VII
THE TRESPASSER
A few days afterwards Miss Falkner took Jack and Jill out for a drive in a low pony-chaise that was their special property.
Mona came out on the doorstep to see them start.
"I'm so glad you can drive, Miss Falkner," she said, "for I shall have no fears about the children with you as driver. The grooms can't be trusted. They give the reins to them, and Jack upset the whole concern just before you came."
"I used to drive as a tiny child," said Miss Falkner with heightened colour. "I have not done so lately, but one never loses the art."
Mona looked at her curiously. She began to feel a great interest in this young girl, who had so quietly taken the reins in the school-room and was slowly but surely influencing the young turbulent spirits in it.
The children were giving their pony sugar. Mona looked at them, then she laid her hand gently on Miss Falkner's arm.
"Some day you will tell me about yourself and your home," she said.
The quick tears sprang to the young governess's eyes. She felt as she stood there that the girl who spoke to her had all that the world could give her. She had as yet been untouched by the storms of life, and on her proud young face there were lines of discontent and restlessness that would never be effaced till she had learnt some of life's lessons, and perhaps been through the school of suffering.
They were very nearly the same age, were two blocks of stone, ordained for a building above; yet though one was cut and chiselled already, the other bore no impress of the Master's hand.
But the sympathetic touch and words struck a chord in Miss Falkner's heart. She forgot from that time that Mona Baron was her employer, she thought of her only as a girl who might need help.
"Now where shall we go, children?" she asked, as they drove down the sweet-smelling lime avenue into the high road.
"Oh, do drive up to Chilton Common," cried Jack; "there are such a lot of rabbits there, and we can see the sea from it."
So to Chilton Common they went. It was about four miles off, and at first sight looked a dreary expanse of wild moorland. As they crossed it, they caught the salt scent of the sea, and soon came to a cluster of poor-looking cottages, but beyond them in the distance was the unmistakable blue line of the ocean, and the children seemed delighted.
"I wish we lived by the sea," said Jill. "I like to be on the very outside edge of the earth."
"Why?" inquired Jack.
Jill seldom gave reasons for her likes and dislikes.
"Because I do," she returned sharply.
"Oh, look, Miss Falkner, there's our rector, Mr. Errington. He has a lot of people round him. P'raps he's preaching!"
Mr. Errington caught sight of them and smiled at the children, who were great favourites of his. Then he came forward.
"My horse has gone very lame," he explained.
"I am thinking of leaving him here at the blacksmith's and walking home."
"Can we give you a lift?" asked Miss Falkner.
"That will be very good of you. I shall be grateful for my wife will be expecting me and will be anxious."
"Jill thought you were preaching," said Jack. "Wasn't she silly? As if you'd preach on a weekday!"
"I wish I had been," said Mr. Errington with a smile.
Then he turned to Miss Falkner.
"These are my parishioners," he said, "and not one of them comes to church. They're just like heathen. It looks a God-forsaken place, does it not?"
"It seems a strange place to see cottages," said Miss Falkner. "How do they earn their living?"
"By peat-cutting, and working in a quarry a mile off. The blacksmith is unable to walk far, or I really think I should see him at church sometimes. The rest are totally indifferent to their soul's welfare. I am longing to build a little mission-room and come over and have a service for them, but it would cost money, and I have none to spare at present."
"It is a pity," said Miss Falkner gently. "One wonders sometimes if money drifted into the right channels whether this dense ignorance would be overcome. At my old home there was a district very like this. My father's curate was indefatigable in trying to raise money, and he eventually succeeded. It was a great success, for the people came to the mission church and sent their children to school. But he—" her voice faltered a little, "overworked himself, took cold and died, and my father followed him. The present rector does not care for the mission-room. He thinks they ought to come to church, and they don't do it."
Mr. Errington nodded with perfect comprehension.
"Of course not. It would want a good deal of zeal to walk eight miles after a week's hard work. Our English labourer will not do it."
They talked on, and much of the conversation was above the children's heads, but Jill was a sharp child, and she was already evolving a plan in her head, which had the effect of taking her to the Rectory the next day.
Mrs. Errington was a great invalid. When she was told that "Miss Jill Baron" wanted to see her, she said to her husband, who was overlooking some accounts with her:
"My dear Robert, we ought not to be disturbed. Shall we say we are engaged?"
"No," said Mr. Errington, leaning back in his chair with a laugh; "I am dazed with figures. Let us be refreshed by one of the fresh things in this world. There is nothing like a child for relieving one of care."
Jill was ushered in, flushed and excited. She could hardly wait to shake hands.
"Jack and Bumps are willing, and so I've come with it," she said. "It's to help to build that church on the common. Miss Falkner said we might, and I've brought it in our bag."
She put a scarlet flannel bag on the table, and went on—
"You see we haven't begun very long, so there's only a little to start with; but we shall always be putting in, because we often get presents, and I've spoken to Mr. Stone, and we've counted that his fifteen cabbages will bring him one shilling and tenpence halfpenny, and he says that had better be given to you too."
It seemed incoherent, but Mrs. Errington gently drew the explanation out of the child, and though Jill did not divulge the spot of their "Bethel," her account interested the rector and his wife greatly.
"It will be money well spent," Mr. Errington said, "for it will be the means of telling those poor folk of the love of the Saviour."
"And you will have the honour, Jill dear, of starting the collection," said Mrs. Errington.
"It's a pity," said Jill with knitted brows, "that you can't get every one to give you their tenth."
"I don't think there are many people who do give their tenth," said the rector.
