XII
THE BISHOP AND THE GEESE
When they reached the beach again the old lady was just in the act of departing for her lunch. She cheerfully paid the donkey man, but Jill was watching the transaction anxiously, and pursued the man to the end of the beach, where she held an earnest conversation with him.
"Jill is trying to make him give up his tenth," said Jack confidentially to the old lady. "I don't think she'll do it."
"What do you mean, child?"
Explanation followed, and with Bumps' eager and breathless interruptions, the old lady got quite mystified.
"Why do you keep talking about a tenth?" she said.
"Because it's a tenth that God expects from everybody," said Jack. "I suppose you give yours to somebody to look after, don't you?"
"I don't give a tenth of my money away at all," said the lady snappishly. "That is an old Jewish law. Thank goodness, we are not Jews, but Christians."
"But Miss Falkner told us it wasn't only meant for Jews," argued Jack. "She says everybody who gets money from God ought to give back some to Him."
"Yeth," nodded Bumps; "and becauth we can't send it up to heaven, Miss Falkner thaid we could thpend it on good things for God down on the earth, and we would be very happy if you gave us your money for our bag, wouldn't we, Jack?"
Jack was not a good beggar. He got hot and red.
"We don't ask people for money," he said; "but if they like to give us their tenth we should be pleased."
"Jill asks," said Bumps. "She asks everybody!"
"Oh, dear!" said the old lady, "here she comes running back! I must go. There, my boy, there's a coin for your bag!"
She put a sovereign into Jack's hand.
"Is it your tenth?" he asked wonderingly; "what a lot of money you must have! Thank you very much!"
But the old lady was gone, and strangely enough the children never saw her again.
"Have you got any money from the donkey man?" asked Jack.
"Yes," said Jill in quiet triumph. "He gave me sixpence. I don't know whether it was quite a tenth, but he seemed very pleased to do it—at least he got pleased. He said he had never done such a good thing in his life, and he hoped that it would be remembered. I told him God wouldn't forget it, for He can't forget anything. And he told me he only lives a mile from Chilton Common, and when the church is built I'm to let him know, and he will come and see it. He's a nice man!"
Then Jack opened his hand, and let her see what he had got. Jill screamed in ecstacy; the red bag was produced, and when both coins were safely deposited, they ran indoors to their dinner, feeling they had had an eventful morning.
The days passed slowly. There were days when everything went wrong, when Jill, as well as Jack and Bumps, was seized with the spirit of mischief and naughtiness. She was very repentant when the day was over, but Annie did not understand her moods, and was not so long-suffering as Miss Falkner.
"It's no good leading me such a life all day, and then thinking you make it all right by saying you're sorry," she said with great severity. "You're all talk, Miss Jill! pretending to be so good with your bag of money, and making Miss Bumps as wicked as yourself when you choose! I've no belief in them that talks good, and acts wicked!"
Jill's passionate temper was aroused at once.
"I don't pretend, and I don't talk good! And I hate you, Annie! It's you that make us wicked! Miss Falkner never does! I'll run away, and go straight home, and catch the scarlet fever! I won't stay with you!"
Annie laughed scornfully.
"Words again! You want a piece clipped out of your saucy tongue, Miss Jill!"
Jill was sitting up in bed. With all her strength she flung her pillow in Annie's face.
Annie caught it, and marched out of the room with it.
"You naughty, impudent child! I shall take it right away to punish you. You can sleep without it to-night!"
Jill buried her burning cheeks in her bolster, and began to cry.
Bumps sat up and ruefully regarded her.
"Never mind, Jill. Annie is horrid. Oh, pleath don't cry!"
"It's no good," sobbed poor Jill. "Annie doesn't mean me to finish off being wicked. She tries to make me go on for ever. Nobody understands but Miss Falkner. It's no use to try to be good again. I shall have to go on being in disgrace. I've gone miles away from my path to the Golden City to-day, and just when I'm trying to find my way back again, Annie pushes me away. I shall give it up altogether. I shall throw my red bag in the sea to-morrow, and shall give no more tenths to God. I shall be as wicked as I possibly can. I'm meant to be wicked!"
"Oh, dear!" sighed Bumps, in despair. "You do want Miss Falkner, Jill."
"Of course I do," said Jill, angrily. "How can I be good without her?"
"I wonder," said Bumps, "if God would do instead!"
There was silence. Bumps sometimes—baby though she was—had the rare faculty of hitting the nail straight on the head.
Jill stopped her weeping and began to think.
"I think," she said, after a few minutes' silence, "I'll just tell God all about it. I'd like to tell Him how nasty Annie is!"
