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available by the Google Books Library Project (http://books.google.com)
Note: Project Gutenberg has the other volume of this work.
Volume II: see https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/44721
THE PILLARS OF THE HOUSE;
Or,
Under Wode, Under Rode.
by
CHARLOTTE M. YONGE
Author of 'The Heir of Redclyffe,' etc.
In Two Volumes.
VOL I.
London:
Macmillan and Co.
1875.
CONTENTS TO VOL. I.
I. THE BIRTH-DAY GIFT
II. THE PIC-NIC
III. FORTUNATUS' PURSE
IV. TWILIGHT AND DAWN
V. WORKING FOR BREAD
VI. THE CACIQUE
VII. THE CHESS-PLAYER'S BATTLE
VIII. THE HOME
IX. THE THIRTEEN
X. THE FAMILY COBWEB ON THE MOVE
XI. THE CHORAL FESTIVAL
XII. GIANT DESPAIR'S CASTLE
XIII. PEGASUS IN HARNESS
XIV. WHAT IT MAY LEAD TO
XV. WHAT IT LED TO
XVI. THE WINTER OF DISCONTENT
XVII. MIDSUMMER SUN
XVIII. BY THE RIVER
XIX. THE HOUSE WITHOUT PILLARS
XX. VALE LESTON
XXI. A KETTLE OF FISH
XXII. THE REAL THING AND NO MISTAKE
XXIII. SMOKE-JACK ALLEY
THE PILLARS OF THE HOUSE;
OR,
UNDER WODE, UNDER RODE.
CHAPTER I.
THE BIRTH-DAY GIFT.
'O I've got a plum-cake, and a feast let us make,
Come, school-fellows, come at my call;
I assure you 'tis nice, and we'll all have a slice,
Here's more than enough for us all.'
_Jane Taylor._
'It is come! Felix, it is come!'
So cried, shouted, shrieked a chorus, as a street door was torn open
to admit four boys, with their leathern straps of books over their
shoulders. They set up a responsive yell of 'Jolly! Jolly!' which
being caught up and re-echoed by at least five voices within, caused
a considerable volume of sound in the narrow entry and narrower
staircase, up which might be seen a sort of pyramid of children.
'Where is it?' asked the tallest of the four arrivals, as he soberly
hung up his hat.
'Mamma has got it in the drawing-room, and Papa has been in ever since
dinner,' was the universal cry from two fine complexioned, handsome
girls, from a much smaller girl and boy, and from a creature rolling on
the stairs, whose sex and speech seemed as yet uncertain.
'And where's Cherry?' was the further question; 'is she there too?'
'Yes, but--' as he laid his hand on the door--'don't open the letter
there. Get Cherry, and we'll settle what to do with it.'
'O Felix, I've a stunning notion!'
'Felix, promise to do what I want!'
'Felix, do pray buy me some Turkish delight!'
'Felix, I do want the big spotty horse.'
Such shouts and insinuations, all deserving the epithet of the first,
pursued Felix as he entered a room, small, and with all the contents
faded and worn, but with an air of having been once tasteful, and
still made the best of. Contents we say advisedly, meaning not merely
the furniture but the inmates, namely, the pale wan fragile mother,
working, but with the baby on her knee, and looking as if care and toil
had brought her to skin and bone, though still with sweet eyes and a
lovely smile; the father, tall and picturesque, with straight handsome
features, but with a hectic colour, wasted cheek, and lustrous eye,
that were sad earnests of the future. He was still under forty, his
wife some years less; and elder than either in its expression of wasted
suffering was the countenance of the little girl of thirteen years old
who lay on the sofa, with pencil, paper, and book, her face with her
mother's features exaggerated into a look at once keen and patient, all
three forming a sad contrast to the solid exuberant health on the other
side the door.
Truly the boy who entered was a picture of sturdy English vigour,
stout-limbed, rosy faced, clear eyed, open, and straightforward
looking, perhaps a little clumsy with the clumsiness of sixteen,
especially when conscience required tearing spirits to be subdued to
the endurance of the feeble. It was, however, a bright congratulating
look that met him from the trio. The little girl started up: 'Your
sovereign's come, Felix!'
The father showed his transparent-looking white teeth in a merry laugh.
'Here are the galleons, you boy named in a lucky hour! How many times
have you spent them in fancy?'
The mother held up the letter, addressed to Master Felix Chester
Underwood, No. 8, St. Oswald's Buildings, Bexley, and smiled as she
said, 'Is it all right, my boy?'
'They want me to open it outside, Mamma!--Come, White-heart, we want
you at the council.'
And putting his arm round his little sister Geraldine's waist, while
she took up her small crutch, Felix disappeared with her, the mother
looking wistfully after them, the father giving something between a
laugh and a sigh.
'Then you decide against speaking to him,' said Mrs. Underwood.