"Miss Falkner gives all hers to the Church Missionary Society," Jill went on; "but Jack and Bumps and me thought we'd like to see where our money went."
"Wise little woman!"
Mr. Errington emptied the bag, and delighted Jill by giving her a formal receipt for it, and entering the sum in an account book. She ran away quite happy, waving her scarlet bag in the air, and wishing with all her heart that birthdays and Christmas, and all such occasions for receiving presents, would come every day.
"Mona is going to have a party," announced Jack one day soon after this. "I went into the drawing-room to give Miss Webb her pencil that I picked up, and she and Mona were talking about it. It is to be next Wednesday."
The children were just beginning their afternoon lessons; and Jill was washing her slate preparatory to doing a sum.
"How jolly!" she cried. "I hope she'll let us come to it. When is it to be? Is it a dinner party?"
"No, a garden party. It's going to be a very grand one. There's a band coming, and a tent for fruit and ices, and there will be tennis and croquet, and bowls and——"
"Now, Jack," said Miss Falkner quietly, "that is enough. Lessons now, and talk after."
It was hard to obey, but Jack put a restraint upon himself, and when lessons were over Jill determined to get no more news second-hand.
"Come on, Bumps. I'm going to ask Mona about it."
The little girls found their sister in her bedroom, getting ready for a drive.
"We've come to ask about the party," said Jill, who always went straight to the point. "We can come into it, can't we?"
Mona laughed, then she sat down in an easy-chair and took Bumps upon her lap.
"I hardly ever see you now," she said; "Miss Falkner keeps you all in such order. Why, Bumps, you are growing quite heavy."
"Yeth," assented Bumps, "I thmashed Polly's head by stepping on it. She's my thecond betht wax-doll, Mona!"
"You'll let us come to the party?" asked Jill persuasively.
"Yes, if you behave nicely. There may be two other children coming. Little Indian nieces of Mrs. Moxon's."
"Heathens?" questioned Jill.
Mona laughed merrily.
"Good gracious, no! What a ridiculous child you are."
Jill coloured up at once.
"I like boys better than girls," she said in her stubborn tone. "I know I shan't like them."
"You must be civil and kind to them, or else I shall send you back to the school-room. But perhaps that will be no punishment. I think you must have altered your mind about governesses, Jill."
"Yes," said Jill in a different tone. "But Miss Falkner is not like a governess. She's very fond of us, she says so!"
"Extraordinary! You don't say so!"
Mona laughed again, then put Bumps off her lap.
"Now run away, small people, and remember if you appear in the garden on Wednesday, you must be in the cleanest frocks and the sweetest tempers. Otherwise you must make yourselves scarce."
"Like the children walking to the Golden City," said Bumps trotting after Jill.
Jill looked down at her with troubled eyes.
"Sometimes I wonder where I am," she said, moved by the impulse of the moment to confide in her little sister. "I don't believe I get on very fast. I'm always losing my temper, and that means dirtying my frock."
"And then you have to wash it," said Bumps cheerfully.
"Yes," said Jill, with a light in her eyes; "I can do that, at least I can ask to have it done, but—" and here she relapsed into gloom again. "I sometimes wonder if it is ever clean for more than a minute!"
Wednesday came, and the three children sadly tried Miss Falkner's patience at lessons.
She closed books at last, and sent them out into the garden to play before their early dinner. They longed to go into Mona's portion of the grounds, but the head gardener kept them back. Tents were being erected; servants bustled about, and Mona herself, with Miss Webb and one or two gentlemen, seemed to be superintending everything herself.
At four o'clock Jill and Bumps, arrayed in their best white frocks, were down on the front lawn awaiting the arrival of guests. Miss Falkner in a pretty grey dress and hat stood talking to Miss Webb under the trees, and Mona, looking radiant in her youth and loveliness, dressed like her little sisters in pure white, with a spray of delicate pink roses in her breast, was talking and laughing with a few of her house guests. Jack presently came up to his sister. He was dressed in his white sailor-suit, and looked stiff and uncomfortable.
"Oh, Jill, I say, do let's get out of this. It's so dull and proper. You and Bumps look like the china figures on the school-room mantelpiece."
"Yes," said Jill; "it is very dull. Where shall we go?"
"Let us see how Bethel is getting on."
So the three made their way to the fir plantation, but met with several interruptions on the way. Jack chased a fowl which had escaped from the poultry-yard. Bumps would insist on stopping to watch the peregrinations of two frogs in some long grass, and Jill had a talk with Sam, who was cutting down a young tree. As they trod softly on the brown pine-needles underfoot Jack startled his sisters by a shrill whisper.
"Look! there's a trespasser."
Jill pressed eagerly forward. A tall broad-shouldered man in clerical clothes was standing reading the board. Then instead of turning away, he went up to the pile of stones, and bending down was in the act of lifting one of them out of its place to look at it, when Jill's indignant voice arrested him.
"You're a trespasser! We shall prosecute you!"
He turned round in astonishment, and his stern, rugged features were transformed by a smile, when he saw the daintily-dressed children before him.
"Is this your property?" he asked.
Jill was like a little bantam-cock.
"Every bit of it is ours, of course it is. You must have seen the board; we ain't going to allow any trespassers here."
"You'll have to be prothecuted!" cried Bumps breathlessly.
"Yes, Jill said she'd prosecute," said Jack, looking first at the stranger and then at his sister, as if measuring in his mind's eye their respective sizes.
"What is to be done with me?" asked the stranger with an amused look.