Better thoughts soon stole into her angry little heart.
"There's one thing," she said presently, startling Bumps out of her first sleep; "God knows the proper truth about me. He knows I am sorry that I was tiresome to-day! Annie doesn't believe me, but He will. And He knows I don't pretend to be good!"
"Yeth," assented Bumps, drowsily; "He knowth it!"
Jill dropped asleep comforted.
The long time was over at last. Mona recovered and went away for change of air; the house was cleaned and re-papered, and one day Miss Falkner arrived to take them home.
"We almost like lessons now," said Jack. "We've had such long holidays."
But when lessons began the children found them irksome. They had become thoroughly unsettled, and accustomed to careless, unpunctual ways. Miss Falkner's regular routine fretted and chafed them. She found she needed all her patience to bring them and keep them under her control.
"I think," Jill said to Jack, one day, and her face was thoughtful as she spoke, "that no one can be properly good till they are twenty. I wonder how old Miss Falkner is."
"She's just as old as Mona," said Jack. "I heard Mona tell Miss Webb so."
"How funny! But she's not a bit like Mona."
"No. Miss Webb said to Mona when she told her, 'You are a child beside her, Mona.' Now, what did she mean by that?"
Jill pondered.
"Miss Falkner looks older. And I expect being good makes you old. Miss Falkner is very good. I'm sure when I try to be very good, and make you and Bumps good too, I feel—I feel a hundred years old!"
"I don't think children are meant to be very good," said Jack. "People always talk of us as if we're wicked. P'raps we ought to be good on Sundays."
"If we're walking to the Golden City, we ought to be good every day," said Jill decidedly.
Jack shook his curly head.
"I've thought of a lovely game I'm going to make Bumps play at."
"What?" asked Jill in an eager tone.
"Why you know the story that comes in our reading-books about the geese who saved Rome by cackling when the enemy was creeping up. I'm going to be the enemy, and Bumps and you must be asleep."
"But where?" asked Jill. "It was on the top of a high hill."
"Yes," nodded Jack; "but I've thought it out. There's the church tower. We'll do it to-morrow afternoon, and we'll take the geese up first."
"That will be splendid," said Jill; "only how will you do it? Remember the swans! I think if we can get hold of their food, and hold it out to them, they'll follow us, but how will you climb up to the tower?"
"Tom Sanders has done it. He told me he did, and I'm longing to try. You climb the yew tree first, and then get on to the ivy. Then you get in at the belfry window. He got out again and went up by the lightning-conductor, but I thought the geese would see me climbing in at the window and then they'll cackle—and of course I shan't be able to come on any further."
"But supposing they don't cackle?"
"Well, that's the game—to see if they do! If they don't, I shall know Roman history tells lies. Because, of course, these geese are just the same as those were."
"These are English geese!" Jill said doubtfully.
Jack was undaunted. He was a true little Briton.
"Then they must be better than Roman geese, and they'll cackle twice as loud, and be double as fierce!"
So the next afternoon when lessons were over, instead of playing in the garden, the three children stole quietly off to the farmyard.
The prospect was so exciting that even Jill had no qualms of conscience. Jack had persuaded one of the farm lads who looked after the geese to save him a dish of their food. Armed with a big dish he boldly went up to the biggest gander, who greedily put his head into it at once. It was the signal for all the others to follow suit. Then Jack, holding the dish, ran out of the farmyard; and to the children's delight, away strode the flock of geese after him, stretching out their necks and shrieking in protest. Jill and Bumps followed behind with switches to drive them along. Unfortunately, the fowls joined the chase, and two small black pigs escaped out of the yard and with squeals of delight raced into the flower-garden. Out into the lane the little procession went, and the geese behaved very well. Occasionally one or two would dive into a ditch after frogs, which delayed progress, but with Jill and Bumps chasing them behind, and Jack enticing them in front, they at last reached the church-yard, which was not very far away. The door of the tower was found open, and the geese were with a little difficulty driven in. But when Jill turned and shut the door a pandemonium ensued. The frightened birds screamed, and beat their wings against each other. As to making them mount the spiral stone steps, it seemed an impossibility. When Jack caught hold of the gander and tried to hoist him up, he turned and pecked at his hand so viciously that it began to bleed. Bumps got frightened, and crept into an empty oak chest. Jill coaxed and beat the birds by turns, and geese and children shrieked at the top of their voices, till the old tower echoed and re-echoed with the noise.
But Jack and Jill never gave up any cherished plan very easily.
