A SUNDAY AT THE MOAT HOUSE.
THE Moat House was situated about half-a-mile from Crumleigh,
a little village which consisted of one straggling street and one old
church surrounded by a small bury-ground. The inhabitants
of Crumleigh were nearly all of the labouring class, the heads of the
families being employed on the neighbouring farms, so that the
worshippers who assembled at the church on Sundays were, with a very
few exceptions, working people who earned their livelihoods on the
land.
Sir Jasper Amery never went to church nowadays. Since his son's death
he had shrunk from appearing in public, and generally spent Sunday
mornings shut up alone in the library, whither he, as a rule,
repaired as soon as he had breakfasted. On this particular Sunday,
though, which Mr. Tillotson and his daughter were spending at the
Moat House, Sir Jasper inquired into the intentions of his guests,
and desired to know who was going to church.
"Are you?" he asked Mr. Tillotson, after learning that his niece
meant to take the little girls.
"Not if you would like me to keep you company, Sir Jasper,"
the lawyer answered, kindly and considerately.
"I wish you to please yourself, Tillotson," Sir Jasper said; but he
looked as though he would like his guest to remain with him, so
Mr. Tillotson elected to stay at home.
At half-past ten o'clock Mrs. Wallis and the three little girls
started to walk to Crumleigh. The service at the church did not
commence till eleven, so they had plenty of time. Celia and Lulu
walked ahead of Joy and her mother. The way led from the high road
through exceedingly muddy lanes. There had been heavy rain during the
night, which had cleared, however, and given place to a perfect
summer's day, though Sir Jasper had foretold at the breakfast-table
that there was more rain to come. Fresh sweet scents arose from the
moist earth, and the air was fragrant with the perfume of dog-roses,
meadow-sweet, honeysuckle and other summer flowers.
Celia and Lulu chatted merrily; but Joy looked unusually grave as she
walked quietly along by her mother's side, her eyes fixed on the
couple in front; and she was so occupied with her own thoughts that
she awoke from her reverie with a start when Mrs. Wallis addressed
her.
"What was it you said, mother?" she asked. "I did not hear."
"I remarked that Celia and this new acquaintance of ours appear
to get on well together."
"Yes," Joy agreed, "they are quite friends already, are they not?
What do you think of Lulu's best dress, mother?"
"It is very handsome, but quite unsuitable for a young girl."
"Celia says she wishes she had one like it to wear on Sundays."
"If she had I fear she would be thinking more of her finery than
of her devotions. Why are they stopping? Oh, I see. Lulu has splashed
into a puddle of muddy water."
"I never knew such rugged lanes as these!" Lulu cried, irascibly.
"Do look at the wheel ruts! And do look at the splashes of mud on my
frock! I shall not be fit to be seen by the time we reach the
church."
Mrs. Wallis could not help smiling at the sight of the girl's rueful
face; however, she very kindly produced her own handkerchief and
tried to rectify the damage done, but without much success, for the
mud splashes left great, dark stains on the pale blue material.
This fact made Lulu very cross; but she recovered her temper, when,
church reached at last, she followed Mrs. Wallis up the aisle,
conscious of the many pairs of eyes watching her gaily-clad figure.
She reflected that it was not often the simple villagers saw anyone
so fashionably dressed as herself. This knowledge made her very
self-conscious, and she fidgeted with her bracelets, and was so fussy
that even Celia, who was inclined to think all their visitor did must
be right, wished she would get settled; but it was not until she
caught Miss Pring's gaze fixed upon her, whilst the clergyman
was reading the second lesson, that a sudden stillness fell upon her,
and she was quiet during the rest of the service.
"It was a nice sermon, wasn't it?" said Celia, as she and Lulu
started for the homeward walk together as they had come. "It was the
Vicar—Mr. Cole—who preached; he often comes to the Moat House to see
Uncle Jasper."
"I didn't hear a word of the sermon," Lulu acknowledged, frankly,
"not even the text. I never listen to sermons; they're always
so stupid."