Jack and Jill put their heads together, and consulted in hurried whispers as to the best course to take.
Then Jill spoke very emphatically.
"We shall have to prosecute you, because you didn't care for our board. You saw it and you were going to move our stones. Jack and I think if you will walk between us and promise not to escape, we will go down to the policeman at our gate. Mona is having a grand party and he's here now, for we saw him. He'll tell us what to do."
"I think," said the trespasser, trying to look grave, "that you might fine me. Magistrates do that to some trespassers."
Jill did not understand this, but she was too proud to confess it.
"No, you must come to the policeman," she said. So presently skirting the tennis lawn the little procession passed. Jack and Jill marched on either side of him, Bumps walked behind.
"I can catch hold of his coat if he runs away," she said.
It was unfortunate for the children's plan that Mona should intercept them.
She moved from a shady tree on the lawn, and accompanied by two gentlemen confronted them.
A slight flush rose to her cheek when she saw the prisoner, and her voice faltered slightly.
"Mr. Arnold? I have not seen you for so many years that I hardly recognised you at first. You must be staying with Lady Crane; though she mentioned your name to me I never connected it with you. I am very glad to see you."
Her tone was more nervous than cordial. She introduced the other gentlemen with her to him. "Sir Henry Talbot. Captain Willoughby." Then she added lightly—
"I might have known I would find you in the children's company. I remember how fond you were of all small people."
"He's our prisoner," said Jack importantly, "and we're taking him to the policeman."
"A trethpather," put in Bumps excitedly.
"Yes, we're going to prosecute him," said Jill gravely.
Mona laughed, but Mr. Arnold looked grave enough as he said:
"Yes, I plead guilty, but I appeal to the present company that I should be let off a term of imprisonment by paying a fine."
"What does he mean?" asked Jill confidentially, addressing Captain Willoughby, who was always the children's friend.
"He means he'll pay down some money if you make him. What has he been doing?"
"He has been trespassing in our most private place. There's a board up, so there was no excuse."
"I think if he pays us some money we'll let him off," said Jack.
Mr. Arnold held out five shillings.
"It's a first offence," he said. "I'll never do it again."
"What shall we do with it?" asked Jill, taking the money and fingering it dubiously.
Mona had walked on with Sir Henry Talbot.
"Why," said Jack "we'll put it in our bag."
Jill's whole face brightened.
"Thank you," she said. "We'll forgive you then."
"You mercenary little wretches," said Captain Willoughby. "Is this a new game by which you fleece every stranger?"
"The money isn't for us!" said Jill indignantly. "It's for a kind of church."
Mr. Arnold looked at her, and gave one of his rare smiles again.
"I must hear about it," he said. "I should like to know where my fine will go."
He certainly knew how to gain children's confidences. Before very long on a garden seat Jill was telling him about it all, even about their cherished "Bethel."
She was rapidly making the trespasser into a friend.
"I am most interested," he said; "I am going back to a big manufacturing town soon, and I think I must try and get some of my boys and girls to put aside a tenth."
"Have you any little boys and girls of your own?" asked Jill.
"I am not a father," Mr. Arnold replied, "but I have all sorts and kinds of boys and girls who I consider belong to me. Little crossing-sweepers, and errand-boys, and miners, and school-boys, and factory-girls. And I have a few like you who enjoy plenty from their Heavenly Father."
"Did you know Mona long ago?" asked Jill.
"I knew her," said Mr. Arnold slowly, as his gaze travelled to a white-gowned figure in the distance, "when she was about as big as you, and we used to spend all our holidays together till we grew up. You ask your sister to tell you of our prank in the church tower with old Solomon Disher!"
"Oh, do tell me."
He shook his head. He saw Mona coming towards them again and he rose to meet her.
A few words that then passed between them puzzled Jill.
"Well, Mr. Arnold, tell me your news. I suppose you have never changed your opinion since we last met."
"No, I never have."
His eyes and mouth were stern as he spoke.
Mona looked at him thoughtfully, then as she met his gaze, she laughed lightly.
"Your spirit is still ruling your body. I can see that. And I suppose you would say that my body is still ruling my spirit. I think it is. I always told you I should take the easy path."
Mr. Arnold glanced at her, then he looked at the gay company on the flowered lawns, his ear caught the lively strains of the band, and his gaze wandered to the beautiful sloping hills and woods that formed a background to the charming old English house that was her property.
"A noble patrimony," he said in a low clear voice. "I would it did not belong to those who lay up treasure for themselves and are not rich toward God."
A crimson flush mounted to Mona's fair cheeks.
"Seven years ago," she said "we parted because of your unreasonable severity. Have we met to do the same this afternoon?"
A smile came to his lips.
"I hope not. I have lived and learnt to judge less harshly; but my aim is still the same. I hope my standard has not been lowered."
Mona shrugged her shoulders, then deliberately walked away from him.
Jill looked after her astonished.
"You have made Mona cross, Mr. Arnold."
"I am afraid I have," he said humbly. "Shall we come over to the tea tent?"
Jill was only too delighted.
VIII
"I MUST LOVE FIRST, BEFORE I CAN GIVE"
But Jill lost her friend in the tent. Several ladies took possession of him, and Miss Falkner told her to come with her and speak to two little girls who were standing outside. They were evidently twins. Both had white delicate faces and long fair hair reaching almost to their waists.
Jill was much astonished when she heard they were the "Indian nieces."
"Why do they call you Indians?" she asked them abruptly, as Miss Falkner having left them they walked across the lawn towards the band.