'Poor children, yes. A little happiness will do them a great deal more
good than the pound would do to us. The drops that will fill their
little cup will but be lost in our sea.'
'Yes, I like what comes from Vale Leston to be still a festive matter,'
said Mrs. Underwood; 'and at least we are sure the dear boy will never
spend it selfishly. It only struck me whether he would not enjoy
finding himself able to throw something into the common stock.'
'_He_ would, honest lad,' said Mr. Underwood; 'but, Mamma, you are very
hard-hearted towards the rabble. Even if this one pound would provide
all the shoes and port wine that are pressing on the maternal mind, the
stimulus of a day's treat would be much more wholesome.'
'But not for you,' said his wife.
'Yes, for me. If the boy includes us old folks in his festivity, it
will be as good as a week's port wine. You doubt, my sweet Enid. Has
not our long honeymoon at Vale Leston helped us all this time?' Her
name was Mary, but having once declared her to be a woman made of the
same stuff as Enid, he had made it his pet title for her.
Mrs. Underwood's thoughts went far away into the long ago of Vale
Leston. She could hardly believe that nine years only had passed since
that seven-years' honeymoon. She was a woman of the fewest possible
words, and her husband generally answered her face instead of her voice.
Vale Leston had promised to be an ample provision when Edward Underwood
had resigned his fellowship to marry the Rector's niece and adopted
daughter, his own distant cousin, with the assurance of being presented
to the living hereafter, and acting in the meantime as curate. It
was a family living, always held conjointly with a tolerably good
estate, enough to qualify the owner for the dangerous position of
'squarson,' as no doubt many a clerical Underwood had been ever since
their branch had grown out from the stem of the elder line, which had
now disappeared. These comfortable quarters had seemed a matter of
certainty, until the uncle died suddenly and with a flaw in his will,
so that the undesirable nephew and heir-at-law whom he had desired to
exclude, a rich dissipated man, son to a brother older than the father
of the favourite niece, had stepped in, and differing _in toto_ from
Edward Underwood, had made his own son take orders for the sake of the
living, and it had been the effort of the young wife ever since not to
disobey her husband by showing that it had been to her the being driven
out of paradise.
ASSISTANT CURACY.--A Priest of Catholic opinions is needed
at a town parish. Resident Rector and three Curates. Daily
Prayers. Choral Service on Sundays and Holy-days. Weekly
Communion.--Apply to P.C.B., St. Oswald's Rectory, Bexley.
Every one knows the sort of advertisement which had brought Mr.
Underwood to Bexley, as a place which would accord with the doctrines
and practices dear to him. Indeed, apart from the advertisement,
Bexley had a fame. A great rubrical war had there been fought out by
the Rector of St. Oswald's, and when he had become a colonial Bishop,
his successor was reported to have carried on his work; and the beauty
of the restored church, and the exquisite services, were so generally
talked of, that Mr. Underwood thought himself fortunate in obtaining
the appointment. Mr. Bevan too, the Rector, was an exceedingly
courteous, kindly-mannered man, talking in a soft low voice in the most
affectionate and considerate manner, and with good taste and judgment
that exceedingly struck and pleased the new curate. It was the more
surprise to him to find the congregations thin, and a general languor
and indifference about the people who attended the church. There was
also a good deal of opposition in the parish, some old sullen seceders
who went to a neighbouring proprietary chapel, many more of erratic
tastes haunted the places of worship of the numerous sects, who swarmed
in the town, and many more were living in a state of town heathenism.
It was not long before the perception of the cause began to grow upon
Mr. Underwood. The machinery was perfect, but the spring was failing;
the salt was there, but where was the savour? The discourses he heard
from his rector were in one point of view faultless, but the old
Scottish word 'fushionless' would rise into his thoughts whenever
they ended, and something of effect and point was sure to fail; they
were bodies without souls, and might well satisfy a certain excellent
solicitor, who always praised them as 'just the right medium, sober,
moderate, and unexciting.'
In the first pleasure of a strong, active, and enterprising man, at
finding his plans unopposed by authority, Mr. Underwood had been
delighted with his rector's ready consent to whatever he undertook,
and was the last person to perceive that Mr. Bevan, though objecting
to nothing, let all the rough and tough work lapse upon his curates,
and took nothing but the graceful representative part. Even then,
Mr. Underwood had something to say in his defence; Mr. Bevan was
valetudinarian in his habits, and besides--he was in the midst of a
courtship--after his marriage he would give his mind to his parish.
