TO GO, OR NOT TO GO
"God counts as nothing that which is most brilliant in the eyes of
men. What He would have in us is purity of intention, an ever-ready
yielding of our will; and these are more safely, and at the same time
more truly, proved in common than in extraordinary matters. Sometimes
we care more for a trifle than for some object of importance; and there
may be more difficulty in giving up an amusement, than bestowing a
large sum in charity."—FÉNÉLON.
THROUGH the lower part of Newton Bury ran a river, much used by the
inhabitants. Newton Bury was to some extent a manufacturing town,
and manufacturing people are apt to congregate about a stream—not to
the increase of its loveliness. But higher up, before coming within
sight of wharves or mills, the river was exceedingly pretty, with
varied banks, wooded heights at a short distance, and abundant willow
growths, diversified by clay strata. Here gentlemen who lived in the
neighbourhood did a good deal of boating; and young fellows like Nigel
were especially addicted to the amusement. As a dreamy boy, Nigel had
counted no recreation equal to that of rowing up or down the stream
on a summer day, with or without a companion. Some said he preferred
the "without" to the "with"; though Nigel himself, while agreeing
generally, always made a mental reservation in favour of Ethel.
He was not now especially given to dreaming; but the old taste for
boating survived.
Mr. Carden-Cox owned a trim rowing-boat, which it was tacitly
understood that Nigel might always use. His garden, a long and narrow
slip, "ugly but useful" the owner said, sloped down a steep hillside
to the very water's edge, and ended in a small boat-house beside some
steps. A good many gentlemen's houses followed this plan with their
gardens, thereabouts; but the Grange stood on the next hill, with part
of the town between it and the river-side.
A small steam-launch existed in Newton Bury for hiring purposes; and
Mr. Carden-Cox, in his delight at his favourite's return, thought of
the steam-launch. The second day after Nigel's arrival proved mild and
sunny, almost like an April day; certainly not like November. Newton
Bury boasted a clear atmosphere, despite its tall chimneys, and a
Londoner would scarcely have recognised this as a November day at all,
unless by the mistiness of far-off hollows. Even the Newton Bury people
said they had seldom seen the like.
"In honour of Nigel!" Mr. Carden-Cox averred, looking out of the
window before breakfast; and he immediately determined to "set going
something" which might please "the boy." Why not an excursion up the
river in the steam-launch?
"Capital! Nothing could be better!" Mr. Carden-Cox rubbed his hands
jubilantly; and breakfast had to wait, growing cold, while he
despatched a messenger to secure the launch. That settled, he gave
sundry orders as to provisions, and wrote a note to the Grange,
commanding the presence of "Nigel and all three girls" at an appointed
hour. If Mr. and Mrs. Browning would honour him with their company, so
much the better. Meanwhile, he desired to see Nigel.
"Hurrah!" Daisy cried, when the note was read aloud; the Grange
breakfast being still in process of consumption. Mr. Carden-Cox was on
principle an early man.
Nigel started off at once for Mr. Carden-Cox's house, and found that
gentleman in a fluster of nervous excitement.
"You see, there was no time to lose," he said, buttonholing the young
man with agitated fingers. "Another such day is not to be expected.
It's an effort to one of my years; but I dare say I shall not be the
worse. I shall put off all responsibility on you. Of course you and the
girls will come—eh?—Yes, I thought so. Mr. and Mrs. Browning, if they
can—well, you'll see nearer the time. We don't start till a quarter to
twelve. Must allow some time for preparations. I thought we would take
our lunch soon after twelve, before getting to the prettiest part of
the river; and then have early afternoon tea, coming down again. Mind,
everybody takes wraps. It's warm—marvellous for November; but the river
air is apt to be chilly. Of course we shall be in before dark. How
is your father to-day? Seen Duncan yet? No, I supposed not. He never
hurries himself. I'm asking Duncan, by-the-bye, but of course he'll not
come. And the Elveys."
Nigel's face lighted up.
"Yes, I knew you'd like that. Great chums of yours. I don't dislike
young Elvey; and Ethel is a sensible sort of a girl. I sent a note
early, and promised to send for an answer. You wouldn't mind being my
messenger, perhaps?"
Mind it! Nigel was delighted. He went at railway speed down the hill
towards Church Square, now and then exchanging a nod and smile with
some old acquaintance, rich or poor. Passing the short posts which
admitted foot-passengers into the square, he encountered a young man,
half a head shorter than himself, slim and compact, clerical in attire,
with a soft wide-awake crushed low over the forehead, a thin, hatchet
face, and sharp features. Fast as Nigel walked, the other walked faster
still.
"Hallo, Nigel!"
"Hallo, Malcolm!"
That was their British greeting after a year's separation. They were
great friends none the less; though not from similarity.
"Coming?" asked Nigel.
"Where?"
"Steam-launch."
"Haven't heard a word of it."
"Mr. Carden-Cox. Excursion up the river for lunch and fun. All of you
invited. You must come, old fellow."
Malcolm Elvey was a business-like individual, and his friends learnt
brevity in dealing with him.
"What time?"