"We are not Indians," one of the little girls said indignantly. "We have been living in India and came to England last month. Mother and father are still out there."
"Oh," said Jill in a relieved tone: "I was afraid you would be half black. Mona told me you were coming. What do you do in India?"
Their tongues were loosened, they poured out such a volley of "ride through bazaars," "tiffins," "ayahs," "dobies," "punkahs," "rupees," "gymkanas," and other unknown words and terms that Jill grew quite bewildered.
She questioned them eagerly and was quite impressed with all the strange things they had seen and heard.
"What kind of things do you do?" they asked in their turn. "It seems so dull to us in England, but that's because we are shut up in a school-room with a governess."
"We're never dull," said Jill warmly. "Never! And we're always doing new things every day. Do you see Jack and Bumps anywhere?"
"Who are they? Is Bumps a dog? What a funny name!"
"She's my little sister; we've always called her Bumps because she tumbles about and hurts herself so. They've gone off together somewhere. Now if we find them you'll see the sort of things we do. Whenever Jack and Bumps are missing, they are always up to something!"
Jill commenced a rapid and thorough search for her brother and sister. Miss Falkner was also looking for them, but it was a long time before their search was successful. At last coming to a small artificial lake which was tenanted by some wild waterfowl and white swans, they heard a commotion, and found Jack and Bumps very busy indeed.
Bumps was sitting in a wheelbarrow to which were harnessed with yards of tape and ribbon, two of the swans. It had been a difficult task, to judge from the children's heated, dirty faces. The birds were screeching and fluttering their wings, nearly choking themselves in their efforts to free themselves.
Jack was pushing the wheelbarrow behind, trying to follow the lead of the distressed and angry birds. Bumps, elated by her position, was brandishing a small whip and trying to manage her reins, which seemed a difficult matter.
How they had got hold of the swans at all was a wonder, but Jack's white suit was covered with green slime and soaked with water.
"I'm Snow White," called out Bumps, "but these thtupid thwans won't go prop'ly!"
Miss Falkner said very little, but what she said had the effect of bringing Jack to his senses.
"Well," she said; "you have shortened your happy day by this! What a pity! You evidently were tired of the party. We will go straight back to the school-room and stay there for the rest of the day."
In two minutes she had liberated the unhappy swans and was marching Jack and Bumps—one on each side of her—back to the house. The little girls watched them, half in amusement half in pity.
"That's what I say," said Rose, one of the twins, "a governess spoils every bit of fun!"
"Miss Falkner doesn't," said Jill loyally, "but Jack does sometimes go too far. He nearly hung Bumps the other day. He was pretending to do it, but he got the rope too tight round her neck. She was a Royalist and he was Oliver Cromwell. We had had it in our lesson that day. He said he really felt she was his enemy, and he would have to get rid of her! Miss Falkner was very angry. She is very quiet when she is angry, but she's very nice. I love her!"
Then with a quick change of thought, Jill said—
"Do you get a lot of money? Have you pocket-money?"
"Yes, we have sixpence a week each, but it doesn't seem a great lot."
"Wouldn't you like to give your tenth to God? You can easily, if you like. I'll tell you how it's done."
The little girls looked at Jill completely puzzled, but she had a wonderful way of compelling attention and interest, and before she separated from them that afternoon they had promised to think over the matter, and let her know what they could do.
"You see," said Norah, the other twin, "we haven't very much money to spare. We want every penny of it. We're always wanting to buy things."
"Yes, but God wants it most," said Jill, "and it's such a very little He wants; only one penny out of tenpence, that's all it is. And if you saw the poor people out on Chilton Common, who have no church and who look so dirty and wicked, you'd like to give some money to help them."
"Are you good?" asked Rose looking at her curiously.
"No, I'm awfully wicked," said Jill with conviction, "but giving your money away doesn't make you good. I wish it did."
There was nothing to say to this. They parted excellent friends, but Rose said to Norah afterwards, "She's rather a nice girl, but I feel if I was with her she would make me do a thing whether I liked it or not."
"It's the way she talks," said Norah; "she gets so excited over it. I never heard of a tenth before, did you?"
"No, never. I wonder if Aunt Mary gives it, I will ask her."
Jill had a word or two again with Mr. Arnold before he left. He came up to wish her sister good-bye when she was standing by her side.
"Good-bye, Miss Baron. I am off to my work again to-morrow, so shall not see you again for some time."
Mona looked up at him a little wistfully, then spoke in her most airy manner—
"Good-bye, it is not likely we shall often meet; my path is not yours, as you are so fond of inferring."
He looked at her in silence, then his hand fell rather heavily on Jill's shoulder.
"I think of you," he said, "as you were at this age. This little sister of yours has discovered that she is a steward—help her when she grows up, as you were never helped, to preserve her childish faith and integrity. It is required in stewards that a man may be found faithful!"
Then turning to Jill he said—
"Good-bye, little friend. I am not sorry that I trespassed this afternoon, for I am going away happier than when I came."
"And you don't mind us keeping your five shillings?"
"I shall like to think of it reposing in that scarlet bag you told me about!"
He went, and Mona turned sharply upon Jill—
"Run away, child, to Miss Falkner. It is getting late, you have been here long enough."
Jill obeyed, wondering why her sister spoke so crossly.
It was a few days after this that Jill discovered two more trespassers in the vicinity of Bethel.
She was by herself, and did not feel quite so ready to arrest them when they proved to be Mona and Captain Willoughby.
They had been wandering through the plantation, and Captain Willoughby's voice was very low and earnest when the sudden appearance of Jill startled and disconcerted him.