For Mr. Bevan, hitherto a confirmed and rather precise and luxurious
bachelor, to the general surprise, married a certain Lady Price, the
young widow of an old admiral, and with her began a new _régime._
My Lady, as every one called her, since she retained her title and
name, was by no means desirous of altering the ornamental arrangements
in church, which she regarded with pride; but she was doubly anxious
to guard her husband's health; and she also had the sharpest eye to
the main chance. Hitherto, whatever had been the disappointments and
shortcomings at the Rectory, there had been free-handed expenditure,
and no stint either in charity or the expenses connected with the
service; but Lady Price had no notion of taking on her uncalled-for
outlay. The parish must do its part, and it was called on to do so
in modes that did not add to the Rector's popularity. Moreover, the
arrangements were on the principle of getting as much as possible out
of everybody, and no official failed to feel the pinch. The Rector
was as bland, gentle, and obliging as ever; but he seldom transacted
any affairs that he could help; and in the six years that had elapsed
since the marriage, every person connected with the church had changed,
except Mr. Underwood.
Yet, perhaps, as senior curate, he had felt the alteration most
heavily. He had to be, or to refuse to be, my Lady's instrument in her
various appeals; he came in for her indignation at wastefulness, and
at the unauthorised demands on the Rector; he had to feel what it was
to have no longer unlimited resources of broth and wine to fall back
upon at the Rectory; he had to supply the shortcomings of the new staff
brought in on lower terms--and all this, moreover, when his own health
and vigour were beginning to fail.
Lady Price did not like him or his family. They were poor, and she
distrusted the poor; and what was worse, she knew they were better
born and better bred than herself, and had higher aims. Gentle Mrs.
Underwood, absorbed in household cares, no more thought of rivalry
with her than with the Queen; but the soft movement, the low voice,
the quiet sweep of the worn garments, were a constant vexation to my
Lady, who having once pronounced the curate's wife affected, held to
her opinion. With Mr. Underwood she had had a fight or two, and had not
conquered, and now they were on terms of perfect respect and civility
on his side, and of distance and politeness on hers. She might talk of
him half contemptuously but she never durst show herself otherwise than
civil, though she was always longing to bring in some more deferential
person in his place; and, whenever illness interfered with his duties,
she spoke largely to her friends of the impropriety of a man's
undertaking what he could not perform.
One of her reductions had been the economising the third curate, while
making the second be always a neophyte, who received his title for
Orders, and remained his two years upon a small stipend.
The change last Easter, which had substituted a deacon for a priest,
had fallen heavily on Mr. Underwood, and would have been heavier still,
but that the new comer, Charles Audley, had attached himself warmly
to him. The young man was the son of a family of rank and connection,
and Lady Price's vanity was flattered by obtaining his assistance;
but her vexation was proportionably excited by his preference for the
Underwood household, where, in truth--with all its poverty--he found
the only atmosphere thoroughly congenial to him in all the parish of
St. Oswald's.
Speedily comprehending the state of things, he put his vigorous young
shoulder to the wheel, and, full of affectionate love and admiration
for Mr. Underwood, spared himself nothing in the hope of saving him
fatigue or exertion, quietly gave up his own holidays, was always at
his post, and had hitherto so far lightened Mr. Underwood's toil, that
he was undoubtedly getting through this summer better than the last,
for his bodily frame had long been affected by the increased amount of
toil in an ungenial atmosphere, and every access of cold weather had
told on him in throat and chest attacks, which, with characteristic
buoyancy, he would not believe serious. He never deemed himself aught
but 'better,' and the invalid habits that crept on him by stealth,
always seemed to his brave spirit consequent on a day's extra fatigue,
or the last attention to a departing cough. Alas! when every day's
fatigue was extra, the cough always depart_ing_, never depart_ed_.
Yet, though it had become a standing order in the house, that for
an hour after papa came in from his rounds, no one of the children
should be in the drawing-room, except poor little lame Geraldine,
who was permanently established there; and that afterwards, even on
strong compulsion, they should only come in one by one, as quietly as
possible, he never ceased to apologise to them for their banishment
when he felt it needful, and when he was at ease, would renew the
merriment that sometimes cost him dear.
The children had, for the most part, inherited that precious heirloom
of contentment and elasticity, and were as happy in nooks and corners
in bed-room, nursery, staircase or kitchen, as they could have been in
extensive play-rooms and gardens.
See them in full council upon the expenditure of the annual gift that
an old admiral at Vale Leston, who was godfather to Felix, was wont to
send the boy on his birth-day--that third of July, which had seemed
so bright, when birth-days had begun in the family, that no name save
Felix could adequately express his parent's feelings.
