MONICA'S REQUEST
HE looked as surprised as they when they met each other. Sidney
introduced Austin at once.
"I came up here for a blow," said Randolph.
"And perhaps to get away from people," said Sidney with quick
intuition. "We had no idea we were pursuing you, though we admired the
purpose and energy of your long strides."
Randolph smiled.
"I was pursued by visions of dinners and crowded drawing-rooms. I have
come from town to escape them."
"Then my mother wasn't successful in capturing you," said Austin; "she
had a hard try, didn't she?"
"She was very kind. I am afraid I vexed her; but I should be no
addition at present to any company."
Sidney looked at him with a mixture of amusement and interest.
"There are very few of us who refuse Mrs. de Cressiers anything,"
she said. "I don't think it was very kind of you. And these are very
special occasions, aren't they, Austin? It is a political opportunity."
"So Mrs. de Cressiers said; but that is just one of the reasons why I
fight shy of it."
Sidney, who knew his history, was silent.
"Shake hands!" cried Austin delightedly. "I loathe politics. My mother
is too strong on them for my taste."
"I am ashamed of you both," said Sidney hotly, a warm colour creeping
up into her cheeks. "If you love your country, you must be interested
in them. It is sheer laziness with you, Austin, and you know it."
Randolph turned to her.
"What part are you going to take in these political dinners, Miss
Urquhart?"
"Oh, I shall be a listener, and perhaps try a little persuasion with
one or two stiff-necked old squires, for I want Sir Walter Rame to
succeed. He isn't of this county, but he rents a big place here, and is
honest and upright, I am sure."
Randolph was silent again. He doubted the sincerity of a would-be
member.
Sidney looked at him a little deprecatingly.
"Forgive me, Mr. Neville; I don't know you well enough to scold you,
do I? But I can't bear to think that there are some Englishmen who
wash their hands of politics because they cannot purge them of all
self-seeking and knavery. There is always good leaven in them, and we
want to increase that, not decrease it. A good captain never deserts an
old ship."
"It's only the rats," said Randolph, meeting her earnest gaze with
twinkling eyes. "I'm a bad rat and a sad rat, and I shan't be missed."
"Look here," broke in Austin; "I didn't bring you up here, Sid, to talk
politics. Let us try another subject. Look at the ocean. Are you keen
on fishing? I'm going out to-night with an old salt—a great pal of
mine. Will you make a third?"
Randolph and Austin plunged into an animated talk of fish in general.
Sidney moved away. She loved the wide expanse of earth and sky, and the
fresh keen air invigorated and refreshed her. Sitting down and leaning
her back against a rock she wondered why, at a high altitude, the
troubles and worries of daily life seemed so small and insignificant.
"I suppose," she mused, "it is because I feel so near Heaven, and deep
down in my heart I know that my deepest love and interests are there."
When, a little later, Randolph and Austin joined her they were both
conscious of an increased radiance and softness in her face. And
Austin, who never could keep his thoughts to himself, said:
"Communion of the saints again, Sid? I'd like to know your thoughts
when you get alone, but you never will tell me."
She roused herself with a light laugh.
"It is time we were going home. We will leave you to your solitude, Mr.
Neville. I would love to spend a night up here by myself."
Randolph did not offer to accompany them down, and Austin took care to
engage Sidney's attention for the rest of the way.
"The mother will be furious at Neville's refusal to come to her. A very
decent chap, I should say, but quite equal to holding his own with
anyone."
"He looks unhappy," Sidney remarked.
"Oh, you sentimental women! If a man has got a fit of indigestion, or
the gout in his big toe, it is heartache with you. He is posing as a
country-lover, and he's already bored to death. He jumped at the idea
of an all night fishing. I'll tell you if he has had a disappointing
love affair after our expedition is over. But I doubt it. He's bored to
tears with the quiet here, and won't own up to it."
"We won't criticise him, Austin. He is a stranger and deserves our
consideration."
When Sidney chose, a certain aloof inflection of tone had the effect of
a severe snub upon Austin. He instantly demanded very weakly:
"Please tell me what to talk about now," and then with laughter, they
resumed their usual happy intercourse together.
