THE TUTOR--THE PARISH--A NEW CONTRIBUTOR TO THE ALMS-BOX
Mr. Clerke was a small, slight, fair man. He was short-sighted, which
caused him to carry a round piece of glass about the size of a penny
in his waistcoat pocket, and from time to time to stick this into his
eye, where he held it in a very ingenious, but, as it seemed to me,
dangerous fashion.
It took me quite a fortnight to get used to that eye-glass. It was
like a policeman's bull's-eye lantern. I never knew when it might be
turned on me. Then the glass had no rim, the edges looked quite sharp,
and the reckless way in which the tutor held it squeezed between his
cheek and eyebrow was a thing to be at once feared and admired.
I was sitting over my Delectus one morning, unwillingly working at a
page which had been set as a punishment for some offence, with my
hands buried in my pockets, fumbling with halfpence and other
treasures there concealed, when, seeing my tutor stick his glass into
his eye as he went to the bookcase, I pulled out a halfpenny to try if
I could hold it between cheek and brow, as he held his glass. After
many failures, I had just triumphantly succeeded when he caught sight
of my reflection in a mirror, and seeing the halfpenny in my eye, my
chin in air, and my face puckered up with what must have been a
comical travesty of his own appearance, he concluded that I was
mimicking him, and defying his authority, and coming quickly up to me
he gave me a sharp box on the ear.
In the explanation which followed, he was candid enough to apologize
handsomely for having "lost his temper," as he said; and having
remitted my task as an atonement, took me out fishing with him.
We got on very well together. At first I think my old-fashioned ways
puzzled him, and he was also disconcerted by the questions which I
asked when we were out together. Perhaps he understood me better when
he came to know Mr. Andrewes, and learned how much I had been with
him.
He had a very high respect for the Rector. The first walk we took
together was to call at the Rectory. We stayed luncheon, and Mr.
Andrewes had some conversation with the tutor which I did not hear. As
we came home, I was anxious to learn if Mr. Clerke did not think my
dear friend "very nice."
"Mr. Andrewes is a very remarkable man," said the tutor. And he
constantly repeated this. "He is a very remarkable man."
After a while Mr. Clerke ceased to be put out by my asking strange
unchildish questions which he was not always able to answer. He often
said, "We will ask Mr. Andrewes what he thinks;" and for my own part,
I respected him none the less that he often honestly confessed that he
could not, off-hand, solve all the problems that exercised my brain.
He was not a good general naturalist but he was fond of geology, and
was kind enough to take me out with him on "chipping" expeditions, and
to start me with a "collection" of fossils. I had already a collection
of flowers, a collection of shells, a collection of wafers, and a
collection of seals. (People did not collect monograms and old stamps
in my young days.) These collections were a sore vexation to Nurse
Bundle.
"Whatever a gentleman like the Rector is thinking of, for to encourage
you in such rubbish, my dear," said she, "it passes me! It's vexing
enough to see dirt and bits about that shouldn't be, when you can take
the dust-pan and clear 'em away. But to have dead leaves, and weeds,
and stones off the road brought in day after day, and not be allowed
so much as to touch them, and a young gentleman that has things worth
golden guineas to play with, storing up a lot of stuff you could pick
off any rubbish-heap in a field before it's burned--if it was anybody
but you, my dear, I couldn't abear it. And what's a tutor for, I
should like to know?"
(Mrs. Bundle, who at no time liked blaming her darling, had now
acquired a habit of laying the blame of any misdoings of mine on the
tutor, on the ground that he "ought to have seen to" my acting
differently.)
If Mr. Clerke discovered that he could confess to being puzzled by
some of my questions, without losing ground in his pupil's respect, I
soon found out that my grown-up tutor had not altogether outlived
boyish feelings. It dimly dawned on me that he liked a holiday quite
as well, if not better than myself; and as we grew more intimate we
had many a race and scramble and game together, when bookwork was over
for the day. He rode badly, but with courage, and the mishaps he
managed to suffer when riding the quietest and oldest of my father's
horses were food for fun with him as well as with me.