Mr. and Mrs. Underwood had fancies as to nomenclature; and that
staircase-full of children rejoiced in eccentric appellations. To begin
at the bottom--here sat on a hassock, her back against the wall, her
sharp old fairy's face uplifted, little Geraldine, otherwise Cherry,
a title that had suited her round rosiness well, till after the first
winter at Bexley, when the miseries of a diseased ankle-joint had
set in, and paled her into the tender aliases of White-heart, or
Sweet-heart. She was, as might be plainly seen in her grey eyes, a
clever child; and teaching her was a great delight to her father, and
often interested him when he was unequal to anything else. Her dark
eyebrows frowned with anxiety as she lifted up her little pointed
chin to watch sturdy frank-faced Felix, who with elaborate slowness
dealt with the envelope, tasting slowly of the excitement it created,
and edging away from the baluster, on which, causing it to contribute
frightful creaks to the general Babel, were perched numbers 4, 6,
7, and 8, to wit, Edgar, Clement, Fulbert, and Lancelot, all three
handsome, blue-eyed, fair-faced lads. Indeed Edgar was remarkable, even
among this decidedly fine-looking family. He had a peculiarly delicate
contour of feature and complexion, though perfectly healthy; and there
was something of the same expression, half keen, half dreamy, as in
Geraldine, his junior by one year; while the grace of all the attitudes
of his slender lissome figure showed to advantage beside Felix's more
sturdy form, and deliberate or downright movements; while Clement was
paler, slighter, and with rather infantine features, and shining wavy
brown hair, that nothing ever seemed to ruffle, looked so much as if
he ought to have been a girl, that Tina, short for Clementina, was his
school name. Fulbert, stout, square, fat-cheeked, and permanently rough
and dusty, looked as if he hardly belonged to the rest.
The four eldest were day-scholars at the city grammar-school; but
Lancelot, a bright-faced little fellow in knickerbockers, was a pupil
of whoever would or could teach him at home, as was the little girl
who was clinging to his leg, and whose name of Robina seemed to have
moulded her into some curious likeness to a robin-redbreast, with her
brown soft hair, rosy cheeks, bright merry eyes, plump form, and quick
loving audacity. Above her sat a girl of fifteen, with the family
features in their prettiest development--the chiseled straight profile,
the clear white roseately tinted skin, the large well-opened azure
eyes, the profuse glossy hair, the long, slender, graceful limbs, and
that pretty head leant against the knees of her own very counterpart;
for these were Wilmet and Alda, the twin girls who had succeeded Felix,
and whose beauty had been the marvel of Vale Leston, their shabby dress
the scorn of the day school at Bexley. And forming the apex of the
pyramid, perched astride on the very shoulders of much-enduring Wilmet,
was three years old Angela--Baby Bernard being quiescent in a cradle
near mamma. N.B. Mrs. Underwood, though her girls had such masculine
names, had made so strong a protest against their being called by
boyish abbreviations, that only in one case had nature been too strong
for her, and Robina had turned into Bobbie. Wilmet's second name being
Ursula, she was apt to be known as W. W.
'Make haste, Felix, you intolerable boy! don't be so slow!' cried Alda.
'Is there a letter?' inquired Wilmet.
'Yes, more's the pity!' said Felix. 'Now I shall have to answer it.'
'I'll do that, if you'll give me what's inside,' said Edgar.
'Is it there?' exclaimed Cherry, in a tone of doubt, that sent an
electric thrill of dismay through the audience; Lance nearly toppling
over, to the horror of the adjacent sisters, and the grave rebuke of
Clement.
'If it should be a sell!' gasped Fulbert.
'Suppose it were,' said Felix gravely.
'Then,' said Edgar, 'you can disown the old rogue Chester.'
'What stuff!' interposed Clement.
'I'd cut him out of my will on the spot,' persisted Edgar.
'But it is all right,' said Cherry, looking with quiet certainty into
her brother's face; and he nodded and coloured at the same time.
'But it is not a pretty one,' said little Robina. 'Last year it was
green, and before that red; and this is nasty stupid black and white,
and all thin crackling paper.'
Felix laughed, and held up the document.
'What!' cried Fulbert. 'Five! Why, 'tisn't only five shillings! the
horrid old cheat!'
'It's a five-pound note!' screamed Cherry. 'I saw one when Papa went to
the bank! O Felix, Felix!'
A five-pound note! It seemed to take away the breath of those who knew
what it meant, and then an exulting shout broke forth.
'Well,' said Edgar solemnly, 'old Chester is a brick! Three cheers for
him!'
Which cheers having been perpetrated with due vociferation, the cry
began, 'O Felix, what will you do with it?'
'Buy a pony!' cried Fulbert.
'A rocking-horse,' chirped Robina.
'Punch every week,' shouted Lance.
'A knife apiece,' said Fulbert.
'How can you all be so selfish?' pronounced Clement. 'Now a harmonium
would be good to us all.'
'Then get some cotton, for our ears into the bargain, if Tina is to
play on it,' said Edgar.
'I shall take the note to mother,' said the owner.
'Oh!' screamed all but Wilmet and Cherry, 'that's as bad as not having
it at all!'
Maybe Felix thought so, for it was with a certain gravity and solemnity
of demeanour that he entered the drawing-room, causing his father to
exclaim, 'How now? No slip between cup and lip? Not infelix, Felix?'
'No, papa, but it's _this;_ and I thought I ought to bring it.'
