His Own People.
Where thou goest I will go,
Through the sunshine or the snow:
Where thou dwellest I will dwell,
In a court or in a cell:
All thy people mine shall be,
Since myself is one with thee.
It was the day of Isabel's arrival at Chayford, and Mrs. Seaton's
face was pink with excitement and anxiety that everything should be
as Paul wished for Paul's bride-elect. The tea-table was spread with
every simple dainty that Martha could suggest and carry out; and was
covered with Mrs. Seaton's best table-cloth--a specimen of the finest
and most silky-looking damask, with an elegant border composed of
arum lilies, and an effigy of John Wesley in the centre.
"I cannot help feeling a little nervous," said Mrs. Seaton, "I am so
anxious that everything should be as Paul would like."
The minister smiled. "My dear, you are careful and troubled about
many things. If Isabel Carnaby loves our Paul, as I believe she
does, she will not notice what viands are spread out before her, nor
what servants are ready to serve her. She will be so happy to feel
herself in Paul's presence, that minor matters will be of no moment
to her."
"But I do want everything to be nice," persisted Mrs. Seaton
plaintively.
"Don't worry so, mother," chimed in the sensible Joanna; "we have
done our best to prepare a warm welcome for Isabel; and if she isn't
pleased, it is her fault and not ours."
"But it is Paul I am thinking of--not Isabel," said Mrs. Seaton, "I
should be so sorry to disappoint him in any way."
"My love, you really are overburdened with the cares of this life,"
replied her husband, "believe me, it is really of no importance what
we eat and how we are clothed, provided we have wholesome food and
garments beseeming our estate; and it grieves me to see you wearing
yourself out about things that do not signify."
"Well, I hope Paul will be satisfied," repeated Paul's mother.
"There they are!" exclaimed Joanna, as a cab drove up to the door,
and Paul sprang out, followed by an extremely well-dressed young lady.
The minister and his family went into the hall to receive their
visitor; and Mrs. Seaton trembled all over, for she felt it was an
ordeal. So did Paul; and his mother knew that he did, as soon as she
saw his face.
"Mother, this is Isabel," was all he could say; he was so dreadfully
afraid that the two women he loved best in the world would not say
the right things to one another.
But Isabel was equal to the occasion. She threw her arms round Mrs.
Seaton's neck and kissed her.
"I want you to be a mother to me as well as to Paul," she whispered.
"I haven't got a mother of my own, you know, and I do so want one."
And then and there the minister's wife took Isabel into her motherly
heart, and never really let her out again, in spite of all that
happened afterwards.
When Isabel had duly greeted Mr. Seaton and Joanna, she was
introduced to Martha.
"This is our faithful friend, Martha," said Mrs. Seaton, "she nursed
Paul when he was a little boy."
Isabel held out her hand with a radiant smile. "I must thank you for
taking so much care of him for me," she said, "if you hadn't sown, I
should not have reaped, so I owe much of my happiness to you."
"Don't mention it, miss," replied Martha, looking proud and joyful,
"it was always a pleasure to do things for Master Paul, in spite of
his temper, which I am bound to say was one of the hottest I ever
came across, while he was as yet a child of nature and not of grace.
I bore the marks of his dear little teeth in my arm for many a day,
miss, for once contradicting him when he said that Abraham was the
father of Joseph, bless his heart!"
Isabel laughed, and so did Paul.
"But don't let me discourage you, miss, if you've made up your mind
to get married," added Martha, fearing that she had said too much,
"if you must have a husband, perhaps Master Paul is the best sort
you'll get; though bad's the best, to my thinking, with regard to
husbands."
Tea that evening was a very cheerful meal at Chayford Cottage.
Isabel was so charmed by the refinement and culture of Paul's home,
that she was at her best. She found herself in an atmosphere of
intellectual activity such as she was accustomed to, but combined
with a simplicity of life and a familiarity with higher things such
as she had never yet known; and the combination was very attractive
to her.
"I shall have much to ask about your life in India, my dear," said
Mr. Seaton to Isabel, as they all sat round the tea-table, "I have
always longed to go there, and see for myself the remains of one of
the world's oldest and most picturesque civilizations, but I shall
never accomplish it now; so I must beg you to give me information
second-hand."