"Start at a quarter to twelve, and back before dark."
"I don't mind if I do. Yes, I think I can. I've had a racking headache
for two days, and that might rid me of it."
"And the rest of you?"
"I wish you may get my father—no hope, I'm afraid. Ethel, yes—you must
insist upon that. She has so little pleasure. Most likely the note is
there, not opened. I can't go back with you, but you'll find Ethel."
"Mind you are at the bottom of Mr. Carden-Cox's garden—11.40 sharp!"
"All right. I'll come: if nothing prevents."
Nigel went on to the Rectory, and after a moment's hesitation entered
by the front door without ringing, as of old. Why not?
Nobody was in the hall; so he went to the dining-room, and found nobody
there either. Ethel's workbasket stood open on the table, and a pair
of socks with big holes lay beside it, while the little silver thimble
had dropped to the floor. Nigel lifted and placed it on the table, then
he walked to the rug, and saw upon the mantelpiece a note addressed to
"Miss Elvey" in Mr. Carden-Cox's handwriting. But the note had not been
opened.
"What a shame! It ought to have been given to her."
Nigel did not realise that the two young Rectory maids, having all
the work of the house on their hands, were glad to spare themselves
needless runs up and down stairs; indeed, they had instructions so to
do. At the Grange maids were plentiful, with scarcely enough work to
keep them out of mischief.
Ethel had been upstairs when the note came, so the cook laid it on the
mantelpiece. Later she forgot to mention it to Ethel, or to say that an
answer would be called for.
"I wonder if she will come," thought Nigel.
He went to the bookcase and stood there gazing. A good many aged
volumes of sermons, bound in venerable calf, helped to fill the
shelves. No doubt their continued existence was owing mainly to their
calf attire; since nobody ever read them. Also many modern specimens of
boys' books could be seen, in coats of faded red or blue. Nigel knew
these well. He had been a book-devourer in boyhood, and had borrowed
every readable volume from his friends.
Ethel did not appear, and he pulled out one or two, smiling at the
tremendous boyish adventures depicted in the illustrations, and
handling them kindly as old friends.
A plain black volume, pushed half in among the rest, fell to the
ground; and a sheet of paper fluttered out. Ethel's handwriting!
The heading was "Extracts," and Nigel read what followed without
compunction.
I.
"There is something more awful in happiness than in sorrow, the latter
being earthly and finite, the former composed of the substance and
texture of Eternity, so that spirits still embodied may well tremble at
it." ¹
II.
"The great cure to be wrought in us is the cure of self-will, that we
may learn self-resignation; and all God various dealings with us have
this one end in view." ²
¹ N. Hawthorne. ² R. Suckling.
III.
"Unloving words are meant to make us gentle, and delays teach patience,
and care teaches faith, and press of business makes us look out for
minutes to give to God, and disappointment is a special messenger to
summon our thoughts to heaven." ¹
IV.
"To strive each day to do the wonted service more perfectly; to infuse
and maintain in every detail a purer motive; to master each impulse,
and bring each thought under a holier discipline; to be blameless in
word; to sacrifice self, as an habitual law, in each sudden call to
action; to take more and more secretly the lowest place; to move amid
constant distractions, and above them, undisturbedly; to be content to
do nothing that attracts notice, but to do it always for the greater
glory of God." ²
V.
"Go forth then with boldness to suffer, as your Lord has suffered
before you; endeavour to embrace with calmness, and even with
joyfulness, the pain or the sorrow which he brings you, and which is
but doubled by the lingering will, the timid withdrawal." ³
¹ E. M. Sewell. ² T. T. Carter. ³ Skeflington.
This was all; but at the close was written in small letters: "Ethel:
November: Sunday evening."
"Why, Nigel, how do you do? I wasn't told that you were here."
Nigel woke up from abstraction and shook hands.
"This is yours," he said. "I found it, and—read the sentences. Do you
mind?"
Ethel coloured faintly. "Oh, I could not think where it was gone. I was
reading 'Voices of Comfort' to mother, and I had a fancy afterwards to
copy out those few pieces. How stupid of me to leave it about!"
She held out her hand, and Nigel said, "I suppose I mustn't ask to keep
the paper."
"Why—you don't want it?"
"Yes."
"I don't mind, of course—only—"
"Then I may. I'll make another copy for you."
"I don't really need it—only—it was just a fancy, you know."
"Yes. Were you feeling particularly cheerful on Sunday evening?"
Ethel looked up, smiling. "Now, why must you ask that?"
"I should like to know. I don't trace the connection between all the
extracts."
"Perhaps I'll tell you some day. Not this morning. I have not time."
"And I am taking up your time. But I don't seem to have seen anything
of you yet."
"No. And I didn't mean—only it would be a long talk to go into those
extracts. And I have everything to see to. But I don't mind saying—no,
I wasn't very cheerful on Sunday evening. I wanted to go to church, and
I couldn't be spared. Mother was poorly, and everything seemed awry,
and I found myself on the edge of grumbles. So I looked out something
to do me good."
"Perhaps it will do me good too. Ethel, your mother will spare you
to-day."