The dew at once was in the mother's eyes, as she sprang up and kissed
the boy's brow, saying, 'Felix, dear, don't show it to me. You were
meant to be happy with it. Go and be so.'
'Stay,' said Mr. Underwood, 'Felix will really enjoy helping us to this
extent more than any private expenditure. Is it not so, my boy? Well
then, I propose that the sovereign of old prescriptive right should
go to his _menus plaisirs_, and the rest to something needful; but he
shall say to what. Said I well, old fellow?'
'Oh, thank you, thank you!' cried Felix ardently.
'Thank me for permission to do as you will with your own?' smiled Mr.
Underwood.
'You will choose, then, Felix?' said his mother wistfully, her desires
divided between port wine for Papa, and pale ale for Geraldine.
'Yes, mamma,' was the prompt answer. 'Then, please, let Wilmet and Alda
be rigged out fresh for Sundays.'
'Wilmet and Alda!' exclaimed Mamma.
'Yes, I should like that better than anything, please,' said the boy.
'All our fellows say they would be the prettiest girls in all Bexley,
if they were properly dressed; and those horrid girls at Miss Pearson's
lead them a life about those old black hats.'
'Poor dears! I have found Alda crying when she was dressing for
church,' mused Mrs. Underwood; 'and though I have scolded her, I could
have cried too, to think how unlike their girlhood is to mine.'
'And if you went to fetch them home from school, you would know how bad
it is, Mamma,' said Felix. 'Wilmet does not mind it, but Alda cries,
and the sneaking girls do it the more; and they are girls, so one can't
lick them; and they have not all got brothers.'
'To be licked instead!' said Mr. Underwood, unable to help being amused.
'Well, yes, Papa; and so you see it would be no end of a comfort to
make them look like the rest.'
'By all means, Felix. The ladies can tell how far your benefaction will
go; but as far as it can accomplish, the twins shall be resplendent.
Now then, back to your anxious clients. Only tell me first how my kind
old friend the Admiral is.'
'Here's his letter, Father; I quite forgot to read it.'
'Some day, I hope, you will know him enough to care for him personally.
Now you may be off.--Nay, Enid, love, your daughters could not have
lived much longer without clothes to their backs.'
'Oh, yes, it must have been done,' sighed the poor mother; 'but I
fancied Felix would have thought of you first.'
'He thought of troubles much more felt than any of mine. Poor children!
the hard apprenticeship will serve them all their lives.'
Meantime Felix returned with the words, 'Hurrah! we are to have the
sovereign just as usual; and all the rest is to go to turn out Wilmet
and Alda like respectable young females.--Hollo, now!'
For Alda had precipitated herself down-stairs, to throttle him with her
embraces; while Cherry cried out, 'That's right! Oh, do get those dear
white hats you told me about;' but the public, even there a many-headed
monster thing, was less content.
'What, all in girls' trumpery?' 'That's the stupidest sell I ever heard
of!' 'Oh, I did so want a pony!' were the cries of the boys.
Even Robina was so far infected as to cry, 'I wanted a ride.'
And Wilmet reproachfully exclaimed, 'O Felix, you should have got
something for Papa. Don't you know, Mr. Rugg said he ought to have a
respirator. It is a great shame.'
'I don't think he would have let me, Wilmet,' said Felix, looking up;
'and I never thought of it. Besides, I can't have those girls making
asses of themselves at you.'
'Oh no, don't listen to Wilmet!' cried Alda. 'You are the very best
brother in all the world! Now we shall be fit to be seen at the break
up. I don't think I could have played my piece if I knew every one was
looking at my horrid old alpaca.'
'And there'll be hats for Cherry and Bobbie too!' entreated Wilmet.
'Oh, don't put it into their heads!' gasped Alda.
'No, I'll have you two fit to be seen first,' said Felix.
'Well, it's a horrid shame,' grumbled Fulbert; 'we have always all gone
shares in Felix's birth-day tip.'
'So you do now,' said Felix; 'there's the pound all the same as usual.'
That pound was always being spent in imagination; and the voices broke
out again.
'Oh, then Papa can have the respirator!'
'Felix, the rocking-horse!'
'Felix, do get us three little cannon to make a jolly row every
birth-day!'
'Felix, do you know that Charlie Froggatt says he would sell that big
Newfoundland for a pound? and that would be among us all.'
'Nonsense, Fulbert! a big dog is always eating; but there is a
concertina at Lake's.'
'Tina--tina--concertina! But, I say, Fee, there's White-heart been
wishing her heart out all the time for a real good paint-box.'
'Oh, never mind that, Ed; no one would care for one but you and me; and
the little ones would spoil all the paints.'