The day after, Monica called for Sidney to drive into the nearest
market town with her. Admiral Urquhart had a small trap, and a very
fat lazy pony. Monica's cob was a fast one, and Sidney was always glad
to go with her rather than drive herself. Friday was market day in
Pegborough, and both of them liked to go there every week.
"Randolph has taken Chuckles off my hands for the day," Monica said. "I
shall be glad when his holidays are over. He is rather a handful for
poor Aunt Dannie, and I can't have him always with me."
"I wish you would send him up to me oftener. I adore him."
"Sidney, I'm going to ask a favour of you." Monica spoke abruptly, and
a certain little frown appeared between her level eyebrows.
"Ask away; you know you will get it."
"Don't be rash. It's this. I want to know if you'll give Chuckles a
little Sunday tuition on Sunday afternoons?"
If Sidney was surprised, she did not show it.
Monica flicked her cob a little nervously as she continued:
"I can't do it, as you know. It isn't in my line at all, and poor old
Aunt Dannie tries and fails. Last Sunday the little imp chased her
round the room with sofa cushions. I know you have a class in the
morning, and it seems nasty of me to wish to spoil your quiet Sunday
afternoons, but the fact is, I feel he wants something that I can't
give him. He is growing up a godless little heathen, and seems lacking
in moral principles. I don't know why I can't give them to him, but I
can't. They're instinctive with me, but he seems morally deficient. And
I'm anxious, awfully anxious, that he should grow up to be an upright
honourable man. I know what you believe in, Sidney, and I want you to
impart your faith to him."
Sidney was silent. Sudden tears sprang into her eyes.
"I would love to have him, Monica dear, but you ought to teach him, not
I."
Monica looked before her with set lips.
"You know what my religion is. I never want to appear other than I am.
I go to church once on Sunday. I practise honesty and live straight.
I have a strong belief in leaving the world better than I find it. I
believe in our Creator. That is the sum and substance of my faith. I
get along very well. I have been successful in all that I have put my
hand to, and I want no more. But I have failed so far in building up
Chuckles' character. I can build my own; I can't build his."
"He wants a foundation stone, and so do you." Sidney's tone was soft
and reflective.
"He may do so. I give you leave to do what you can in that direction.
But I differ from you entirely about myself. I consider I have shaped
my own life since I left school. I have firm ground under my feet—duty
is my foundation; a good straight life springs up from it. This sounds
conceited. It is only what I aim at. I sometimes fail in the practice,
and I seem to fail with Chuckles. Duty is always shirked by him, and
oh, Sidney! My hopes are centred in him. I want him to grow up a
success, not a failure. I hope to hand him over a thriving, prosperous
farm—his heritage; only regard it as a trust for him at present. They
say single women make a mess of a boy's training, but I am determined
that I shall not. No one can say I spoil him, and I think I have his
love."
"Chuckles is very lucky," said Sidney warmly.
"I think he is," responded Monica with a little laugh; "not in his
aunt, but in his surroundings. But I honestly would like him to have a
little more religion. He hates church. When Aunt Dannie discourses to
him on the love of God for good little boys, and how he ought to love
back, he says he can't love a Person he never sees, and he doesn't
want to be a good little boy. Then she shakes her head over him, and
he laughs at her. I feel that his only hope in that direction is being
taught by you."
Sidney did not answer for a moment; then she said slowly:
"You know, Monnie, I was of the same mind as you till I met that
earnest-minded German woman abroad four years ago. I hope I inherited
principles of duty and honour from dad, but I do assure you that there
is something more in life than that; and she showed it to me. Duty is a
good foundation, but it isn't the right one."
"It's good enough for me," said Monica dryly.
"But you are willing that Chuckles should have a better one?"
"No, I want him to have that, but I can't arrive at it."
"Oh, what a drab world for children and for all of us if duty filled
our hearts to the exclusion of love!"
"Don't let us moralise; but I hand over Chuckles' spiritual education
to you with pleasure."
Then they began to talk over Randolph Neville.
"It is strange," Monica said, "that he is content with my quiet life.