"You can't come any further, I'm afraid," said Jill barring the way; "for you'll be trespassing."
Mona looked at her in amusement.
"Whose wood is this? Yours or mine?" she asked.
"This corner is ours," answered Jill firmly, "No one used it before we did."
"But what have you been using it for?" inquired Mona.
Jill looked a little rebellious. Captain Willoughby seized hold of her.
"You are the little trespasser, not us, I fancy," he said. "Now then I have got you. Come along, and don't pull away from me unless you want a sore wrist."
So Jill was dragged captive before her board and pile of stones.
Mona looked at it curiously.
"Now what on earth does it mean, Jill? Explain."
"You're trespassers both of you," said Jill stubbornly. "It's got to do with us, and we are the ones that know about it."
"The mighty US!" said Captain Willoughby, who loved to tease her sometimes.
But Mona stopped him, and drew Jill's hand out of his very gently.
"Never mind, Jill dear. We will own ourselves trespassers if you will explain this. What does 'Bethel' mean? It is a Bible word, is it not?"
Jill was quickly appeased. When Mona spoke to her kindly she was ready to tell her anything.
"It is a secret place, and a religious one," she said.
"Of course it comes out of the Bible, and it's not idolatry, though Sam's father says it is."
"I know!" said Captain Willoughby. "It's an altar, and you offer sacrifices on it."
"No, we don't," said Jill indignantly, "we wouldn't be so wicked!"
"But the good people in the Bible always offered sacrifices," argued the young Captain.
Jill looked at him thoughtfully.
"Well, we don't," she said.
"What do you do?" asked her sister. "This is a kind of altar, isn't it?"
"It is a kind of one," admitted Jill, "though Jacob did not call it an altar. He made a heap of stones and called it Bethel, and so we've done it too."
"Oh, I see," said Captain Willoughby. "This is Jacob's heap of stones. Isn't one of them in the King's coronation chair, by the bye?"
"But what use is this to you?" asked Mona, wanting to get to the bottom of it.
"It has to do with our vow," said Jill, speaking fast and earnestly. "We have done what Jacob did, we've told God we'll give Him our tenth. 'Of all that Thou shalt give me, I will surely give a tenth unto Thee.' That's the vow. And if anybody wants to make it I shall let them come here and make it, and they won't be trespassers any longer."
"That's a grand inducement," murmured the Captain, "but what does your tenth consist of, Jill? Sweets and currant-buns, and dolls, and picture-books? I should like the system explained."
"It's the tenth of our money, of course," said Jill, "I thought everybody knew that."
Mona was silent. She was looking a little troubled. Then she turned suddenly to Jill—
"Is this where you brought Mr. Arnold the other day?"
"I found him here," said Jill. "He was a trespasser. That's why he gave me five shillings."
"What have you done with it?"
"I've put it into our bag. Miss Falkner made us a red bag and all our tenth goes into it, and then I take it to Mr. Errington, and he's going to build a mission church on Chilton Common with it!"
Mona gasped, then she began to laugh.
"Hopeful Mr. Errington! I admire his ambition, but I fancy many years will roll by before that church is built!"
"I knew you would laugh," said Jill reproachfully.
"Well," said Mona, looking first at Jill and then at her pile of stones, "I always did say you children had the bump of invention. But I, with Mr. Arnold, will plead guilty of the charge of trespassing; and you must do the same, Captain Willoughby. What will you fine us, Jill? Five shillings? I think we cannot escape with less than that."
"Be merciful," pleaded Captain Willoughby. "If I had known this visit of ours would have entailed such a loss to my pocket, I would have kept a long way off from it!"
Jill looked perplexed.
"I don't want to get money out of people," she said, "but you really are trespassers, and it will be lovely for our bag!"
Mona took her purse out of her pocket, and put half a sovereign into her little sister's hand.
"There!" she said. "Run away and put that into your bag. It is for a good object. Now, Captain Willoughby, we must go back to the house. I promised to drive with Miss Webb at four o'clock, and it is that already."
Jill turned over the gold coin in amazement and delight. She thanked her sister effusively.
"I knew our bag would get on, I was sure it would," she said; and then she scampered back to the school-room, where Miss Falkner was teaching Jack how to arrange his stamps geographically in his stamp album, and Bumps was looking admiringly on.
"Look!" she cried. "Mona has given this to me for our bag! Isn't it perfectly lovely."
She got plenty of sympathy from the school-room party. Miss Falkner had heard at last about "Bethel," but she had respected Jill's wish about it, and had never been there.
That evening when the children were in bed she sat by the open school-room window. Her thoughts were not sad ones, though she had had much in her life to make her sad. And when a slender figure in a black lace gown came across the dusky lawn and spoke to her, it was the young heiress's face that looked weary and troubled, not the governess's.
Miss Falkner looked up brightly.
"Isn't it a delicious evening?"
"Is it? Yes, I suppose so. I wish I enjoyed things as you do, Miss Falkner."
There was a little silence.
Then Mona sat on the low window-ledge and put her light shawl over her shoulders.
"I must have some one to talk to to-night, or I feel I shall go crazy, and I have come out of doors to get away from Miss Webb, because she is so cross with me."
Miss Falkner looked her sympathy but said nothing.
"Jill has altered a chapter in my life to-day, and I don't know whether I am glad or sorry."
"I hope she has done good, not harm," said Miss Falkner.