By perseverance, and with much toil and persuasion, they got two young geese to the top. Their wings were strong and they flew most of the way. With these two birds they were forced to be content. Poor Bumps was forgotten, and the gander and his tribe were so furious at being entrapped in such a manner, that they shrieked and fought like furies. Bumps felt if she showed herself amongst them she would literally be torn to pieces, so she lay still in her chest, her little heart panting and throbbing with fright.
Presently she heard voices in the church, and in a few minutes the belfry door was flung open.
Mr. Errington had been entertaining his bishop that day, and had brought him and a party of ladies to look at a beautiful old screen in the church. Their consternation and amazement was considerable when the flock of angry geese confronted them. The ladies beat a hasty retreat behind the yew tree, and the bishop spoke sternly to the vicar, though there was a twinkle in his eye.
"Is this usual, Errington? Is the belfry your poultry-yard?"
And poor Mr. Errington was so utterly astonished that he could not utter a sound.
Away waddled the geese down the church-yard path, and then Bumps lifted up her voice, and her little body too, thereby causing a second alarm.
"Pleath it's only me," she explained, climbing out of her retreat. "The geeth were so angry, I wath quite frightened!"
"Are you a little goose girl?" asked the bishop, bending over her, and putting his hand under her chin.
"No," said Bumps, feeling distinctly aggrieved; "I'm not a gooth at all. It's a game, only the thtupid geeth won't play properly!"
"I am afraid my lord," said Mr. Errington, recovering his presence of mind, "that some young people have been making free of this belfry without my knowledge."
Then turning to Bumps he said, "Where are your brother and sister? I fancy they are the culprits."
"They're upstairs," said Bumps, tears filling her blue eyes, which she vainly struggled to keep back. "They're playing the game without me. They always does when I get left behind. The geeth wouldn't go up-stairs, but Jack and Jill made two of them go."
"And what game are you playing?" asked the bishop gently.
"It's something about Rome and geeth that have to cackle, and an enemy. Jack is the enemy; he is climbing up outthide, and the top is Rome, and the geeth have to wake Jill and me up. But I've never been athleep, and it's all no good!"
Tears dropped on her white pinafore.
The bishop looked more amused than angry. He turned to Mr. Errington—
"They say that some of our churches lead to Rome, Errington, but these youngsters have been early in discovering it. I should like to go up to Rome, I think. Will you lead the way?"
So Mr. Errington obeyed, and the ladies rustled after them, taking Bumps with them. When they came out on top, two geese were being held down forcibly by a very hot and dirty little boy and girl.
"Stop your cackling, you brutes!" Jack was screaming. "I want you to stop till I come up! They're no good, Jill, if they go on like this, and they'll be flying over the tower next. What shall we do? Let us tie their legs!"
"Jack!"
Mr. Errington's tone was so sternly indignant that the boy started and let go of his goose, which flew frantically between the bishop's legs, knocked Bumps down, and finally took a header down the the belfry stairs.
"What do you mean by this? How dare you use this church for such a purpose? Isn't your garden large enough for your games?"
"We haven't got a tower," mumbled Jack.
Jill broke in eagerly. "Please Mr. Errington don't be angry. We haven't been into the church. We wouldn't think of playing games in there. We didn't think you'd mind up here, and it is a history game."
"It seems to me," said the bishop, looking at Mr. Errington with a twinkle in his eye, "that you have some scamps amongst your parishioners as well as examples. I have been hearing"—here the bishop turned to Jack and Jill—"of some good little children that I think you would do well to imitate. You might expend some of your superfluous zeal on following their example. These children are steadily putting by a tenth of all their money, and persuading many of their friends to do the same, with the object of building a mission-room in a neglected neighbourhood!"
Jack and Jill looked at the bishop with open eyes and mouth.
"But that's us!" gasped Jill.
There was a moment's silence. Then the bishop's sense of humour overcame him and he laughed loud, the ladies joining him, only Mr. Errington preserving his gravity.
As he descended the stairs again, he said to the vicar, "One lives and learns, Errington. I had forgotten the complex natures of children."
XIII
MONA'S TENTH
It seemed a long time to the children before Mona returned, and their first sight of her was a distinct shock to them.
She came back with a closely-cropped head, and a white face, looking so fragile that Bumps confided to Jack that she thought "Mona must be nearly dying."
But her voice and laugh reassured them.
They wondered when they saw her kiss Miss Falkner.
"Do you like her very much?" asked Jack.
"Very much," said Mona promptly. "She came to me when I wanted her, and it was through her that I got well again!"
"But hadn't you any doctors?"
"Miss Falkner was my doctor."
