DISCIPLINE
"Mrs. Denys, may I come in?" Jeanie Lorimer's small, delicate face peeped
round the door. "I've brought my French exercise to do," she said
half-apologetically. "I thought perhaps you wouldn't mind."
"Of course come in, dear child! I like to have you." The mother's help
paused in her rapid stitching to look up with a smile at the pretty,
brown-haired child. "Come close to the light!" she said. "I hope it isn't
a very long one; is it?"
"It is--rather," Jeanie sighed a sharp, involuntary sigh. "I ought to
have done it sooner, but I was busy with the little ones. Is that
Gracie's frock you're mending? What an awful tear!" She came and stood by
Mrs. Denys's side, speaking in a low, rather monotonous voice. A heavy
strand of her hair fell over the work as she bent to look; she tossed it
back with another sigh. "Gracie is such a tomboy," she said. "It's a
pity, isn't it?"
"My dear, you're tired," said Mrs. Denys gently. She put a motherly arm
about the slim body that leaned against her, looking up into the pale
young face with eyes of kindly criticism.
"A little tired," said Jeanie.
"I shouldn't do that exercise to-night if I were you," said Mrs. Denys.
"You will find it easier in the morning. Lie down on the sofa here and
have a little rest till supper time!"
"Oh no, I mustn't," said Jeanie. "Father will never let any of us go to
bed till the day's work is done."
"But surely, when you're really tired--" began Mrs. Denys.
But Jeanie shook her head. "No; thank you very much, I must do it. Olive
did hers long ago."
"Where is Olive?" asked Mrs. Denys.
"She's reading a story-book downstairs. We may always read when we've
finished our lessons." Again came that short, unconscious sigh. Jeanie
went to the table and sat down. "Mother is rather upset to-night," she
said, as she turned the leaves of her book. "Ronald and Julian have been
smoking, and she is so afraid that Father will find out. I hope he
won't--for her sake. But if they don't eat any supper, he is sure to
notice. He flogged Julian two nights running the last time because he
told a lie about it."
A quick remark rose to her listener's lips, but it was suppressed
unuttered. Mrs. Denys began to stitch very rapidly with her face bent
over her work. It was a very charming face, with level grey eyes, wide
apart, and a mouth of great sweetness. There was a fugitive dimple on one
side of it that gave her a girlish appearance when she smiled. But she
was not a girl. There was about her an air of quiet confidence as of one
who knew something of the world and its ways. She was young still, and it
was yet in her to be ardent; but she had none of the giddy restlessness
of youth. Avery Denys was a woman who had left her girlhood wholly behind
her. Her enthusiasms and her impulses were kindled at a steadier flame
than the flickering torch of youth. There was no romance left in her
life, but yet was she without bitterness. She had known suffering and
faced it unblanching. The only mark it had left upon her was that air of
womanly knowledge that clothed her like a garment even in her lightest
moods. Of a quick understanding and yet quicker sympathy, she had
learned to hold her emotions in check, and the natural gaiety of her hid
much that was too sacred to be carelessly displayed. She had a ready
sense of humour that had buoyed her up through many a storm, and the
brave heart behind it never flinched from disaster. As her father had
said of her in the long-ago days of happiness and prosperity, she took
her hedges straight.
For several minutes after Jeanie's weary little confidence, she worked
in silence; then suddenly, with needle poised, she looked across at
the child.
Jeanie's head was bent over her exercise-book. Her hair lay in a heavy
mass all about her shoulders. There was a worried frown between her
brows. Slowly her hand travelled across the page, paused, wrote a word or
two, paused again.
Suddenly from the room above them there came the shrill shriek of a
violin. It wailed itself into silence, and then broke forth again in a
series of long drawn-out whines. Jeanie sighed.
Avery laid down her work with quiet decision, and went to her side. "What
is worrying you, dear?" she asked gently. "I'm not a great French
scholar, but I think I may be able to help."
"Thank you," said Jeanie, in her voice of tired courtesy. "You mustn't
help me. No one must."