He seems in no hurry to leave me. To-day he has taken Chuckles up the
river, fishing. I expect he will be bored with the small imp before
long. I was vexed that he refused Mrs. de Cressiers' invitation to
dinner. She was astonished and annoyed. She is not accustomed to be
denied anything."
"No," Sidney said, laughing. "We spoil her, don't we? And she was quite
aware of her condescension in asking him at all, as she knew nothing of
him. I like him, Monnie; I admire strong silent men, and I am sure he
is one of them, but something has embittered and soured him."
"Yes, and I heard this morning what it is. His cousin mentioned it in a
letter to me. The girl he was going to marry threw him over and married
someone else."
"Oh!" said Sidney with a long-drawn breath. "If a man is real in his
feelings, he takes that very badly."
"Yes, but it ought not to spoil his life."
"It won't spoil Mr. Neville's."
"I hope not. He ranks himself as a failure, but that's mere surface
talk. He is keen now on getting a Government appointment abroad. I hope
he will. He is too good to be an idler, and he unfortunately has enough
money to be that."
They accomplished their marketing and returned home. Sidney had a busy
afternoon. Her uncle carried her off to his workshop directly lunch
was over. He was erecting a small teahouse in the garden, and wanted
her advice about the dimensions and shape of it. Then her father told
her he wanted to drive over to inquire for an old friend of his, a Sir
Peter Wood, who lived six miles off, and he would like her to accompany
him.
When they came home, a woman from the village was waiting for her.
One of her little Sunday scholars was very ill and wanted to see his
teacher. Sidney went off promptly, and returned only just in time for
dinner. And after dinner, she played chess with her uncle, sang to her
father, and got no time to herself till bedtime arrived.
When she was at last alone her thoughts turned to Chuckles. She was
a true child-lover, and had often longed to have a bigger bit of his
company than was possible. Here was an opportunity. And the thought
of all that might result from it, made her open her Bible and pray
earnestly for guidance.
"It is a bit of building," she thought as she read to herself. "'Other
foundation can no man lay than that is laid, which is Christ Jesus.'
God's building, and if Jesus and His Life and Love are left out in a
child's training, how can he be expected to thrive on stern duty and
self-repression? Love makes it all so easy."
And as her mind dwelt on the theme of the New Testament her heart
glowed within her.
"What does it matter about my broken prospects when I serve One Who
never disappoints, Who never fails? He is a rock under my feet, and
that gives me an idea for to-morrow. I will tell Chuckles the story of
the builders on the rocks and the sand."
She went to sleep that night with a happier heart than she had had for
a long time, and with a little shamed feeling that she had not realised
more of the wealth she possessed in the unseen things.
Precisely at three o'clock the next afternoon Chuckles appeared. He
was in his Sunday garb—an immaculately clean white sailor suit; but he
looked at Sidney rather suspiciously.
"I don't know what I've comed for. Aunt Monnie said I was to listen to
you, Miss Sid. What are you going to say?"
"We're going to enjoy ourselves," said Sidney, producing a box of
chocolates. "Help yourself, Chuckles, and you shall choose where we
shall sit, under a tree or in a tree. But I vote for the garden and not
the house."
Chuckles gave a swift glance round; then his eyes rested on the river
in the distance, and he promptly said:
"I chooses to sit in the boat."
For an instant Sidney hesitated; then she gave consent, and they
marched down to the bottom of the garden.
"We won't unmoor her as it is Sunday, and I never use her on Sunday."
Chuckles looked a little dissatisfied, but clambered in, and Sidney
followed him, thinking to herself that the boat had one distinct
advantage, for that Chuckles could not so easily run away from her.
"What am I to listen to you about?" the small boy demanded, folding his
arms and looking up at her with a glint of defiance in his brown eyes.
"Oh, just talk," said Sidney happily. "Why weren't you at church this
morning?"
"I don't like it. I—I washed the yabbits' house." Chuckles "r's" had a
way of escaping him sometimes. "And then I wented down and built sand
castles on the sand, but the sea comed in, and I had to come home. Aunt
Dannie says I'll never go to heaven."
He said this quite cheerfully.