This sounded puzzling, but Mona astonished them still more by things she said and did. She came into the school-room while the Bible-reading was going on and asked Miss Falkner questions about it, as if she were one of her pupils. She started having family prayers; and then one afternoon Jill found her trespassing again in the vicinity of "Bethel."
"I think I must join your Tenth Society, Jill. Tell me what you do."
Jill's face flushed crimson with delight.
"Will you? Do you mean it really? And will you put your tenth into the red bag?"
Mona appeared to be considering.
"My tenth will be a big affair by the side of yours, Jill. What does the red bag do with your money?"
"I take it to Mr. Errington every fortnight. He keeps the money. It's for Chilton Common, you know. They do want a church there dreadfully."
"I think I must have a little talk with Mr. Errington about it."
"But you will help us to fill our bag, won't you?"
"I dare say I shall."
Mona was looking away through the pines rather dreamily as she spoke. Jill brought her back to the subject in hand.
"And will you join us now? Properly? You will, won't you? And say the vow by our stones like Jacob? Let me just go and tell Jack and Bumps. They would love to hear you."
But Mona caught hold of her as she was flying off.
"No, Jill. Grown-up people have different ways to children. It isn't a game to me, and it means a great deal more than you could imagine. But I like your quaint idea of raising a little Bethel under the pines here, and if you leave me quite alone, I will take the vow in the same place that you did. More you cannot expect from me."
"But somebody ought to hear you," objected Jill. "I am sure it's more proper to have people looking on."
"God will hear me. Did Jacob have people near him?"
Jill was speechless. Then obediently she walked away, and waited for her sister at the entrance to the wood. When Mona joined her there was a soft radiancy about her face that made her look very beautiful.
"Oh, Jill," she said, "a tenth seems such a miserable portion to offer back. How shall I ever pay the debt of all the past wasted years?"
"And when will you divide your money?" asked Jill. "Do let me see you do it. And if it's too difficult, Miss Falkner is very good at sums. She'll do it for you."
"I shall go and see Mr. Errington this afternoon. You must be patient, Jill. All in good time."
The next day the children were walking out in the village with Miss Falkner when they met the vicar.
He beamed when he saw them.
"Have you heard the good news?" he said. "Miss Baron did not bind me to secrecy. Perhaps she has told you herself?"
"I think I know," said Jill, nodding wisely.
"I have written to a builder, an old friend of mine, and asked him to come over at once and talk it out with me. Now the money is forthcoming we shall soon have the mission-room."
"What!" cried Jill. "Have you got enough money to build it?"
"Indeed I have. And we'll have it up in no time."
"I wonder how the people will like it," said Miss Falkner meditatively.
Mr. Errington looked quickly at her.
"A month ago I should have had heart-sinkings on that point. But I assure you it is their chief topic at present when I go over to them. I fancy sometimes they expect it to bring to them more temporal than spiritual food; but it is owing to a visit from these small people that their antagonism has vanished."
"But who—how have you got the money, Mr. Errington?" inquired Jack.
"Ask your sister. She may enlighten you."
"It is Mona's tenth!" exclaimed Jill, capering up and down in delight. "How soon will it be built, Mr. Errington, next week?"
Mr. Errington laughed as he went his way.
"Oh, you young people! So hot and impatient, so quick to resolve and carry out. I wish I could instill some of your spirits into the sluggish natures that I have to deal with!"
The children could do little else but talk of Chilton Common all that day.
"And now," said Jack, "if all the money is got for the church, where is our tenth money to go to?"
"I think it will be some time before everything will be bought," said Miss Falkner. "You must remember there will be lots of things wanted inside the mission-room; seats—hassocks, perhaps—lamps, and all kinds of other articles. Mr. Errington will like to get your money for some time to come, I am sure."
"And there are always the heathen to send it to," said Jill. "They never come to an end, do they, Miss Falkner? You send your money to them always, don't you?"
"Yes," Miss Falkner replied. "I feel more drawn towards them. At home here in England there are so many to teach and help the ignorant ones. Out abroad there are millions still out of reach of help and Christianity."
Jill looked grave.
"And how much money does it take exactly to make a heathen a Christian, Miss Falkner?"
Miss Falkner smiled.
"I can't tell you, Jill. There is the cost of a missionary going out; he or she are the means, with God's help, of converting a heathen. But every little helps."
"Mr. Errington says the Chilton Common people are heathen!"
"Yes, dear, he means they are living without any thought of God."
"But we did that before you came to us. Really and truly, Miss Falkner, we never thought about God at all. And I'm afraid I didn't want to. You see no one had told us about the Golden City. And I didn't know that Jesus loved us so, and would help us, and keep on forgiving us."