'Yes, resumed Wilmet, from her throne, 'it would be the worry of one's
life to keep the little ones off them; and baby would be poisoned to a
dead certainty. Now the respirator--'
'Now the concertina--'
'Now Punch--'
'Now the dog--'
'Now the rocking-horse--'
'Now the cannon--'
'I'll tell you what,' said Felix, 'I've settled how it is to be. We'll
get John Harper's van, and all go out to the Castle, with a jolly cold
dinner--yes, you, Cherry, and all; Ed and I will carry you--and dine on
the grass, and--'
A chorus of shouts interrupted him, all ecstatic, and rendered more
emphatic by the stamping of feet.
'And Angela will go!' added Wilmet.
'And Papa,' entreated Cherry.
'And Mamma too, if she will,' said Felix.
'And Mr. Audley,' pronounced Robina, echoed by Clement and Angela. 'Mr.
Audley must go!'
'Mr. Audley!' grunted Felix. 'I want nobody but ourselves.'
'Yes, and if he went we could not stay jolly late. My Lady would make
no end of a row if both curates cut the evening prayers.'
'For shame, Edgar!' cried the three elder girls.
While Wilmet added, 'We could not stay late, because of Papa and the
little ones. But I don't want Mr. Audley, either.'
'No, no! Papa and he will talk to each other, and be of no use,' said
Geraldine. 'Oh, how delicious! Will the wild-roses be out? When shall
it be, Felix?'
'Well, the first fine day after school breaks up, I should say.'
'Hurrah! hurrah!'
And there was another dance, in the midst of which Mr. Underwood opened
the door, to ask what honourable member was receiving such deafening
cheers.
'Here! here he is, Papa!' cried Alda. 'He is going to take us all out
to a pic-nic in the Castle woods; and won't you come, Papa?'
'O Papa, you will come!' said Felix. And the whole staircase bawled in
accordance.
'Come! to be sure I will!' said his father; 'and only too glad to be
asked! I trust we shall prove to have found the way to get the maximum
of pleasure out of Admiral Chester's gift.'
'If Mamma will go,' said Felix. 'I wonder what the van will cost, and
what will be left for the dinner.'
'Oh, let us two cook the whole dinner,' entreated the twins.
'Wait now,' said Felix. 'I didn't know it was so late, Father.' And he
carefully helped his father on with his coat; and as a church bell made
itself heard, set forth with him.
When the service was musical, Felix and his two next brothers both
formed part of the choir; and though this was not the case on this
evening, Felix knew that his mother was easier when he or Wilmet could
watch over Papa's wraps.
And Mamma herself, with one at least of the twins, was busy enough in
giving the lesser ones their supper, and disposing of them in bed, so
that the discreet alone might remain to the later tea-drinking.
And 'Sibby' must be made a sharer of the good news in her lower region,
though she was sure to disbelieve in Alda and Wilmet's amateur cookery.
Sibby was Wilmet's foster-mother. Poor thing! Mr. Underwood had found
her in dire need in the workhouse, a child herself of seventeen, with
a new-born babe, fresh from the discovery that the soldier-husband, as
she thought, and who had at least 'gone before the praste with her,'
and brought her from her Kilkenny home, was previously husband to
another woman. She was tenderly cared for by Mr. Underwood's mother,
who was then alive, and keeping house for the whole party at the
Rectory; and having come into the Vale Leston nursery, she never left
it. Her own child died in teething, and she clung so passionately to
her nursling, that Mrs. Underwood had no heart to separate them, Roman
Catholic though she was, and difficult to dispose of. She was not the
usual talking merry Irishwoman; if ever she had been such, her heart
was broken; and she was always meek, quiet, subdued, and attentive;
forgetful sometimes, but tender and trustworthy to the last degree with
the children.
She had held fast to the family in their reverses, and no more thought
of not sharing their lot than one of their children. Indeed, it would
not have been much more possible to send her out to shift for herself
in England; and her own people seemed to have vanished in the famine,
for her letters, with her savings, came back from the dead-letter
office. She put her shoulder to the burthen, and, with one small scrub
under her, got through an amazing amount of work: and though her great
deep liquid brown eyes looked as pathetic as ever, she certainly was
in far better spirits than when she sat in the nursery. To be sure,
she was a much better nurse than she was a cook; but as both could not
be had, Mrs. Underwood was content and thankful to have a servant so
entirely one with themselves in interests and affections; and who had
the further perfection of never wanting any society but the children's;
shrinking from English gossips, and never showing a weakness, save for
Irish tramps. Moreover, she was a prodigious knitter; and it was her
boast that not one of the six young gentlemen had yet worn stocking or
sock, but what came from her needles, and had been re-footed by her to
the last extremity of wear.
Meantime, Felix and Clement walked with their father to the church.