"Martha is immensely impressed by your having lived in India,"
exclaimed Joanna; "but she has deliciously vague ideas about the
place. I think she pictures it to herself as a 'coral strand'
covered with undressed niggers, like the picture on the cover of the
_Missionary Notices_."
"I am not sure that my ideas of India are not a good deal like that,"
Paul said; "only I add a few elephants and pagodas."
"She asked me the other day," continued Joanna, still addressing
Isabel, "if I thought you had ever worshipped idols while you were in
India."
Isabel sighed. "I am afraid I sometimes did; but they were not the
native ones."
"Never mind, my dear," said Mrs. Seaton kindly; "we have all of us
worshipped idols at some time or another--except, of course, the
minister."
Her husband shook his head. "I am afraid, my love, that I have
worshipped idols too; only I bound them in vellum and called them by
theological names."
"I expect we have all got a little museum of cast-off idols somewhere
in our hearts," remarked Isabel.
"Which we now and then dust and put in order," added Joanna.
"Although they are no longer used as idols, they are still
interesting as curiosities," said Paul. "I've got three fine ones in
mine, called rowing and success and power; and I dare not allow
myself to take them out and dust them too often, for fear I should
fall a-worshipping of them once more."
"Dear old Paul!" said his mother tenderly.
"I used to have two lovely ones called the world and fashion," said
Isabel; "but Paul came by and knocked them over in passing, and I
have never been able to set them up again."
"I have got a very bothering one named duty," said Joanna, "and it
gives me a lot of trouble, because I am not quite sure whether it is
an idol or not. Sometimes I think it is, and then I put it by in the
museum; but at other times it seems to be a legitimate object of
adoration, and then I have to restore it to its shrine. I never can
decide where to keep the thing for two days together."
"That would worry me," remarked Isabel; "there is nothing so wearing
as indecision."
"But you are very undecided, Isabel," argued Paul.
"I know I am, and that is why I reprove this characteristic in other
people. I feel sure I shall become an old woman before my time,
through suffering agonies of indecision as to whether I shall take my
waterproof to church or not, and how often I shall write to you in a
week."
"What idols are in your museum, mother?" inquired Joanna.
"Oh! my dear, when a woman is married there is no room in her heart
for anything but God and her husband and her children; and then she
has to be very careful lest her husband and her children should take
up more than their share of room."
Mr. Seaton smiled. "I do not think you need be afraid, Ruth; for I
believe that the more room we give in our hearts to our
fellow-creatures, the more room there is left for God."
"Paul will have to show you all about Chayford to-morrow," said Mrs.
Seaton, turning to Isabel, "it is a pretty old town, and the
surrounding country is lovely. Are you a good walker, my dear?"
"I am as fond of walking as I am of talking, Mrs. Seaton, which is
saying a great deal; in fact, I may confess I am as walkative as I am
talkative; walkative is rather a good word, I think. I've just
invented it."
"It is capital," agreed Paul.
"Paul has told me about the people here," added Isabel, "I already
know them all by their names. I am sure I could pass an examination
in Chayford, and take honours."
"It will be fun to show you all the neighbours," exclaimed Joanna,
"and to see if they are like what you expect!"
"How is Mrs. Martin?" asked Isabel.
"Better than ever!" was Joanna's reply; "she is torn asunder between
her social respect for, and her spiritual disapproval of, you. But
she reconciles you to herself by measuring your position in this
world and your prospects in the next by different measures--like troy
weight and avoirdupois--so that the two do not clash."
"How very nice of her!" exclaimed Isabel with delight.
"She offended Martha dreadfully the last time she called here,"
continued Joanna, "by saying that our cat's tail is too short for a
real Persian. Martha related it to me afterwards with great
indignation, and added: 'As if the Lord didn't know how to make a cat
without Mrs. Martin's interference!'"
Everybody laughed; then Isabel said: "Martha is a dear! Even in this
present world, 'I shall desire more love and knowledge of her'."