"Oh, do you think so?" Celia was not quite ready to agree with such
a sweeping assertion. "Oh, here's Joy!" she cried, as her sister ran
up to them.
"Mother's coming behind with Miss Pring and Miss Mary, so I thought
I'd walk home with you, Celia," Joy explained.
"Oh, let us get on! Don't let us wait for Miss Pring!" exclaimed
Lulu. "You should have seen how severely she looked at me in church."
"That was because you didn't sit still, I expect," Joy replied; "once
I thought mother was going to speak to you about it."
Lulu was silent for a few minutes, slightly abashed; at length
she remarked;
"I think your mother's rather particular."
"Oh, no, she isn't," Joy answered, quickly; "but she always says
people should be reverent in their manner in church, and remember
they are in God's house."
"And wasn't I reverent?" Lulu demanded, in astonishment.
"Well, no, I don't think you were," Joy admitted, after a moment's
hesitation.
"Oh, Joy!" Celia whispered, fearing their visitor would take offence.
"Let her say what she thinks!" Lulu cried, sharply. "I wish you'd
tell me what you mean," she said to Joy; "come, you may as well."
"You—you seemed to be thinking of yourself all the time," was the
frank response— "of yourself and your clothes, you know."
"Well, what ought I to have been thinking of, then?" Lulu questioned,
flippantly.
"Of God," Joy answered, in a low voice.
There was a brief silence, broken by Celia, who addressed Lulu
in conciliatory tones.
"You mustn't be offended with Joy," she said; "she means no
harm—she's always so outspoken."
"Oh, I don't mind that! I like people to say what they mean.
It's only when people make a point of snubbing me, like Miss Pring,
that I get annoyed." She looked at Joy with more interest in her
glance. "You're a queer little thing!" she told her, but she smiled
as she said it, and was evidently not offended.
Lulu's manner was slightly subdued during the remainder of the walk.
They had to pass Home Vale on their way, and waited at the gate
to speak to Miss Pring and her niece, who were following
with Mrs. Wallis.
"Well, young people, what did you think of the sermon?" asked Miss
Pring, as they stood in a group talking for a few minutes. "A sound,
plain sermon, I considered it, full of home truths. I expect it
conveyed lessons to us all."
"I expect so," Mrs. Wallis agreed; "the text is one that will bear
many constructions."
"What was the text?" Lulu whispered to Celia, but not in a
sufficiently low tone to be unheard by all the others, for Miss Pring
repeated the question sharply.
"What was the text? And do you mean to say you have forgotten
it already! Oh, you did not hear it? I should be ashamed to confess
it. The text was: 'Little children, keep yourselves from idols.'"
"But we don't worship idols nowadays!" Lulu exclaimed, with pretended
innocence.
"Oh, do we not!" Miss Pring cried, "You should have listened to the
sermon, child, and perhaps you would be a little wiser for having
done so. We don't worship idols nowadays, you say? Remember, there
are other idols but those made of wood and stone! People worship
money, and position, and fame, and fine dress, and all these things
and many more may come between the soul and the living God."
"Oh!" cried Lulu, suddenly abashed. "I see what you mean."
"I am glad you do, my dear," said Miss Pring, significantly. "It's a
pity you missed that sermon, though."
The afternoon, which was fine, the three girls spent in the rock
garden, but in the evening it rained again—such an incessant downpour
that the half mile walk to Crumleigh Church was quite out of the
question. Mrs. Wallis sat down at the piano in the drawing-room after
tea, and commenced the accompaniment of a hymn which she sang
with the children. The sounds of music brought Sir Jasper and
Mr. Tillotson from the dining-room to listen, and Lulu forgot her
dress and her affectations, as she joined her voice with Celia and
Joy's, and afterwards declared she had never before in her life spent
such a happy Sunday evening.