"I can find the words you don't know in the dictionary," said Avery.
"No, thank you," said Jeanie. "Father doesn't like us to have help of
any kind."
There were deep shadows about the eyes she raised to Avery's face, but
they smiled quite bravely, with all unconscious wistfulness.
Avery laid a tender hand upon the brown head and drew it to rest against
her. "Poor little thing!" she said compassionately.
"But I'm not little really, you know," said Jeanie, closing her eyes for
a few stolen moments. "I'm thirteen in March. And they're all younger
than me except Ronnie and Julian."
Avery bent with a swift, maternal movement and kissed the blue-veined
forehead. Jeanie opened her eyes in slight surprise. Quite plainly she
was not accustomed to sudden caresses.
"I'm glad we've got you, Mrs. Denys," she said, with her quiet air of
childish dignity. "You are a great help to us."
She turned back to her French exercise with the words, and Avery, after a
moment's thought, turned to the door. She heard again the child's sigh of
weariness as she closed it behind her.
The wails of the violin were very audible in the passage outside. She
shivered at the atrocious sounds. From a further distance there came the
screams of an indignant baby and the strident shouts of two small boys
who were racing to and fro in an uncarpeted room at the top of the house.
But after that one shiver Avery Denys had no further attention to bestow
upon any of these things. She went with her quick, light tread down to
the square hall which gave a suggestion of comfort to the Vicarage which
not one of its rooms endorsed.
Without an instant's hesitation she knocked upon the first door she came
to. A voice within gave her permission to enter, and she did so.
The Reverend Stephen Lorimer turned from his writing-table with a face of
dignified severity to receive her, but at sight of her his expression
changed somewhat.
"Ah, Mrs. Denys! You, is it? Pray come in!" he said urbanely. "Is there
any way in which I can be of service to you?"
His eyes were dark and very small, so small that they nearly disappeared
when he smiled. But for this slight defect, Mr. Lorimer would have been a
handsome man. He rose as Avery approached and placed a chair for her with
elaborate courtesy.
"Thank you," she said. "I only ran in for a moment--just to tell you
that little Jeanie is so tired to-night. She has had no time for her
lessons all the afternoon because she has been helping with the little
ones in the nursery. She insists upon doing her French exercise, but I am
sure you would not wish her to do it if you knew how worn out the child
is. May I tell her to leave it for to-night?"
She spoke quickly and very earnestly, with clear eyes raised to Mr.
Lorimer's face. She watched his smile fade and his eyes reappear as she
made her appeal.
He did not reply to it for some seconds, and a sharp doubt went through
her. She raised her brows in mute interrogation.
"Yes, my dear Mrs. Denys," he said, in response to her unspoken query, "I
see that you appreciate the fact that there are at least two points of
view to every proposition. You tell me that Jeanie was occupied in the
nursery during that period of the day which should legitimately have been
set aside for the assimilation of learning. I presume her presence there
was voluntary?"
"Oh, quite." There was a hint of sharpness in Avery's rejoinder. "She
went out of the goodness of her heart because Nurse had been up
practically all night with Baby and needed a rest and I was obliged to go
into Wardenhurst for Mrs. Lorimer. So Jeanie took charge of Bertie and
David, and Gracie and Pat went with me."
Mr. Lorimer waved a protesting hand. "Pray spare yourself and me all
these details, Mrs. Denys! I am glad to know that Jeanne has been useful
to you, but at the same time she has no right to offer duty upon the
altar of kindness. You will acknowledge that to obey is better than
sacrifice. As a matter of principle, I fear I cannot remit any of her
task, and I trust that on the next occasion she will remember to set
duty first."
A hot flush had risen in Avery's face and her eyes sparkled, but she
restrained herself. There was no indignation in her voice as she said:
"Mr. Lorimer, believe me, that child will never shirk her duty. She is
far too conscientious. It is really for the sake of her health that I
came to beg you to let her off that French exercise. I am sure she is not
strong. Perhaps I did wrong to let her be in the nursery this afternoon,
though I scarcely know how else we could have managed. But that is my
fault, not hers. I take full responsibility for that."