"She repays research," remarked Paul, "though I confess I think she
would be more agreeable if her conscience were not so bent on setting
forth unflattering truths. I do not ask for lies; but even truth
requires clothing."
"Besides it is not always necessary to say the whole truth about
everything," said Mrs. Seaton, "it is wrong to utter falsehood, but
it is not wrong to keep silence."
"You mean that if a person had good eyes and an ugly mouth, you would
tell her how pretty her eyes were, and leave her mouth to speak for
itself?" suggested Isabel.
Mrs. Seaton looked amused.
"That would be mother's plan," said Joanna; "she never says anything
that could hurt anybody's feelings. And I believe that, as a matter
of fact, she would only look at the eyes, and never notice that the
mouth was ugly. She has a splendid habit of only seeing the good in
people and things."
"That is quite true," agreed the minister.
Joanna continued: "I am sorry to say that unpleasant truths are a
terrible temptation to me. I really don't mean to be disagreeable,
but sometimes they fly out of my mouth before I have time to stop
them. Miss Dallicot asked me yesterday if I liked her new bonnet,
and I'd said 'No' before I had time to weigh my words. I was
extremely sorry afterwards, she looked so hurt."
"My child," said Mr. Seaton, "you should consider other people's
feelings, and strive never to give pain where it can be avoided."
"So I do, father; but now and then the truth is too strong for me.
And I am sure that a glimpse of the bonnet itself will prove to you
that I was not without provocation."
"What was it like?" asked Isabel.
"It was a ghastly combination of black and white feathers and red
flowers," replied Joanna; "and resembled a young person's funeral
passing through a field of poppies; it really was a weird sight!"
"Thine own friend and thy father's friend forsake not," said Mr.
Seaton reprovingly, "and Miss Dallicot is a dear and valued friend of
mine."
"I am not forsaking her, father; I am only describing her head-gear."
Mr. Seaton smiled as he shook his head. "A man that hath friends
must show himself friendly; and ridicule and friendliness hardly seem
to me compatible, my child."
"Wait till you see the bonnet," persisted Joanna.
"I, for one, am looking forward to the vision," exclaimed Paul.
"When she comes into chapel on Sunday, I shall begin to sing 'The
morning flowers display their sweets'."
"Did I tell you that she tumbled down coming into chapel last
Sunday?" said Joanna.
"No--did she? I wish I'd been there to see," cried the unregenerate
Paul.
"Yes; she caught her foot on the mat of the door, staggered up the
aisle with increasing speed at every step, and finally fell--an inert
mass--at the pulpit steps, while her parasol and pocket-handkerchief
and hymn-book flew all over the chapel like leaves in autumn."
Paul and Isabel laughed heartily; then the latter said: "My aunt had
a similar misadventure the other day. She sneaked into a shop in
Regent Street to inquire the price of a carpet she had no intention
of buying--a mean trick, as I told her, and her sin found her out."
"Why, what happened?" asked Paul.
"She, likewise, tripped on entering, and ran a wild and reckless race
the whole length of the shop. Brave young men sprang over the
counter to stop her mad career, and even the cashier rushed out of
his little square pew to check her rapid flight; but all in vain.
She outstripped them all, and lay at last--convulsed with
laughter--at the foot of a mirror at the very far end of the shop."
Mrs. Seaton laughed till the tears ran down her face. "It really
seems too bad to laugh at such things, but I never can help it; I
hope Lady Farley was not hurt."
"Not in the least. But you can picture her shame and humiliation
when she had to confess to the crowd of young men collected to pick
up her remains, that she had only looked in to inquire the price of a
carpet!"
"It was rather dreadful for her!" agreed Mrs. Seaton, still simmering
with amusement.
"I wish Mrs. Martin did not sit just before me in chapel!" sighed
Joanna.
"Why not?" asked Paul.
"Because there is one white tacking-thread left to sully the glory of
her otherwise immaculate Sunday mantle; and that tacking-thread comes
between me and my devotions. I am torn between the desire to stretch
forth my hand and pluck it out, and my knowledge that Mrs. Martin's
tacking-threads are no concern of mine."
"You should try not to look at it, my dear," said Mrs. Seaton.