There it was, that handsome church; the evening sun in slanting beams
coming through the gorgeous west window to the illuminated walls, and
the rich inlaid marble and alabaster of the chancel mellowed by the
pure evening light. The east window, done before glass-painting had
improved, was tame and ill-executed, and there was, even æsthetically,
a strange unsatisfactory feeling in looking at the heavy, though
handsome, incrustations and arcades of dark marble that formed the
reredos. It was all very correct; but it wanted life.
Mr. Bevan was not there, he had gone out to dinner, and the
congregation consisted of some young ladies, old men, and three little
children. Mr. Audley read all, save the Absolution and the Lessons; and
the responses sounded low and feeble in the great church, though there
was one voice among them glad and hearty in dedicating and entrusting
the new year of his life with its unknown burthen.
Felix had heard sayings and seen looks which, boldly as his sanguine
spirit resisted them, would hang in a heavy boding cloud over his mind,
and were already casting a grave shadow there.
And if the thought of his fivefold gift swelled the fervour of his
'Amen' to the General Thanksgiving, there was another deep heartfelt
Amen, which breathed forth earnest gratitude for the possession of such
a first-born son.
'That is a very good boy,' the father could not help saying to Mr.
Audley, as, on quitting the churchyard, Felix exclaiming, 'Papa, may I
just get it changed and ask about the van?' darted across the street,
with Clement, into a large grocer's shop nearly opposite, where a brisk
evening traffic was going on in the long daylight of hot July; and he
could not but tell of the birth-day gift, and how it was to be spent.
'_Res angusta domi_,' he said, with a smile, 'is a thing to be thankful
for, when it has such effects upon a lad.'
'You must add a small taste of example to the prescription,' said Mr.
Audley. 'Is this all the birth-day present Felix has had?'
'Well, I believe Cherry gave him one of her original designs; but
birth-days are too numerous for us to stand presents.'
The other curate half sighed. He was a great contrast--a much smaller
man than his senior, slight, slim, and pale, but with no look of
ill-health about him; brown eyed and haired, and with the indefinable
look about all his appointments and dress, that showed he had lived
in unconscious luxury and refinement all his days. His thoughts went
back to a home, where the only perplexity was how to deal with an
absolute glut of presents, and to his own actual doubts what to send
that youngest sister, who would feel slighted if Charlie sent nothing,
but really could not want anything; a book she would not read, a jewel
could seldom get a turn of being worn, a trinket would only be fresh
lumber for her room. Then he revolved the possibilities of making Felix
a present, without silencing his father's confidences, and felt that
it could not be done in any direct manner at present; nay, that it
could hardly add to the radiant happiness of the boy, who rushed across
the road, almost under the nose of the railway-omnibus horses, and
exclaimed--
'He will let us have it for nothing, Father! He says it would be hiring
it out, and he can't do that: but he would esteem it a great favour
if we would go in it, and not pay anything, except just a shilling to
Harris for a pint of beer. Won't it be jolly, Father?'
'Spicy would be more appropriate,' said Mr. Underwood, laughing, as the
vehicle in question drew up at the shop door, with Mr. Harper's name
and all his groceries inscribed in gold letters upon the awning.
'I'm so glad I thought of Harper's,' continued Felix. 'I asked him
instead of Buff, because I knew Mamma would want it to be covered. Now
there's lots of room; and we boys will walk up all the hills.'
'I hope there is room for me, Felix,' suggested Mr. Audley.
'Or,' suggested Mr. Underwood, 'you might, like John Gilpin, "ride on
horseback after we."'
'Felix looks non-content,' said Mr. Audley. 'I am afraid I was not in
his programme. Speak out--let us have it.'
'Why,' said Felix, looking down, 'our little ones all wanted to have
you; but then we thought we should all be obliged to come home too
soon, unless you took the service for Papa.'
'He certainly ought not to go to church after it,' said Mr. Audley;
'but I can settle that by riding home in good time. What's the day?'
'The day after the girls' break-up, if you please,' said Felix, still
not perfectly happy, but unable to help himself; and manifesting quite
enough reluctance to make his father ask, as soon as they had parted,
what made him so ungracious.
'Only, Papa,' said Felix frankly, 'that we know that you and he will
get into some Church talk, and then you'll be of no use; and we wanted
to have it all to ourselves.'
'Take care, Felix,' said Mr. Underwood; 'large families are apt to get
into a state of savage exclusiveness.'
Felix had to bear the drawback, and the groans it caused from Wilmet,
Edgar, and Fulbert: the rest decidedly rejoiced. And Mr. Underwood
privately confided the objection to his friend, observing merrily that
they would bind themselves by a promise not to talk shop throughout the
expedition.
It was a brilliantly happy week. Pretty hats, bound with dark blue
velvet, and fresh black silk jackets, were squeezed out of the four
pounds, with the help of a few shillings out of the intended hire of
the van, and were the glory of the whole family, both of those who were
to wear them and those who were not.