Jill's face was earnest and sweet. Her governess stooped and kissed her.
"But you know about it now, dear, and you must try to help others who are still ignorant."
Jill nodded, then ran away to play.
Autumn came, and then winter. Mr. Errington's energy never flagged; and it was a happy day for the children when the foundation-stone was laid for the mission-room on Chilton Common.
Mona was asked to lay it, but for some time she hesitated, and suggested that Jill should do it instead. Jill flatly refused, and Miss Falkner encouraged her in her refusal.
"I do not hold with children being placed in prominent positions," she said to Mona when they were talking the matter over. "Jill is a clever child, and wants to be repressed rather than pushed forward. I am glad to see she has the good sense to be shy of such a ceremony."
"But I am such a beginner," said Mona humbly. "I have never gone in for good works, and lots of my friends—even Miss Webb—think that my illness has left my brain a little weak and queer."
"Your friends could not think laying a foundation-stone queer conduct. And if they do, what does it matter?"
The children were having their talk about it round the school-room fire.
"I shouldn't like to lay a foundation-stone," said Jack. "Fancy, if you put it a little crooked, then the whole place would tumble down! Sam told me so."
"I should love to build it all," said Jill. "Sticking bricks and stones into clay or wet stuff is lovely! But I couldn't do it with a lot of people and clergymen looking on. I hate people staring!"
"Is it the very bottomest thtone of all?" questioned Bumps with big eyes.
"Of course, stupid!" said Jack. "Do you think it would be the top one?"
"I asked Mr. Errington what it was going to be called," said Jill. "He says he doesn't want exactly a church there, because he wants to give them tea and magic lanterns in the winter, so it's a mission-room, and do you know what he says we can call it? The Bethel Mission-room."
Jack and Bumps set up a cheer at once.
"It's called after our stones," went on Jill proudly. "Mr. Errington said it had been built by tenths. And he told me the meaning of Bethel, which I didn't know before."
"What does it mean?"
"The house of God."
There was silence for a minute, then Jack said slowly—
"But our place under the pines isn't that."
"I like to think it is sometimes," said Jill quietly.
The day came at last for the ceremony of laying the foundation-stone. Even Miss Webb, who viewed most of Mona's proceedings now with raised eyebrows, entered into the spirit of it with real heartiness.
When they drove out to the desolate spot all the inhabitants of the Common were there, and Jack and Jill walked amongst them, greeting them as old friends.
Mona performed her part very gracefully.
Mr. Errington had a good many friends present, but none enjoyed it all so much as the children.
"This is only the very beginning of it," Jill confided to a rough specimen of girlhood, who had been making depreciatory remarks, after the service was over. "You wait till your room is built, then you'll see."
"What shall us see? A parson in a pulpit?"
"You'll see the way to the Golden City," Jill said enthusiastically. "And Mr. Errington will be always telling you about it till you all set out and go. And he'll give you teas and magic lanterns. I wish I lived here to see the workmen build it. I should come and watch them every day, and make them hurry."
As they drove home in the carriage with Mona they heard a startling bit of news.
It was Miss Webb who began talking of the room.
"Mr. Errington is quite down at leaving. He told me it is only his wife's health that takes him. He hopes to hurry on the building—but I doubt if it will be finished before the New Year. It is strange that as soon as he gets his desire about this wild bit of his parish that he should have to leave it."
"Is Mr. Errington going away?" asked Jill breathlessly.
Mona looked at her gravely as she answered—
"Yes, I suppose you can all know it now. You can't be as sorry as I am. I was just getting to like him so."
Miss Webb gave a little laugh.
"It wasn't so long ago that you used to vote him a bore, my dear. There are plenty of clergy. We must hope for one as good."
"But," cried Jill, "he can't go away. Who is to take our bag every Saturday? And the room is for him to preach in. Oh, how dreadful of him to go!"
"Lady Crane has the gift of the living, has she not?" said Miss Webb, addressing Mona.
"Yes, I believe so," said Mona listlessly.
"Perhaps she may give it to Cecil Arnold. He is her nephew!"
A rich colour came into Mona's cheeks.
"Oh, no," she said confusedly. "Why should she? Besides, he would never leave his work in the north."
Miss Webb nodded her head knowingly.
"Wait and see, my dear; wait and see!"
It was a great blow to the children, and as soon as lessons were over the next morning Jack and Jill ran off to the Vicarage as hard as they could go.
Mrs. Errington received them; her husband was out.
"We don't know what to do," Jill said breathlessly. "If Mr. Errington goes away, we can't get on at all. Do beg him not to. Why does he go?"