"I'm going to tell you a story," said Sidney promptly. "One fine day
two men walked along by the seashore, and they suddenly said to each
other: 'We'll build a house to live in by the sea; it's so beautiful
here.' So they began to build, and first they walked about to choose
the place. And one was quicker than the other, and he started the very
next day. He chose a nice flat place on the sand, a good way from the
sea, and he got some men to help him, and every day his house grew
bigger and higher. When his doors and windows were in, he looked at his
friend's house, and he could see no sign of it. At last he went over
and called his friend.
"'What are you doing? Just look at my house. You've done nothing but
dig, dig, dig. Every day you dig, and I have had no digging at all.'
"'Yes,' his friend said, 'I've been watching you, and I'll allow your
house is getting built very quickly, but, you see, I want a good strong
foundation, for this is a stormy part, so I am digging into the rock.'
"'Oh, that's waste of time; there's nothing to show for your labour.'
"'We'll wait and see,' the slow builder said. And so days passed; his
house grew very slowly, but it was firm.
"The house on the sand was finished very soon, and the man furnished
it, and took his family to live in it, and everybody said what an
industrious worker he had been, and how quick and how clever he was.
And they laughed at the rock builder; they said he would be an old man
before his house would be finished. But he did not care; he went slowly
and steadily on. At last his house, too, was complete, and he went into
it to live with his family.
"Now, Chuckles, which house would you lived in?"
Chuckles had been following this story with open mouth and eyes.
"I like sand better than rock," he remarked reflectively; and Sidney
was glad his aunt was not there to hear him say it.
"Well, you would have chosen a house on sand. What happens to your sand
castles?"
"Oh!" said Chuckles, with a beaming face. "You're going to make a storm
knock it down. I should like to have been there to see it."
Sidney went on hurriedly.
"Yes; one day the clouds rolled up, and the sky got black, and the wind
rolled the waves in with a boom and a crash, and the two men got inside
their houses and hoped they would be safe. But, alas! The house on the
sand soon began to rock and sway, and the sea rushed in at the bottom,
and then suddenly it all crumpled up and fell down with an awful crash,
and the man and his family were crushed to death."
"And the other house?"
Chuckles' eyes were nearly starting out of his head.
"Well, the slow man looked out of his window, and saw his neighbour's
house destroyed, and his wife began to cry and say: 'It will be our
turn next.' And then he said, with a proud smile: 'No; we are built
upon the rock, and the ocean itself and all the storms in the world
won't wash us away.'
"He was right. The waves dashed against his house, and the wind beat
it, and the rain poured down; but when the storm was over and the sun
shone out there was his house safe and sound, and the other was in
ruins. Now, which do you think was best?"
"The rock," said Chuckles with conviction. "I'll build a castle on the
rocks next time."
There was a pause. It was one thing to tell the story, another to apply
it; and Sidney began to feel that her subject was above a child's
comprehension.
"That's a story from the Bible, Chuckles. Jesus told that one, and He
said that people who tried to live without Him were like the man who
wouldn't build on the rock. He is the Rock of Ages, you know. And God
wants us all to be builders; only we must take care we build properly."
Chuckles leant over the side of the boat, and began to splash the water
with his hands.
"I don't know nothing about God," he remarked carelessly, "and I can't
live with Jesus. He is up above the stars, millions of miles away. Aunt
Dannie told me so."
"He is here now, Chuckles—close to us. He sees you, and He hears what
you say."
Chuckles looked fearfully round; then he shook his curly head.
"I would rather He didn't."
"That is because you don't know Him, Chuckles. I want you to get to
know Jesus Christ. I want Him to be your best friend."
"The las' friend I made was our washwoman's husban'. He mends umbrellas
and china, and he sharpened my knife for nuffin. He lived in London
once, but the fog got on his chest. I've got an awful lot of friends."
"But I don't think you have one friend who died to save you. And Jesus
loved you so much that He did this for you. If He was on earth, He
would draw you gently to Himself, and put His arm round you. He would
tell you He had died so as to let you go to Heaven, for He had been
punished instead of you. He would tell you He wanted to live in your
little heart, and make you happy and take care of you; and if you only
saw His kind, loving face, if you only heard His voice, you would look
up and say: 'I will follow You all my life. I will try to please You
every day.'"
