allowed a prize, though the
buns were presented to them through Mary's softness of heart.
These stayed the tears for the moment, but a fresh shower was pumped up
by Jem for the sympathetic reception of his mother. "It was a shame! it
was; but they ladies always had a spite at the poor little lad. He
should have some nice bull's-eyes to make up to him, that he should!
What call had they to be at him when it was all along of that there
nasty little Jenny."
Nevertheless, at the gate she shared her wrath with Jenny's mother.
What call had they to want to make the poor children to be like parsons
at church? Jem shouldn't be there no more, she could tell them.
Then Nanny Barton chimed in. "And look what they did give! Just a
twopenny-halfpenny handkercher that her Tom would be ashamed to wear!"
He wasn't, for it was thick and warm, and had been chosen because his
poor little neck looked so blue. But Molly went on. "Ladies did ought
to know what became 'em to give. There was my Lady Duchess, she gave
'em all scarlet cloaks, and stuff frocks, as there was some warmth in.
That was worth having--given to all alike! No talk of prizes, for what
I'd not demean myself to pick up out of the gutter."
"And look at mine," proceeded Molly. "My Johnnie's got a Bible, as if
there wasn't another in the house, let alone Judith's. His father, he
did say he'd pawn it; but Johnnie he cried, and Judith made a work, and
hid it for him. But his father, he says he wouldn't have Johnnie made
religious, not for nothing--Judith she's quite bad enough."
"Oh! our Polly--she got a little skimping cape, what don't come down to
her poor little elbows. If I went for to be a lady, I'd be ashamed to
give the like of that."
Happily every one did not receive the gifts in this spirit. There was
much rejoicing over the Testament, frock, and Psalter of the little
Moles, and their grandfather observed, "Well, you did ought to be good
children, there were no such encouragements when I was young."
"Except your big old Bible, granfer," put in Bessy.
"That was give me by our old parson when me and your granny was married.
Ay, he did catechise we in church when we was children, but we never
got nothing for it."
"Only the knowing it, father, and that you have sent on to us," put in
the widow.
"Ay, and _that's_ the thing!" said the old man, very gravely.