"My dear child, we are both very loth to leave, but circumstances are against us. I have been told by the doctors that I shall never be better here. If we take this other living offered to us, I may be able to help Mr. Errington instead of being a constant source of anxiety to him."
"It's the bag," Jill said; "it's the bag I am thinking of. I can't bring it to a strange clergyman. I hate strangers! It's too bad of you!"
Jill actually began to cry.
"You see," explained Jack, "some people laugh at us. Now Mr. Errington never did. He understood from the very beginning. Mona used to laugh, but she doesn't now. Miss Webb always does. She told Jill she was a Mrs. Judas, for she kept the bag. Mona scolded her. And Sir Henry Talbot always teases us. He asks if we have taken up any more trespassers. They think themselves very funny, but we don't think them funny, we hate them when they talk so."
"I am sure no clergyman would laugh at you," said Mrs. Errington gently. "We will tell our successor all about you, and he will be only too glad to help you in every way he can."
"But what will you tell him about us?" asked Jill, drying her eyes. "You won't tell him of our scrapes, will you? Say that we always mean to be good, it's just accidents happening when we aren't. And tell him he has just to take the money and use it for God, and ask no questions. Because, when the room is built our money will still be going on. We shall never stop, you know. We're not like Sam's father. He says his cabbages are done, and he can't grow any more in the winter. But I know he has got some turnips, and I'm going to talk to him about them. Oh, I do wish you weren't going away!"
It was the general wish in the village, and there was great concern amongst all Mr. Errington's parishioners. His church was never so full as during the two months before his departure, and as Bumps pathetically remarked—
"There'll be no one like him in church ever again. There never are twos of anybody, except twins, and Mr. Errington isn't a twin."
XIV
"YOU AND YOUR RED BAG ARE AT THE BOTTOM OF IT ALL!"
Mona was looking out of the drawing-room window one fine bright frosty afternoon, when she saw Jill tearing out of the stable-yard with the large carriage-whip in her hand.
Her face was almost as red as her Tam o' Shanter, and Mona exclaimed to Miss Webb—
"I wonder what is the matter! Jill is in one of her tempers. I hope she is not going to wreak vengeance on any human being."
"Oh, let her alone," said Miss Webb. "She must have an explosion now and then, for the way she bottles up her spirits now is marvellous. Miss Falkner seems to have no complaint to find with any of them. It is not natural."
Mona laughed lightly, but putting on a wrap she slipped out of the house and crossed the lawn. Angry voices led her to the pine wood. There before the trespassers' board she found Jill brandishing her whip with fury in her face. Jack was by her side, armed with a stout stick; and Bumps, well in the rear, was picking up fir cones, and throwing them wildly at everybody.
Two workmen were the aggressors; the pile of stones was scattered on the ground, and they seemed to be enjoying the children's wrath.
"Who put those stones up?" Jill was screaming. "I did, and you're thieves to touch them!"
"But they comed from that there wall," argued the younger of the men; "and us have orders to build it up. 'Twasn't business of yours to take them stones from the wall. Back they shall go, or my name isn't Jim Hall!"
"You dare to touch one!" shouted Jack. "Come on and try, we're ready for you!"
"You're trespassers and thieves!" cried Jill. "Come on! I have my whip ready!"
It was at this juncture Mona stepped up. Directly she appeared, Jill dashed forward.
"Look at these men, they've pulled down our stones! They did it on purpose! They saw the board and they laughed at it. They are cheeking us now."
"Hush!" said Mona. Then turning to the men she asked very quietly, "Are you working for me?"
The elder touched his cap.
"Yes, ma'am—leastways for Mr. Courtney."
"What did Mr. Courtney tell you to do?"
"To make good that there stone wall, ma'am."
"Then why are you here?"
"We thought best to take what stones we could from here?"
"That was quite unnecessary. You had better put together that pile that you have destroyed. I will wait here till you have done it."
But Jill objected.
"They shan't touch one of them with their dirty hands! I will do it myself. Oh, Mona, it's a shame of them! They deserve a good thrashing. If I were a man I would give it to them!"
Mona put her hand on Jill's shoulder.
"Gently, dear! I am sorry about it, but they did not understand. If you don't want them here they can return to their work!"
"I never wish to see them again," was the vehement retort. "I—I—feel like Elijah. I should like to call down fire from heaven to burn them up!"
Jill's passion was great. Mona wisely said nothing till the workmen had disappeared, then she remarked—
"When you have put your pile of stones straight, Jill, you can run and find Sam for me. I will tell him to make a little fence round this, and then you will have no more trespassers."