"What for?"
He handed her Mr. Carden-Cox's note.
Ethel read it with a flush of delight. "Oh, that would be nice! That
would be delightful!" Then a shade of doubt came. "But I am afraid I
can't."
"But you must—you must indeed," urged Nigel, almost in despair. "We
shall not have another day like this all the winter. Mrs. Elvey will
say you must."
"No; she will say I may if I like. That makes all the difference."
"Your father—"
"He is gone out, and he won't be back till one o'clock. It doesn't
matter. Even if he said that I might, I don't think I could feel that I
ought."
"But if things could be arranged somehow—if it is only possible! Do
just try—for my sake, won't you? Tell Mrs. Elvey that I want it, and
remind her how long I have been away. Do see if it can't be done."
"I'll speak to my mother," Ethel said, and vanished.
Nigel waited with the best patience he could muster till she came
quickly in, her step so light and her face so sunny that he said
joyfully, "That's right! I knew you could."
"No, I can't," Ethel answered, smiling. "It won't do."
"But—!" Nigel would have found it hard to say which dismayed him most,
the fact that she could not go, or the fact that she should care so
little.
"Mother can't spare me. It is one of her bad days, and if I am not here
everything is sure to go wrong. You see, it isn't as if there were
anybody else. The boys are no good, and I must be at hand."
"It is too bad! I did hope—Malcolm is coming, and he told me you could.
Don't you think you might? Malcolm said you must."
"Malcolm doesn't understand. I would really, if I could," she said,
with so ultra-cheerful an air that Nigel ought to have seen through
it. If she had not resolutely kept her back to the light, he must have
noticed a suspicious reddening of her eyes. "I would if I could, but
I don't see how. Mother would let me go, of course, if I pressed for
it; but how can I when I know I can't be spared? My father will be out
almost all day; and there is a cousin coming down for the night from
London—you don't know him, I think. It's the Australian cousin Tom.
He's such a nice fellow, and he will be here before lunch. We were with
him in the summer, down in Devonshire, staying at my uncle's house,
when he was there too. He would feel neglected, I am afraid, with my
father out, and all of us away, and my mother poorly. It would not be
right. Don't say anything to Malcolm, please; or he will wish he had
stayed at home. And he ought not; he ought to go. He works so hard; and
a few hours on the river will do him no end of good. And I am quite
well, and don't need it."
Nigel had grown silent, as she talked gaily on. "Then I must tell Mr.
Carden-Cox only to expect Malcolm," he said at length.
"I'm afraid so. It is tiresome—" ("Only tiresome! Is that all?" thought
Nigel)—"very tiresome that I can't go; but things will sometimes
decline to fit in. They seem to 'go perwerse,' as old nurse used to
say. I hope you will all enjoy yourselves immensely. You must tell me
about it afterwards."
"I hope you will too—at home," Nigel said with a great effort. He did
not hope anything of the kind, really. This "Australian cousin Tom,"
who was "such a nice fellow," weighed upon him like an incubus.
"I am sure to do that. One always can enjoy one's self, one way or
another," said Ethel merrily. "And as I shall not have the refreshment
of the river, I shall have the refreshment of Tom's talk. He's full of
ideas, and he has some fun in him too. I wish you and he could meet,
but he only stays one night. By-and-by I hope he will pay us a long
visit. Must you go? Well, please don't say a word to Malcolm to spoil
his day. He doesn't know about Tom arriving before lunch, Mother only
told me just now that she had heard it. We didn't expect Tom till late;
but you see that makes a difference. I couldn't possibly be away—could
I?"
"No; I see."
"You'll come in again some day soon, I dare say, for a proper
reasonable call. You know how glad we all are to see you always."
Nigel did not care about "we all." He wanted Ethel individually to be
glad. But he only said "good-bye" seriously, and went.
Ethel watched him through the window, till he was out of sight. Then
she turned to the table and took up her work, but had to put it down
again, for three or four large tears would have their way at last, and
everything was deluged in a watery mist.
"How silly! Oh I wish I could go! But I know I am right. It would have
been such a delight—the river and Nigel and all! There, I mustn't
let myself think. Mother mustn't guess how I mind. I'm glad Nigel
didn't see. It would have spoilt his day, if he had thought me much
disappointed, and now they will all be as merry as kittens. Oh how I
wish I didn't so desperately love my own way. There's nothing in the
world I should like so much—such a lovely day, and all of them there,
and—and only poor good-natured old Tom at home, instead! Yes, of course
he has some fun in him, but such slow fun!
"Did Nigel mind very much? I hope not—I don't want his pleasure to be
spoilt—and yet I shouldn't like him not to care at all. But I suppose
he did, a little. When he looks so preternaturally grave it always
means that he is vexed or worried. Oh if I could have been with them
to-day! There now—I'm going in for discontent again. I think I'll run
out and feed the chickens the first thing. It's easier to manage one's
self out in the open air. And then I have any amount to get through
before Tom comes, with his endless talk about Australia. The sock shall
wait," concluded Ethel cheerily.
If her eyes were still moist, she left the room singing.