"So I do, mother; but the thing rises up and hits me in the face, so
to speak; it is like Gehazi in its unnatural whiteness."
"I should let it stand," said Paul, "as an everlasting testimony to
the truth that even Mrs. Martin is human, and not beyond the help of
tacking-threads. To my mind there is something infinitely pathetic
and poetical in the idea. I feel I could write a poem on it, if not
a tract."
"I know I shall tell her about it some day," remarked Joanna.
"I'm awfully interested in your passion for speaking the truth," said
Isabel; "it is just the other way with me; I always want to say what
I feel people want me to say, rather than what I really think."
"How funny! But that is because it is your nature to make yourself
pleasant. It is fearfully difficult for me not to make myself
disagreeable--while to make myself agreeable is impossible," replied
Joanna.
"Poor Joanna," said her mother.
Joanna went on: "I know that people often blame me for saying
disagreeable things; but if they only knew how many disagreeable
things I keep myself from saying, and how deeply I regret those I do
say, they would commend rather than condemn me."
Then Mr. Seaton questioned Isabel about her life abroad, and the
conversation never flagged till it was time for Joanna to go to
class, and for Paul and Isabel to start for a walk in the lanes round
Chayford Cottage.
Isabel's week at Chayford was a great success. The Seatons were
charmed with her, and she with them; and as she and Paul had nothing
in the world to do but to make love to each other, there was no
occasion for jealousies or misunderstandings between them such as
came later in the conflicting interests of "a London June".
Isabel revered Paul's father, because he was so courteous and so
saintly, and had read more than any man she had ever met; she liked
Joanna, because Joanna was good and clever, and possessed a most
admirable sense of humour; and she loved Mrs. Seaton, because the
minister's wife was the first woman she had ever met who in some
degree satisfied the mother-hunger in her heart. And Mrs. Seaton
understood Isabel better than any of them did--not excluding even
Paul. She knew that there were depths in the girl's soul, whereof
Joanna did not dream, and which Paul had not yet sounded; and
that--in spite of her sunny light-heartedness--Isabel's nature was
very highly strung. Mrs. Seaton trembled for them both when she
realized that Paul's masterly touch might prove a little too heavy
for so delicate an instrument, and that some of the strings might
break under the pressure. But she knew herself powerless to
interfere; for she had learnt that what we call influence, other
people often call impertinence, and that it is a power which is more
prone to do harm than good. When people are seized with the desire
to set about improving their neighbours, it is a phase of thought
which might be described as the "negative" of the missionary spirit;
that it to say, it is a form of spiritual instruction which has the
effect of turning Christians into savages--for the time being, at any
rate.
The only person at Chayford that Isabel did not get on with was Mrs.
Martin. These two fell foul of each other from the first. Mrs.
Martin began by being obsequious, and Isabel snubbed her; and the man
or woman who can forgive a social slight is as yet an undiscovered
product of civilization. Human nature can only stand a certain
strain; and social rudeness stretches this elasticity to its
uttermost limit, if not beyond it.
Mrs. Martin opened the ball by calling upon Isabel, decked out in her
Sunday best.
"I am so glad to meet you, my dear Miss Carnaby," she began,
addressing herself pointedly to Isabel, and coolly excluding Mrs.
Seaton and Joanna from the conversation, "I feel sure we shall be
friends, for your dear aunt's sake. I believe she is one of the
Farleys of Ferngrove, and they were friends of my mother's years ago."
"I am afraid I must confess I never heard of the Farleys of
Ferngrove," said Isabel rather stiffly.
"Did you not? dear me, how strange! They were an old county family
in Lancashire when my dear mother was a girl--really quite a good old
family, I can assure you--and she had the pleasure of meeting them
once or twice in those happy old days. I really think your
distinguished uncle must belong to the same family. They were most
accomplished and extremely rich."
"I don't think so," said Isabel. "Uncle Benjamin's money came to him
from his mother's brother, who was in the iron trade; his father was
a clergyman, and was extremely poor."
Mrs. Martin looked shocked; to her mind there was something
indelicate in the mere mention of poverty. Her father had been
extremely poor at the commencement of his commercial career, but she
would have died rather than mention so disgraceful a fact. She
wondered that Miss Carnaby had not more refinement of feeling.