He told me that he was going to be a clergyman, and on Sunday
afternoons we commonly engaged in strong religious discussions. During
the fruit season it was also our custom on that day to visit the
kitchen-garden after luncheon, where we ate gooseberries, and settled
our theological differences. There is a little low, hot stone seat by
one of the cucumber frames on which I never can seat myself now
without recollections of the flavour of the little round, hairy, red
gooseberries, and of a lengthy dispute which I held there with Mr.
Clerke, and which began by my saying that I looked forward to meeting
Rubens "in a better world." I distinctly remember that I could bring
forward so little authority for my belief, and the tutor so little
against it, that we adjourned by common consent to the Rectory to take
Mr. Andrewes' opinion, and taste his strawberries.
I feel quite sure that Mr. Clerke, as well as myself, strongly felt
the Rector's influence. He often said in after-years how much he owed
to him for raising his aims and views about the sacred office which he
purposed to fill. He had looked forward to being a clergyman as to a
profession towards which his education and college career had tended,
and which, he hoped, would at last secure him a comfortable livelihood
through the interest of some of his patrons. But intercourse with the
Rector gave a higher tone to his ideas. He would have been a clergyman
of high character otherwise, but now he aimed at holiness; he would
never have been an idle one, but now his wish was to learn how much he
could do, and how well he could do that much for the people who should
be committed to his charge. He was by no means a reticent man, he
liked sympathy, and soon got into the habit of confiding in me for
want of a better friend. Thus as he began to take a most earnest
interest in parish work, and in schemes for the benefit of the people,
our Sunday conversations became less controversial, and we gossiped
about schools and school-treats, cricket-clubs, drunken fathers,
slattern mothers, and spoiled children, and how the evening hymn
"went" after the sermon on Sunday, like district visitors at a parish
tea-party. What visions of improvement amongst our fellow-creatures we
saw as we wandered about amongst the gooseberry-bushes, Rubens
following at my heels, and eating a double share from the lower
branches, since his mouth had not to be emptied for conversation! We
often got parted when either of us wandered off towards special and
favourite trees. Those bearing long, smooth green gooseberries like
grapes, or the highly-ripened yellows, or the hairy little reds. Then
we shouted bits of gossip, or happy ideas that struck us, to each
other across the garden. And full of youth and hopefulness, in the
sunshine of these summer Sundays, we gave ourselves credit for
clear-sightedness in all our opinions, and promised ourselves success
for every plan, and gratitude from all our protégés.
Mr. Andrewes had started a Sunday School with great success (Sunday
Schools were novelties then), and Mr. Clerke was a teacher. At last,
to my great delight, I was allowed to take the youngest class, and to
teach them their letters and some of the Catechism.
About this time I firmly resolved to be a parson when I grew up. My
great practical difficulty on this head was that I must, of course,
live at Dacrefield, and yet I could not be the Rector. My final
decision I announced to Mr. Andrewes.
"Mr. Clerke and I will always be curates, and work under you."
On which the tutor would sigh, and say, "I wish it could be so, Regie,
for I do not think I shall ever like any other place, or church, or
people so well again."
At this time my alms-box was well filled, thanks to the liberality of
Mr. Clerke. He now taxed his small income as I taxed my pocket-money
(a very different matter!), and though I am sure he must sometimes
have been inconveniently poor, he never failed to put by his share of
our charitable store.
Some brooding over the matter led me to say to him one Sunday, "You
and I, sir, are like the widow and the other people in the lesson
to-day: I put into the box out of my pocket-money, and you out of your
living."
The tutor blushed painfully; partly, I think, at my accurate
comprehension of the difference between our worldly lots, and partly
in sheer modesty at my realizing the measure of his self-sacrifice.
When first he began to contribute, he always kept back a certain sum,
which he as regularly sent away, to whom I never knew. He briefly
explained, "It is for a good object." But at last a day came when he
announced, "I no longer have that call upon me." And as at the same
time he put on a black tie, and looked grave for several days, I
judged that some poor relation, who was now dead, had been the object
of his kindness. He spoke once more on the subject, when he thanked me
for having led him to put by a fixed sum for such purposes, and added,
"The person to whom I have been accustomed to send that share of the
money said that it was worth double to have it regularly."