She walked away, for she judged rightly that work would soon subdue Jill's excitement. The idea of the fence delighted the children, and they set to work with a will.
"Nobody dared to touch Jacob's stones, I know," said Jill; who could not quite get over the act of sacrilege, as she considered it.
"Well," observed Jack, "the Bible mightn't tell about it, you see. He had no fence."
"I know it was always there," persisted Jill, "because Miss Falkner told me that Jacob went back there after, and made a proper altar."
"Yes," said Jack triumphantly; "because the other one had been knocked down. Of course he did."
Jill pondered, as she tried to build up the stones in a tidy form.
"Then," she said, "we must have a proper altar, and I'll get some of the mortar that those horrid men are using for their wall. We'll wait till they have gone to their tea, and then we'll do it."
A resolve once taken by Jill was generally carried out. The three children came in to their school-room tea triumphant.
"We've been building," announced Bumps, "and the thtones are all thtucked together!"
"And Sam is going to make a fence round, and no one will be let in!" added Jack:
"And if the clergyman that's coming isn't nice, I've thought of a lovely plan for our bag; but it's a secret, and I'll tell you, Miss Falkner, to-night when I'm in bed!"
Miss Falkner asked for an explanation of these fragmentary sentences, and her little pupils gradually enlightened her.
When Jill was in bed, she made her governess stoop down, and putting her arms round her neck, whispered—
"I've left a hole amongst the stones at the back, and I can cover it up by fixing in a loose stone. So I thought my red bag would go in beautifully, and then it would really be taken care of by God Himself. It couldn't be in a nicer place, could it? It would be like the ark in the tabernacle—in a holy place. And I'm not going to tell Bumps or Jack. Jack tells Bumps everything, and Bumps tells everybody else!"
Miss Falkner looked rather doubtful over the wisdom of this, but Jill seemed in such delight over the idea that she had not the heart to damp her spirits.
But before leaving her, she said very gently—
"How has your walk been to-day, Jill? A few stumbles, I am afraid."
"Yes," whispered Jill. "I've told God I was sorry, only I was what the Bible calls 'righteously angry.' I would like to have called down fire from heaven upon those men. I told Mona so."
"But Jill, that was not 'righteous' at all. The men made a mistake. You should have spoken gently to them."
"No," said Jill, "they meant to do it, and they laughed at it, and I believe Sam's father is as bad. Since his cabbages are gone, he won't pay up his tenth, and he says we have a heathen altar!"
Jill's cheeks began to get hot and red. Miss Falkner stooped down and kissed her.
"If your Bethel is going to make you get angry—if it makes you trip and stumble on your way to the Golden City, it had better be destroyed at once."
Jill looked up with big eyes.
"Oh, Miss Falkner! How can you?"
"You mustn't make an idol of it, Jill, or you will be the heathen. You grieve Jesus Christ by your hot temper. Perhaps you think more of your 'Bethel' than you do of Him!"
"I'm afraid I did to-day," acknowledged Jill with shame.
Then when her governess had left her, she put down her hot cheek upon the pillow, and murmured, "I'm afraid it wasn't 'righteous' anger after all."
The Christmas holidays came and went. Mona was much more with her little brother and sisters in Miss Falkner's absence. Every morning she came into the school-room, and had the Bible-reading with them. They got into many scrapes in their leisure moments, but on the whole were far better behaved than formerly. In the beginning of the New Year the "Bethel Mission-room" was opened. Perhaps to the inhabitants of Chilton Common it lacked a little of the excitement and gaiety with which it had been painted by Jack and Jill; but it was a very enjoyable day to all, and a sit-down tea was given to young and old, at which, of course, Jill was very much to the fore.
Mr. Errington left very soon afterwards, and for two months his successor was not known.
Then one afternoon, when the children were roasting chestnuts over the school-room fire, and Miss Falkner was writing a letter to her mother, Mona appeared at the door.
"I want to introduce our new vicar," she said very quietly.
The children jumped up from the hearth-rug in the greatest state of excitement.
"Why!" exclaimed Jill, as a tall broad-shouldered figure followed their sister into the room, "it's the trespasser!"
"Yes, I am afraid it is," said Mr. Arnold in his deep and hearty voice. "But we parted friends, did we not?"
"I should think we did just! Why we would rather have you as our clergyman than any one else in the whole world!"
"Come! That's satisfactory. I did not think I would have so warm a welcome!"
"Do you like chestnuts?" asked Jack, holding out a charred one between two grubby fingers.
"Don't I?"