Nevertheless she made another attempt to establish a friendly footing
between herself and this coarse-minded young woman.
"I wonder if you ever met my dear friends, the Sedleys?" she said.
Isabel did not think so.
"They are charming people, dear Miss Carnaby, and have such
aristocratic connections; only last year they were staying in the
same hotel as the Hereditary Grand Duchess of Edelweiss, somewhere in
Switzerland; I forget the name of the place, but I know it was most
fashionable. The Sedleys never go to any but really fashionable
resorts."
"How very interesting," murmured Isabel politely.
"You would delight in Mrs. Sedley, she is so extremely refined. She
once told me that unless she always wore silk next her skin, she
would die of irritation. Is it not strange how good-breeding shows
itself in these small trifles?"
"Very strange," said Isabel.
"You would hardly believe it, Miss Carnaby, but do you know I am
physically unable to wear cheap boots or gloves myself? If I
attempted to do so, I should become lame and helpless at once. I
said to my dear husband only yesterday, it is not that I wish to be
extravagant, for I hold extravagance a sin; but my skin is so
delicate that the wear of cheap things is simply torture to me."
"I am sorry for you," replied Isabel, "for the pleasure of the summer
sales must be lost upon you. You cannot imagine how delightful they
are! Lady Farley and I always attend them; and last season we took
Lady Eleanor Gregory with us, and she revelled in the bargains even
more than we did."
"Dear me!" was all that Mrs. Martin could ejaculate.
"I remember," continued Isabel, "that she bought a sealskin cape,
because they were so reduced; and she nearly died of heat in trying
it on, for it was the hottest day of a very hot July. We were too
warm in muslin blouses, and we sat laughing at poor Lady Eleanor as
she tried on cape after cape, each one heavier than the last."
"Poor young lady!" remarked Mrs. Martin sympathetically, "I trust
that thus overheating herself did not result in a chill. I remember
a friend of mine, Mrs. Albert Simpkinson, died from the effects of a
chill, brought on by overclothing herself on a warm day; and her
premature decease was peculiarly unfortunate, for she died just as
she was beginning to get into good society."
Isabel's eyes twinkled wickedly, but she kept her lips in order, and
did not allow them to relax into a smile. "How sad!" she murmured.
"It was indeed!" sighed Mrs. Martin, "only a fortnight before Mrs.
Simpkinson's death, the Honourable Mrs. Avalon, daughter-in-law to
the Earl of Glastonbury, called upon her; and she barely had time to
return the call--much less to follow up the intimacy--before she
died."
But though Isabel did not get on with Mrs. Martin she looked at
everybody else in Chayford through rose-coloured glasses. To Martha
she was specially gracious, and was described by that excellent woman
as "a sweet young creature".
"Master Paul is a lucky man, and no mistake!" said Martha one day,
"luck being only another name for a good strong will of your own,
coupled with the help of Providence, as my brother James said when he
induced Mr. Hickory to leave the Grampton circuit."
"Who was Mr. Hickory?" inquired Isabel, who always appreciated Martha
when the latter became retrospective.
"Mr. Hickory was a young minister with new-fangled notions, who
travelled in Grampton for one year, and then my brother James induced
him to leave."
"Didn't your brother like his preaching?" asked Joanna.
"Not at all, miss, not at all; but it wasn't only his preaching that
James objected to, though that was far from satisfactory, being more
full of modern science (falsely so called) than of saving truth.
James never liked Mr. Hickory's views on the devil--he thought them
broad and dangerous--but it was not the devil that they quarrelled
over after all; it was the heating apparatus in Grampton Chapel.
James said he'd have overlooked the devil if Mr. Hickory had given
way about the heating apparatus, as we must all give and take in this
world; but Mr. Hickory's attitude in that matter was more than he
could or would stand."
Isabel looked deeply interested, and so did Joanna. "What was the
end of it?" asked the former.