"I think I shall try to learn to play some hymn tunes," she confided
to Celia, later on; "it's so dull at home on Sunday evenings if we
don't go to church; and sometimes in the winter I get such bad colds
that I'm obliged to stay at home. How beautifully your mother plays!
You can't think how I envy you and your sister."
"Oh, why?" Celia cried, intensely surprised, for she considered
she had more cause to envy Lulu, the rich man's daughter, than Lulu
had cause to envy her. "I thought you had everything you could wish
for. Doesn't your father give you all you want?"
"Oh, yes, of course he does!"
"Then, why should you envy Joy and me?"
"Because you have a mother to love you—mine died when I was baby,
you know. I like your mother very much, but I'm afraid she doesn't
altogether approve of me!"
"What makes you think that?" Celia asked uneasily, for she knew
it was so.
"The way I have caught her looking at me several times to-day—half
sorry, half vexed." There was a slight pause, after which Lulu
proceeded in a lighter tone: "I've really enjoyed this Sunday, and I
do hope Sir Jasper will invite me here again. I wonder if your mother
would let you come and stay with me at T—? Our house is in the main
street, but there's plenty of room in it, and it's very comfortable.
Would you like to come?"
"Oh, indeed I should!" Celia replied, delighted at the idea.
"I will speak to father about it," Lulu said, "and get him to ask
Mrs. Wallis to let you come. I suppose you will have holidays
later on?"
"Yes, they will begin at the end of July, when Eric comes home."
"Oh, I had forgotten your brother! Perhaps you will not like to leave
the Moat House whilst he is here?"
"Oh, I shall not mind." Celia blushed as she caught her companion's
glance of surprise. "Of course I am looking forward to seeing him,"
she explained, hastily, "but he and Joy spend most of their time
together during the holidays."
"Sir Jasper has not seen him yet, has he?" Lulu questioned. "Perhaps
he will make him his heir," she added, after Celia had replied in the
negative.
"His heir?" Celia repeated. "Did you know Uncle Jasper's son?"
she inquired, presently.
"I never spoke to him, but I used to see him a T— sometimes, driving
in the town, when he was visiting his father. His was a dreadful
death, wasn't it?"
"I never heard how he died. I suppose mother knows, but she has not
told us, and I never thought of asking her."
"He was drowned."
"Drowned? How dreadful!"
"Yes, and especially as his body was never found."
"How did it happen?"
"He went for a walking tour with a friend, a gentleman from London,
a barrister like himself, and whilst they were going along a cliff
path somewhere in Cornwall, Mr. Amery tripped, and fell right over
the cliff into the sea. The tide was going out at the time, and his
body was never found."
"Oh, poor fellow!" Celia cried. "And poor Uncle Jasper!" she added
sympathetically; "no wonder he looks so sad sometimes."
"He is much brighter than he was before you all came here,"
Lulu said. "He seems very fond of your mother, doesn't he? I don't
wonder, for she has such pleasant manners. Oh, don't you know what I
mean? She doesn't rub me the wrong way like Miss Pring does.
I believe Miss Pring thinks me a dreadful girl. And when she begins
to moralise with me, she aggravates me to such an extent, that I just
say the first thing I can think of that I know will shock her."
"Oh, what a shame!" Celia cried, but she could not help laughing.
"I don't care for Miss Pring myself, but Joy likes her, and Miss Mary
thinks there is no one so good as her aunt. I believe she is very
kind; but, did you ever see anyone dress with less taste?"
"Never," Lulu admitted. The conversation having once more turned upon
dress, she told Celia of the various costumes she had at home.
"Does your father let you wear what you like?" Celia asked.
"Yes. I always choose my own frocks. Don't you?"
"No."
"It's a shame you can't have nicer clothes!" Lulu said; adding with
frank admiration, "And you are so very pretty, you know!"
"Oh," cried Celia, her fair face aflame with blushes, "you mustn't
flatter me like that!" But she was very pleased, in spite of her
words of reproof, for she was a vain little girl at heart.