"From your standpoint—yes. From mine—I'm not so sure. I was about to yield to persuasion, when she interrupted us, but after her interruption, I—well I altered my mind. What a lot of bother one's memory gives one!"
"Sometimes it does."
Mona moved in her seat restlessly.
"Seven years ago, Miss Falkner, I quarrelled with some one that I liked very much. It was about a certain subject. It is strange that this week the same person and the identical subject have both cropped up again."
"I should say," said Miss Falkner, "that the coincident has occurred for a purpose."
"Yes, I knew you would say that." Then after a pause she said—
"Do you believe that prosperity is good or bad for one?"
"I think if we regard our wealth as a trust it will be good for us," said Miss Falkner.
Mona laughed a little bitterly.
"Of course. It is the same old story. People can't give because it's right to give. I hate being forced."
"No," said Miss Falkner gently. "It is only when we love the One to whom our wealth belongs that we love to give it back to Him."
"Then," said Mona, "I must love first, before I can give."
She rose, then looked a little wistfully at the young governess.
"Sometimes I wish I could change places with you," she said, and before Miss Falkner could make any reply she slipped away.
IX
TRYING TO BE "DOUBLE GOOD"
"Are you going away?"
It was Jack who spoke, and who stood at the door of Captain Willoughby's room, looking at the half-filled portmanteaus, and the general chaos of a man's quarters when he is on the point of departure. It was before breakfast, and being a rainy morning, Jack was wandering about the passages seeking for some occupation.
Captain Willoughby looked up from his employment. He was vainly trying to strap a Gladstone bag, and was muttering imprecations under his breath.
"Now then, young shaver, what do you want? You children are always turning up when you aren't desired. I have to thank your small sister yesterday for an interruption which proved disastrous!"
Jack edged himself in, and climbed up to the iron foot-rail of the bed, where he sat swinging his legs.
"Why are you going?"
"You didn't really think I had taken up my quarters here for good and all, did you?"
Captain Willoughby's tone was distinctly irritable.
"You needn't be waxy," said Jack cheekily. "There's one thing! I know you'll be back again before long!"
"Shall I?" said the Captain, giving a vicious tug to his straps. "I shall volunteer to go out to India with the next draft; I'm sick of England."
"Do tell me why you're so cross," said Jack earnestly, clasping his hands round his knees.
Captain Willoughby had finished his task. He sat down upon his bag with a sigh of relief.
"There! I shall leave my man to do the rest. The world is an utter failure, Jack, that's what it is!"
"Is it?" said Jack innocently.
"Yes," went on Captain Willoughby. "And it's the women who are at the bottom of it. They're all the same—unstable, uncertain, fickle, false, their moods change from day to day; they make you believe in them, and take you in all round, and then are quite surprised to see that you are taken aback by their complete change of tone and mind. It's a bad thing, my boy, to spend too much time with women. Remember that when you grow up. You will rue the day you made their acquaintance."
This dissertation was perfectly incomprehensible to Jack. He stared at the Captain with open eyes and mouth. Then he slipped down from his perch.
"I'm sorry you're so put out," he said. "I suppose you're cross because you have to go away."
Then he slipped out of the room, and confided to Jill that Captain Willoughby was awfully cross with everybody in the world, and that she had better keep out of his way.
The children with their governess occasionally lunched in the dining-room, when there were no visitors.
Jack looked around on this particular day before he commenced to eat.
"There are five women," he announced; "and I'm the only man. It's a bad lookout for me!"
"Why?" asked Mona, who had been sitting at the head of the table rather distrait and silent.
"Because," said Jack slowly, "Captain Willoughby told me this morning that it is a bad thing to spend too much time with women."
Mona's cheeks flushed a deep crimson. Miss Webb glared at Jack through her pince-nez, and then Mona laughed outright.
"I'm afraid your lot is cast amongst women for the present, Jack. When you are Captain Willoughby's age, I advise you to be careful how you cultivate their society."
"Mona!" said Miss Webb warningly.
"Oh yes," said Mona; "I mean it. And if a woman, Jack, gets tired of your company, and doesn't like the idea of spending all her life with you, take yourself off like a man, and don't be talking over your grievances with everybody you come across!"
Jack said no more. His sister's words were like Captain Willoughby's, beyond his comprehension.
Jill's walk to the Golden City was a very halting one. When she was put to bed at night she generally reviewed her path through the day, and sometimes Bumps was favoured with her confidences.
"I've had an awful day," she admitted one night after a series of misdemeanours and punishments. "I meant to go as straight as—as a ruler, and I've gone all crooked. I always mean to behave, but things happen to make me forget!"
"Yeth," said Bumps a little virtuously. "You forgot when you dressed up the black cat in Annie's cap and apron that she alwayth goes in the coal cellar when she's frightened. And when Annie is croth, she's horrid! When you locked her up here becauth she said she'd tell Miss Falkner, I knew she'd bang at the door till she brought everybody up-stairs. I tolded you tho."
"Well," said Jill, sighing; "when Miss Falkner gave me a column of spelling to learn as a punishment, I did mean to do it; but when I saw Sam pass through the garden, I just forgot all about it, and all I thought was that this was the day he got his money, and I must ask him again about his tenth—of course that was another crooked turn I took; and when Miss Falkner said she couldn't trust me I think Satan came up behind and pushed me down as hard as he could. For I don't remember what I called her! I only know I was in a passion."
"You called her a beatht!" said Bumps in a shocked tone; "and Jack and I heard you, and Jack said he wouldn't never have called her that!"