"Well, miss, you see, James said that the old heating apparatus had
been good enough for the congregation for twenty years and more, and
if it was good enough for them it was good enough for Mr. Hickory,
and it shouldn't be altered as long as he was chapel-steward. But
the minister was set on having some new-fangled arrangement of his
own. And the minister got his own way, James was overruled, and the
new apparatus was set up in Grampton Chapel."
"Was it a success?"
"A success, Miss Carnaby! Who ever heard of an improvement of any
kind being a success? I never did. Give me the old-fashioned
things, say I, and don't meddle with them; for I never yet met with
an improvement that wasn't for the worse."
"You are a consistent Conservative, Martha, and I admire you,"
laughed Isabel.
"Thank you, miss; I don't go in for politics and all that rubbish,
but I keep my eyes open and see things for myself, and judge
accordingly."
"And a very wise plan!" agreed Isabel.
"That is as may be, miss."
"But how about the new heating apparatus and your brother James?"
suggested Joanna.
"Well, miss, James never could say if it was a judgment from heaven
or whether it was because the chapel-keeper put too much coal on; but
anyhow the whole thing caught fire, and burnt part of the wall before
it could be put out."
"Was much of the wall burnt?" asked Isabel.
"A nice piece, miss."
Joanna smiled. "Was that why the minister left?"
"Well, miss, after that, Mr. Hickory saw that he had made a mistake;
and my brother James advised him to leave Grampton and begin again
elsewhere. Before he went, James told him he would do well if he set
about helping folks to get new hearts, and left their old heating
apparatuses alone. Which was good advice, to my thinking, though it
was my own brother as gave it."
The happy days at Chayford passed all too quickly. When Sunday came,
Isabel went with Paul to hear his father preach; and she never forgot
her first service in Chayford Chapel. She possessed the artistic
temperament to an unusual extent, and therefore beauty in worship
strongly appealed to her, whether it were shown in ornate ritual or
in extreme simplicity. To such natures as hers a stately cathedral
filled with the voice of a great multitude, and a bleak hillside
where a handful of persecuted Covenanters are assembled, seem alike
the house of God and the gate of heaven; for the artist-soul is slow
to discern the theological differences of the two or three gathered
together, but is quick to perceive and to prostrate itself before the
perfect beauty of the One in the midst of them.
Isabel Carnaby was an extremely emotional woman, and consequently
experienced the quick vision of the truth, and the rapid clouding
over of the same, which are the portion of all emotional temperaments.
As she sat beside Paul in Chayford Chapel that Sunday morning she was
at her best. Her love for him stimulated the religious, and stifled
the worldly, side of her character. Herein lay the fundamental
difference between herself and Joanna: Joanna was a good woman
because she loved God; Isabel was a good woman because she loved a
good man--a lower type, perhaps, from a spiritual point of view, but
one none the less to be considered, since the vessels in a great
house are not all of equal honour, and the stars in the firmament are
not all of the same glory.
The minister preached a beautiful sermon on Love as the fulfilling of
the Law; and as Isabel listened, her soul was uplifted and her
understanding quickened. She made up her mind that, however she
might fail in other things, the forgiveness accorded to them that
love much should always be her right; and that she would never allow
clouds of doubt and misunderstanding to arise between her and those
whom it was her duty to love and to cherish. Them, she vowed, she
would love to the end--and all others for their sakes. It seemed to
Isabel an easy thing, sitting in the quaint little chapel and
listening to the minister's silvery voice, to love both the brother
whom she had seen and the God Whom she had not seen; but many things
look easy from the Mount of Transfiguration, which grow difficult--if
not impossible--amid the rabble of Jerusalem.
The hymn after the sermon was, "There is a land of pure delight," and
it thrilled Isabel through and through. As she and Paul sang it
together, she felt that for them the "everlasting spring" had already
begun and the "never-withering flowers" were theirs, because they
loved each other.
So Paul and Isabel rested for a while upon the Delectable Mountains,
and imagined that they were even now in Paradise. But they forgot
how it is written that "a little below these mountains on the left
hand, lieth the country of Conceit, from which country there comes
into the way in which the pilgrims walked a little crooked lane".
John Bunyan knew what he was talking about when he described the
country of Conceit as lying close under the shadow of the Delectable
Mountains.