"Would I, do you think?" said Chuckles thoughtfully. "If I could really
see Him, p'raps I would. Only Aunt Dannie always says He wants me to be
puffickly good, and have no fun at all."
"I am sure the Lord Jesus Christ loves to see you have fun—fun that
makes you and everybody else happy is quite right. It is only fun that
hurts or destroys anything and anybody that is wrong. Now, Chuckles,
will you have the Lord Jesus for your best friend?"
Chuckles gave a little wriggle.
"I don't know Him."
"No, you don't; but I'm going to try to get you to know Him. I shall
talk to you about Him, and tell you stories about Him, and read you
messages from Him, until you won't be able to keep from loving Him. He
is my best friend, and I want Him to be yours. And when you come to
see me on Sunday afternoons, you are coming to meet Him and make His
acquaintance. He is so close to us now that I am going to speak to Him,
and you can listen to what I am saying, if you like."
Sidney bent her head. Chuckles watched her with keen interest.
"O Lord Jesus, will you be Chuckles' Friend? Will You speak to him
Yourself, and make him love You and know You. For Thy Name's Sake.
Amen."
"Why, that's praying!" said Chuckles. "You said Amen."
"Praying is only speaking," said Sidney. "Now I have talked to you
enough. You talk to me."
"There's a man smoking the other side of the wall," said Chuckles,
springing up in the boat. "Why, it's Cousin Ran!"
And Randolph it proved to be. He had walked down to fetch the small
boy home to tea, but how long he had listened to the Sunday lesson on
the other side of the wall, he did not say. Sidney wondered. And she
wondered if she had made any impression upon Chuckles. As she stooped
to kiss him and wish him good-bye she said:
"Have you liked our talk?"
He nodded.
"I liked about the storm and houses. I shall play at that."
"And remember, darling, that you're a little building belonging to God,
and unless you are a part of Jesus Christ, Who is the Rock, you'll
never stand the storm that will come to you."
"That's too differcult," said Chuckles, and then he turned to Randolph.
"She's going to make me have a New Friend," he said with a little nod
of his head at Sidney. "But I haven't said 'Yes' yet."
Randolph's eyes met Sidney's.
"Ah!" he said. "You have made me wish myself a boy again, Miss
Urquhart. I used to have Sunday lessons in a garden once upon a time."
Then, without another word, he marched Chuckles off, and Sidney went to
her father wondering again if she had done any good or not by her first
effort towards Chuckles' spiritual education.
Up the road the man and boy walked together.
"I love Miss Sid," Chuckles asserted. "I ate twenty chocolates, and she
never said 'Stop.'"
"Mind you remember what she tells you," said Randolph, somewhat
severely.
"Did you listen to her behind the wall?"
Randolph scorned embarrassment.
"If I did, it was for my own profit."
"Tell me honest now," said Chuckles gravely, "do you know this Friend?
You don't think she's taking me in. I don't like church and catechism,
you know, but she made it out quite different, and she says Jesus will
like me to have fun. Do you know Him like she does?"
"That I don't."
"Not at all?"
"Well, perhaps a little."
"Is it proper for men and boys to know Him?"
"Quite proper," said Randolph, with a smile, and as he spoke the
words from some distant cell in his memory came almost to his lips:
"'Neither let the mighty man glory in his might, let not the rich man
glory in his riches, but let him that glorieth, glory within, that he
understandeth and knoweth Me.'"
"I'll think about it," said Chuckles in a loft manner, "and tell her
next Sunday whether I'm going to do what she wants or not. But I shall
cut the rope when she isn't looking, and then we shall drift out to sea
and be shipwrecked."
As Chuckles' intentions that were told never came off, Randolph made no
remark. His thoughts persistently followed Sidney, and at times he was
perplexed and annoyed by the vagaries of his brain.
When Monica met them coming in at the garden gate, she looked a trifle
anxiously at Chuckles.
"I hope you have been good," she said.
"Me and Miss Sid don't want to be good," said Chuckles with his chin in
the air. "We don't talk about such stupid things as that."
Monica wisely forebore to question him further. It was enough for her
that he had been and was willing to go again.