"And then I threw the spelling-book in the fire, and then I was sent to bed," pursued Jill mournfully. "I wonder, Bumps, if you can make up for one bad day in the next. You see, if I was sent to walk two miles along a road, and I only did a little bit of a mile, and the rest of the time I went into crooked lanes and got myself into scrapes, I think the next day if I ran hard all day, and never stopped to sit down one minute, perhaps I could do the two miles I didn't do the day before, and two more besides."
"Two and two make four," said Bumps complacently. "Will you try to-morrow, Jill?"
"I think I will," said Jill. "I don't want to lose a day if I can help it."
The next morning she remembered her resolve, and she added a silent petition to her morning prayer—
"Oh God, please help me to run hard and very straight to-day. Keep me from tumbling, and let me make up for yesterday, for Jesus Christ's sake. Amen."
"Jill is going to be very, very good to-day," said Bumps confidentially to Jack.
"Is she?" said Jack with interest. "Then I'll ask her to give me those stamps Captain Willoughby gave her the other day."
Jill was taken aback by this request.
"They are mine, Jack. You know I'm beginning to collect them."
"Yes, but it will be unkind if you don't give them to me, because I want them. You should try to please others before yourself, that's what Miss Falkner says."
Jill did not see this.
"I thought you were going to be double good to-day," said crafty Jack.
"Yes," said Jill slowly; "but if you take them it will be unkind and selfish of you."
"But I'm not trying to be good to-day like you," argued Jack, quite unabashed.
"But I shall be making it easy for you to be wicked; I shall be helping you to do an unkind thing."
They were in the thick of their argument when Miss Falkner came into the room, so they dropped it. Lessons were started, and progressed very smoothly. At twelve o'clock, when they were dismissed, Jill came to Jack, and put the stamps into his hand.
"There they are," she said; "but I wouldn't be you for anything!"
"I've helped you to be good," said Jack with the greatest satisfaction as he sat down at the school-room table and began to stick the stamps into his album at once.
Jill ran out into the garden.
"Come and thwing me!" cried Bumps.
"I can't, Bumps, I must try to do something wonderfully good."
"What will you do?" asked Bumps curiously.
"I don't know; I think I will get the Bible and find out."
As quick in action as in thought, Jill darted into the house and soon returned with her Bible in her hand. For some minutes she turned over the leaves of it unsuccessfully, then an under-gardener passed her.
Now this young man was a local chapel preacher, and Jill had heard some of the servants call him "a shining light." She looked up at him inquiringly.
"Tom," she said, "what is the very goodest thing to do when you want to be really good?"
Tom scratched his head.
"'Tis God's Word will tell 'ee, Miss Jill. There be that sayin' of Apostle James—'Pure religion an' undefiled is to visit the widows and fatherless in their affliction, and to keep oneself unspotted from the world.' 'Tisn't many that get beyond that!"
"Thank you," said Jill in delight. "Please show me the verse in case I may forget it."
So Tom took her Bible in his hand and found it for her, then went on his way; and Jill began to formulate her plans with great rapidity.
"'Unspotted from the world' means, of course, not to tumble down and dirty my frock on the way to the Golden City. That I'm trying to do hard, but I haven't visited any widows, and I know there are two or three in the village. That will be a lovely way of doing good. I will go at once."
But alas for Jill! Mona was calling her to come and pick some flowers for her.
For a minute she thought of running away, then her conscience told her—
"That will not be running in a straight road," and she reluctantly obeyed her sister's call, and picked flowers till the bell rang for the school-room dinner.
She was not free from lessons till four o'clock. Then, without saying a word to any one, she put on her hat and ran out of the house and down the long drive as fast as her legs could carry her. She knew one old widow by sight, but she had never been inside her cottage. She was rather shunned by her neighbours, as she was a very dirty, thriftless woman, and earned her living by collecting rags and bones.
Jill knocked at her door eagerly and breathlessly.
The old woman poked her head out and looked at her crossly.
"What do 'ee want?"
"I've come to visit you."
"Don't want no visits from plaguey children!"
The door was banged in her face.
Poor Jill retired discomfited. Then she thought of another widow who had lately lost her husband, a very respectable farmer. She lived at a farm some distance off, but distance was no detriment to Jill's purpose.
Away she went; across fields and down lanes; getting more tired and heated every step she took.
She found the young woman at her wash-tub.
"May I come in and visit you?" asked Jill meekly.
"Come in and welcome, miss. I think you be one of the little ladies belongin' to Miss Baron?"
"Yes, I am," said Jill, seating herself on a low stool with a sigh of relief. "I'm glad you will let me come in. Old Mrs. Jonas wouldn't!"
"That old cat! Why, miss! you be never tryin' to visit her?"
"I'm visiting all the widows I can find to-day," said Jill solemnly. "The Bible tells me to."
Young Mrs. Drake put her apron to her eyes.
"Aye, dearie me! My poor, dear husban'! To think that I be called a widder along wi' that old good-for-nothin' Mrs. Jonas! Oh, 'tis a cruel, wicked world, and hard on me that has allays done me duty an' attended church reg'lar!"
"Don't cry, please," said Jill, only dimly understanding the drift of her words. "You can't help being a widow, you know. That's why I've come to see you. And I've come to see your children too, because it says the 'fatherless!'——"
But at this Mrs. Drake began to sob afresh, and so violently that Jill felt quite alarmed.
"So they be! 'Fatherless.' An' only last Wednesday three weeks he were a dandlin' of 'em on his knee. Oh, 'tis hard, 'tis cruel hard on a poor, single woman!"