In a moment Mr. Arnold was down on the rug like a school-boy, and the children's tongues went fast. Mona looked on smiling; then she said to Miss Falkner—
"What is the fascination of roasting chestnuts, I wonder. Why do all children love it so? You burn your fingers and the chestnuts, eat more ashes than anything else, and scorch your face to pieces!"
"I think it is the love of cooking them," said Miss Falkner.
"It is the danger and difficulty surrounding the undertaking," said Mr. Arnold, rescuing two chestnuts that had rolled over into the fire. "Difficulties stimulate children, they do not deter them."
"I wish," said Mona thoughtfully, "they always stimulated me."
Mr. Arnold looked at her, but Jill broke in impetuously.
"Do you know about the Bethel Mission-room, Mr. Arnold? Will you go there on Sunday and preach to the people?"
He nodded.
"Yes, I have heard all about it from Mr. Errington, also about a certain red bag."
"Ah!" exclaimed Jack; "Jill has hidden that bag away somewhere since Mr. Errington went. I say it isn't fair, and Bumps and I aren't going to give her any more money till she tells us where it is."
"Yeth," echoed Bumps, "and we've looked everywhere, and Jill says, she won't give it to another clergyman unleth he is nith!"
"Am I nice?" asked Mr. Arnold, with one of his sudden smiles.
Jill looked at him gravely.
"I will bring it to you every Saturday," she said, "even if there's only a few half-pennies. But Sam gives us two shillings, and Annie threepence, and Norah and Rose give us some when we see them, so sometimes we have quite a lot. Only you'll tell us what you're going to do with it, won't you?"
"Indeed, I will. We will have a long talk about it."
"And how are all your boys and girls?" asked Jill.
Mr. Arnold's face shadowed instantly. He was looking ill and careworn; it was only in talking to the children that his face lightened up.
"Ah," he said; "my poor people! Don't remind me of them. Nothing but the doctor's orders would have made me leave them."
Then speaking to Miss Falkner, he said—
"I have been ill, otherwise you would not have seen me here. As it is, I fear I shall not find sufficient scope for my energies!"
"You have over a thousand in your parish," said Mona, "and Chilton Common and other outlying districts in addition. I should think there was scope enough for one man's energies, especially as that man has already had a serious breakdown. Now come and have some tea. Miss Webb will wonder what we are doing."
Mona carried him off, and the children did not see him again for some time.
"Miss Falkner," asked Jill one day, "why doesn't Miss Webb like Mr. Arnold? She doesn't, you know."
"Nonsense, Jill, you mustn't have such fancies."
"But it isn't fancy. I was looking at Punch in the drawing-room window seat yesterday, and Miss Webb said to Mona, 'Well, all I can say is, that I wish Cecil Arnold had rather gone to Timbuctoo than come here.' And Mona said, 'Nonsense!' like you said just now, and Miss Webb said, 'I see the end. I shouldn't have been afraid a year ago.' And then she said she was sorry for poor Sir Henry Talbot. Now what did she mean, Miss Falkner? What is the end going to be?"
"You shouldn't listen to grown-up people's talk, Jill."
"But I couldn't help hearing."
"Then you should never repeat what you hear."
Jill subsided.
Mr. Arnold delighted Jill's heart a few Sundays after his arrival by taking for his text the words: "Then the people rejoiced, for that they offered willingly, because with perfect heart they offered willingly to the Lord.
"But who am I, and what is my people, that we should be able to offer so willingly after this sort, for all things come of Thee and of Thine own have we given Thee."
He spoke of the different things people received from God, and how very few of them they offered back, and then in plain and simple words he touched upon the system of tenth-giving.
"There is not a little boy or girl in this church, however poor; there is not a landed proprietor, however rich, who cannot side by side give this small portion of what they receive to the service of God. The poorest labourer can spare a tenth; he will be blessed in giving it, and joy will be his portion."
And then he astonished his congregation by saying he would be in his vestry every Saturday evening from six to eight, to accept the tenths of any of his parishioners who liked to bring them to him.
There was great discussion amongst his congregation afterwards.
"I have no patience with these new-fangled notions," said Miss Webb. "Cecil always did ride a hobby, and this money question is utterly ridiculous. We are not Jews, thank goodness!"
"I think he is right," said Mona quietly.
"Oh, of course you do, my dear. He will be able to twist you round his little finger now."
Mona was silent. Jill burst in opportunely—
"I shall take my red bag every Saturday to him, Mona. I wonder if anybody else will be there."
"You and your red bag are at the bottom of it all I do believe, Jill!" said Miss Webb laughing. "This wonderful Bethel of yours is turning every one crazy!"
Jill did not like to be laughed at. She walked on with dignity, and did not mention the subject again.