On Saturday evening, just as the four elder young people were about
to sally forth to do the marketing for their pic-nic, a great hamper
made its appearance in the passage, addressed to F. C. Underwood,
Esq., and with nothing to pay. Only there was a note fastened to the
side, saying, 'Dear Felix, pray let the spicy van find room for my
contribution to your pic-nic. I told my mother to send me what was
proper from home.--C. S. A.'
Mrs. Underwood was dragged out to superintend the unpacking, which
she greatly advised should be merely a surface investigation. That
was quite enough, however, to assure her that for Felix to lay in any
provision, except the tea and the bread she had already promised, would
be entirely superfluous. The girls were disappointed of their cookery;
but derived consolation from the long walk with the brothers, in which
a cake of good carmine and a lump of gamboge were purchased for Cherry,
and two penny dolls for Robina and Angela. What would become of the
rest of the pound?
On Sunday, the offertory was, as usual on ordinary occasions, rather
scanty; but there was one half-sovereign; and Mr. Underwood was
convinced that it had come from under the one white surplice that had
still remained on the choir boys' bench.
He stayed in the vestry after the others to count and take care of
the offerings, and as he took up the gold, he could not but look at
his son, who was waiting for him, and who flushed all over as he met
his eye. 'Yes, Papa, I wanted to tell you--I did grudge it at first,'
he said hoarsely. 'I knew it was the tithe; but it seemed so much
away from them all. I settled that two shillings was the tenth of my
own share, and I would give that to-day; and then came Mr. Harper's
kindness about the van; and next, when I was thinking how I could
save the tenth part without stinting everybody, came all Mr. Audley's
hamper. It is very strange and happy, Papa, and I have still something
left.'
'I believe,' said Mr. Underwood, 'that you will find the considering
the tithe as not your own, is the safest way of keeping poverty from
grinding you, or wealth from spoiling you.'
And very affectionately he leant on his son's shoulder all the way
home; while Mr. Audley was at luncheon at the Rectory with my Lady, and
her twelve years old daughter.
'Mamma,' said Miss Price, 'did you see the Underwoods in new hats?'
'Of course I did, my dear. They were quite conspicuous enough; but when
people make a great deal of their poverty, they always do break out in
the most unexpected ways.'
'They are pretty girls,' said the Rector, rather dreamily, 'and I
suppose they must have new clothes sometimes.'
'You will always find,' proceeded Lady Price without regard, 'that
people of that sort have a wonderful eye to the becoming--nothing
economical for them! I am sorry for Mr. Underwood, his wife is bringing
up a set of fine ladies, who will trust to their pretty looks, and be
quite above doing anything for themselves.'
'Do you think Wilmet and Alda Underwood so very pretty, Mr. Audley?'
inquired Miss Price, turning her precocious eyes upon him.
'Remarkably so,' Mr. Audley replied, with a courteous setting-down tone
that was the only thing that ever approached to subduing Miss Price,
and which set her pouting without an answer.
'It is a great misfortune to girls in that station of life to have that
painted-doll sort of beauty,' added my Lady; 'and what was it I heard
about a pic-nic party?'
'No party, my dear,' replied the Rector, 'only a little fresh air for
the family--a day in Centry Park. Felix spends his birth-day present
from his godfather in taking them.'
'Ah! I always was sure they had rich friends, though they keep it so
close. Never let me hear of their poverty after this.'
Answers only rendered it worse, so my Lady had it her own way, and not
being known to the public in St. Oswald's Buildings, did not trouble
them much. Yet there was a certain deference to public opinion there,
when Alda was heard pouting, 'Felix, why did you go to that horrid
Harper? Just fancy Miss Price seeing us!'
'Who cares for a stuck-up thing like Miss Price?' growled Felix.
'I don't care for her,' said Edgar; 'but it is just as well to have
some notion of things, and Felix hasn't a grain. Why, all the fellows
will be asking which of us is pepper, and which Souchong? I wouldn't
have Froggatt or Bruce see me in it at no price.'
'Very well, stay at home, then,' said Felix.
'You could have had the waggonet from the Fortinbras Arms,' said Alda.
'Ay--for all my money, and not for love.'
'For shame, Alda,' said her twin sister; 'how can you be so ridiculous!'
'You know yourself, Wilmet, it is quite true; if any of the girls see
us, we shall be labelled "The Groceries."'
'Get inside far enough, and they will not see you.'
'Ay, but there'll be that disgusting little Bobbie and Lance sitting in
the front, making no end of row,' said Edgar; 'and the whole place will
know that Mr. Underwood and his family are going out for a spree in old
Harper's van! Pah! I shall walk.'
'So shall I,' said Alda, 'at least till we are out of the town; but
that won't do any good if those children will make themselves so
horridly conspicuous. Could not we have the thing to meet us somewhere
out of town, Felix?'
'And how would you get Cherry there, or Mamma? Or Baby?--No, no, if you
are too genteel for the van, you may walk.'