Mr. Lorimer began to smile again. "That is very generous of you," he
said. "But, as a matter of justice, I doubt if the whole burden of it
should fall to your share. You presumably were unaware that Jeanne's
afternoon should have been devoted to her studies. She cannot plead a
like ignorance. Therefore, while dismissing the petition, I hold you
absolved from any blame in the matter. Pray do not distress yourself
any further!"
"I certainly thought it was a half-holiday," Avery admitted. "But I am
distressed--very greatly distressed--on the child's account. She is not
fit for work to-night."
Mr. Lorimer made an airy gesture expressive of semi-humorous regret.
"Discipline, my dear Mrs. Denys, must be maintained at all costs--even
among the members of your charming sex. As a matter of fact, I am waiting
to administer punishment to one of my sons at the present moment for an
act of disobedience."
He glanced towards the writing-table on which lay a cane, and again the
quick blood mounted in Avery's face.
"Oh, don't you think you are a little hard on your children?" she said;
and then impulsively, "No; forgive me! I ought not to put it like that.
But do you find it answers to be so strict? Does it make them any more
obedient?"
He raised his shoulders slightly; his eyes gleamed momentarily ere they
vanished into his smile. He shook his head at her with tolerant irony. "I
fear your heart runs away with you, Mrs. Denys, and I must not suffer
myself to listen to you. I have my duty--my very distinct duty--to
perform, and I must not shirk it. As to the results, they are in other
Hands than mine."
There came a low knock at the door as he finished speaking, and he turned
at once to answer it.
"Come in!"
The door opened, and a very small, very nervous boy crept round it. A
quick exclamation rose to Avery's lips before she could suppress it. Mr.
Lorimer looked at her interrogatively.
"I was only surprised to see Pat," she explained. "He has been with
me all the afternoon. I hardly thought he could have had time to get
into trouble."
"Come here, Patrick!" said Mr. Lorimer.
Patrick advanced. He looked neither at Avery nor his father, but kept his
eyes rigidly downcast. His freckled face had a half-frightened,
half-sullen expression. He halted before Mr. Lorimer who took him by the
shoulder, and turned him round towards Avery.
"Tell Mrs. Denys what you did!" he said.
Pat shot a single glance upwards, and made laconic reply. "I undid Mike."
"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Avery in great distress. "I'm afraid that was
my fault."
"Yours, Mrs. Denys?" Mr. Lorimer's eyes became visible as two brilliant
pin-points turned searchingly upon her face.
"Yes, mine!" she reiterated. "Mike was whining on his chain, and I said I
thought it was cruel to keep a dog tied up. I suppose I ought to have
kept my thoughts to myself," she said with a pathetic little smile. "Do
please forgive us both this time!"
Mr. Lorimer ignored the appeal. "And do you know what happened in
consequence of his being liberated?" he asked.
"Yes, I do." Ruefully she made answer. "He fought Mr. Evesham's dog and I
helped to pull him off."
"You, Mrs. Denys!"
"Yes, I." She nodded. "There wasn't much damage done, anyhow to Mike. I
am very, very sorry, Mr. Lorimer. But really Pat is not to blame for
this. Won't you--please--"
She stopped, for very decidedly Mr. Lorimer interrupted her. "I am afraid
I cannot agree with you, Mrs. Denys. You may have spoken unadvisedly, but
Patrick was aware that in releasing the dog he was acting in direct
opposition to my orders. Therefore he must bear his own punishment. I
must beg that for the future you will endeavour to be a little more
discreet in your observations. Patrick, open the door for Mrs. Denys!"
It was a definite dismissal--perhaps the most definite that Avery had
ever had in her life. A fury of resentment possessed her, but feeling her
self-control to be tottering, she dared not give it vent. She turned in
quivering silence and departed.
As she went out of the room, she perceived that Pat had begun to cry.