A hard-featured woman put her head in at the door.
"Why, Polly, what be 'ee makin' such a moan over?"
Then seeing Jill, she stepped forward.
Mrs. Drake sobbed the louder.
"Little miss have been mindin' me that I'm a lone widder, and my chillen fatherless. So they be, the poor critturs, but 'tis hard to have it thrown up agen me! Ah, my poor dear husban'! Oh, Jim, Jim! why did 'ee leave me?"
She began to beat her hands to and fro, and seemed to be hysterically inclined.
"Run away," said the hard-featured woman. "You won't do no good here, missy. Poor soul! she has been well-nigh distracted, and I were hopin' she were gettin' over the worst of it, and now she be so bad as ever!"
Jill crept out of the house feeling her visit had been a failure.
As she gained the high-road again, she met Sir Henry Talbot, whom Bumps still called the "keeper."
He was very good to the children, and stopped directly he saw her.
"Hulloo!" he said. "Are you having another truant day? Are you all alone?"
"I'm not truanting," said Jill. "I've been looking for widows. Do you know any, Sir Henry?"
He laughed.
"I do. Now, what the dickens do you want widows for? Tell me, and I'll help you."
Jill hesitated.
"You won't laugh at me?"
"On my honour, no."
"I'm trying to be double-good to-day, so I'm visiting them, like the Bible says we must."
Sir Henry did not laugh. He only stood and looked at her.
"And what do you say to them when you see them?"
"That's the difficult part," said Jill. "I don't quite know what to say. I've been to one widow, and she wouldn't let me in, and I've been to another, and made her cry."
"And now you're looking for a third. Well, I will help you. Do you see that big house behind the trees over there? A widow lives there, and her name is Mrs. Beresford. Go and see her, and make her cry if you can."
"But I don't want to make them cry," said Jill. "Will she like to see me?"
"I should think she would. I should, if I were a widow."
"Has she any children? I want to visit some fatherless."
"Happy thought! Come home and have some tea with me. I'm a fatherless creature. My father died when I was an infant."
"I think," said Jill slowly, "the Bible means poor widows and fatherless. You aren't in affliction, are you?"
"No," said Sir Henry. "I can hardly say I am."
"Then thank you very much, but I shall have to look for some really poor people."
And nothing that he could say would induce her to accompany him home.
She plodded back to the village, but before she reached it, she came upon a little party of tramps who had drawn up their pony and cart by the roadside, and were eating their evening meal.
They were not prepossessing in appearance. Two women, both of whom seemed careworn and down-trodden, four children, ragged and dirty, and a sullen, bad-tempered looking man. Jill looked at them with interest. One of the women had a rusty piece of crape on her bonnet. It was that which prompted Jill to speak.
"Are you a widow?" she asked.
The woman stared at her, but the elder one of the two gave her a nudge, then answered for her.
"Yes, little lady, she be, indeed; lost her por husban' a few weeks ago, an' leaves 'er with three chillen under four year. 'Ave you a copper, miss, to give 'er? for she be on her way to the 'ouse."
"I'm afraid I haven't any money," said Jill, "but I'll sit down and talk to her. It's what I came out to do—to visit widows."
The man eyed Jill up and down in a way that she did not much like, but she was a fearless child, and was so full of the part she meant to play that she did not think of anything else.
"I suppose you are in affliction," she said, gazing sympathetically into the woman's face. "I'm so sorry for you. Do tell me which are your little children."
The woman looked at Jill with dull, curious eyes. She indicated her little ones by a backward movement of her thumb.
"And what house are you going to?" asked Jill.
"There be only one 'ouse for the likes o' me," the woman responded bitterly; then she turned her head to watch the approach of a carriage.
Jill enticed one of the small children to come to her. She heard a carriage pass, but did not look up, then she was startled by her name being called, and sprang to her feet.
Mona was calling her, for it was she and Miss Webb who were driving by.
Mona's disgust was great at seeing a party of the lowest class of tramps sitting by the roadside, and her little sister in the midst of them. She spoke very sharply—
"Come here at once, Jill! What do you mean by disgracing yourself and us so?"
Jill turned to the woman politely.
"I'm sorry I have to go," she said. "Good-bye."
She insisted on shaking hands, then came up to the carriage-door, looking a little defiant.
"Get in at once, and we will drive home. How is it, Miss Webb, that even with this immaculate Miss Falkner these children are for ever getting into scrapes?"
Jill climbed into the carriage, feeling very uncomfortable under her sister's scrutiny. She was conscious that she was very heated and untidy; Mona's fresh daintiness made her feel her own deficiency in neatness.
"Give me an explanation of this at once, you naughty child," said Mona peremptorily.
Jill's eyes flashed.
"I'm not naughty," she said indignantly; "I've—I've been visiting widows."
Miss Webb scented amusement. She sat up straight, and tapped Jill's knee with her pince-nez.
"That's very interesting," she said. "Of course, visiting widows is not a sin. But who told you to do it? And why did you pick out a family of tramps to work off your energy upon?"
Jill shut her mouth firmly. She keenly resented Miss Webb's tone of ridicule, and determined to say no more.
Mona gave her a long lecture upon the dangers to which she had exposed herself in making friends with tramps, and when they reached home she was delivered over to her governess with a sharp injunction to punish her for running away, and keep her in the school-room for the rest of the evening.
"So that's what I get for trying to be double good!" said poor Jill when she was in bed that night. "I never will try it again!"
"Perhaps," said Bumps with wisdom beyond her years, "it wasn't quite the right way to be it!"