The barbarous babes

I  ADVISE you not ever to be a missionary. I don’t mean the proper sort that get eaten up by savages and cassowaries, because you can’t do that until you’re grown up; but don’t try and be a missionarying child at home. If you do, the most disagreeable things will happen, though perhaps that part wouldn’t have been so bad if Mother had been there.

It was in November, very soon after Mother had gone away, that Humphrey and I went to the children’s service. I know it was then because the day before had been Guy Fawkes day, and so everything seemed dull and horrid, like it does when there’s just been something very nice, and that was why we went. Jane took us—she’s the housemaid and very fond of things like that, not only reading the Bible, which any one would enjoy, but she loves the most difficult books of sermons and prayers, and she doesn’t even think the litany a little bit too long.

I don’t mean that it was Jane that made us think about being missionaries; it was the clergyman himself. He was a stranger, and his sermon wasn’t a bit like other sermons; it was most interesting, and it was all about setting a good example and being an influence unto righteousness in the lives of little brothers and sisters and lots of things like that. I began to think he must know I was the eldest.

Well, I listened to every word he said, I truthfully did, and all the way coming home I talked to Humphrey about it, and planned how to be a home missionary. We settled that we must be very kind to the Poor Heathens—those were Violet and Ted—because they didn’t know any better, but that we’d have to be very firm. Of course, it was rather silly for Humph to be talking like that, because he was really a Poor Heathen too, but he didn’t seem to understand that part properly. I didn’t like to explain it to him then either, and that was the first great mistake, because afterwards he used to get awfully sulky and cross about it, which just showed that he really was a heathen like I said. Besides, how could he possibly be anything else?

The clergyman had said one mustn’t put off doing good, so I started directly we got home. Fräulein had gone out to see a friend, and we were to have tea alone, which was a good thing, because it made it easier. I went and tidied myself very nicely, and then I came into the schoolroom. I said, “Violet and Ted, have you washed your hands for tea?”

They both looked most astonished. Violet said, “Of course I have, I always do,” which is quite true, but I thought she might just have forgotten that once. That was the worst of Violet though, she was so good she made a perfectly horrid heathen. Teddy only laughed and said, “Fräulein forgot to wash mine and now she’s gone out. Hooray!”

So then I began to talk quite properly. I said, “That doesn’t make the least difference; you should do your duty in life, if any one is there to make you or not.” I said lots more, too, just as nice. I said, “It’s a horrible habit to sit down to table with dirty hands, and any gentleman would scorn such a foul deed.” I made him come with me to wash them at once, though he didn’t like it, ’specially when I cut his nails, every one, and pushed them all down most beautifully.

The other two had nearly finished tea by the time we came back. It was naughty of them. Of course, I had to tell them of it, so I began to talk again, but really, it wasn’t a bit crossly. I spoke more in sorrow than in anger. I said that such disgraceful behaviour was excusable in Violet, as she was so little, but that I should have thought that Humphrey would have known better. I said that in any respectable society they always waited to begin meals for the Pourer Out. They both looked very cross, but they didn’t say anything. For one thing, Humph’s mouth was too full. Suddenly he got down from his chair without asking any permission, and walked across to the fireplace. Then he started toasting his bread and butter!

Well, I really didn’t want to make any more fusses, but what was I to do? Fräulein had particularly said we weren’t to toast our slices, because the butter will drip about, besides its being too nice to be good for you. So I just said very firmly, “Come and sit in your place this minute.” Well, he didn’t. Being a missionary is very difficult.

Of course I started talking again, though I’d hardly had a bit of tea, and I was most hungry. I said that Humphrey was disobeying Fräulein, who had been set in authority over us, and that it was just as bad as breaking laws, and that he might as well commit murder or anything. I said very likely one day he would. He said he didn’t care, and that it didn’t say anything in the Bible about not making toast, and that Mother had never told us not to either. I said any way Mother had always told us to do what Fräulein said, but it all wasn’t the least use.

I had to let him do it, for I couldn’t threaten to tell Fräulein—that seemed too mean. I couldn’t drag him away either, because he’d got the slice on his knife, and I thought he might get cut. Of course, I might have got hurt too, but that would have been quite right for a missionary, and rather nice. Any way, I determined that he shouldn’t do any more, so I took the plate with all the rest of the bread and butter on my lap and held it tight. Then I sat in silence and dignity.

I shouldn’t have thought that even Humph could have taken so long over one bit of toast, but I expect he did it to pay me out; it was all frizzly and smelt most delicious. I sat there, though, and never moved except when I gave the little ones more. I couldn’t eat a single mouthful myself. Even that didn’t make me cross. I said in the nicest way at the end, “And now, children, we’ll have grace.”

Well, you see, the worst of it was we don’t generally say grace except at dinner, so Humph answered directly, “Why should we? We never do,” and Teddy copies every one, so he shouted out, too, “Sha’n’t; we never do.” As for Violet, she just looked astonished.

“My dear children,” I said most exactly like the clergyman, “we are certainly going to have grace, and I shall say it,” but before I could begin Humphrey roared out, “If we have gwace I shall say it, because I’m a man.” It was dreadfully silly; just as if he could, when besides being younger, he was only a heathen!

I tried to explain this to him kindly, I really did, but he wouldn’t understand. So it ended in our both shouting out, “For what we have received the Lord make us truly thankful,” at the tops of our voices, with our hands over our ears, which didn’t seem quite right, and suddenly in the middle the bread-and-butter plate fell off my lap—crash! It was broken to little bits.

That was the first disagreeable thing that happened, for not even missionaries like their pocket-money to be stopped for two weeks, but there were lots more to come. And it wasn’t only big things that were horrid, being a missionary seemed to make everybody cross the whole day long. Now there was Father. You see, I was trying hard to be good myself, besides improving the Poor Heathens, so I’d settled to count ten every time before I spoke, and then I’d not be led into evil and profane discourse. I got the idea out of a book I’d been reading. Well, instead of liking it, Father used to get dreadfully vexed; the trouble was that he generally asked me the question again before I got to ten, and then I had to start counting all over again, so it was quite a long time sometimes before I could answer. I did think it seemed rather silly myself, when he’d only asked me something like, “Have you been out to-day?” because it wasn’t likely that I should have replied anything very dreadful. But in the book it said that one can never tell, and that habit is everything. I did wish that Father hadn’t thought me muttering and sulky.

What I minded most, though, was the way the others went on. They used to stop up their ears whenever they saw me coming and run away. It was dreadful. Some days I’d forget to talk to them about their sins, and then we’d be quite happy, but I always fined myself afterwards. I used to throw a farthing into the pig-sty each time, because I thought if I gave it to any one I’d get pleasure out of it, so that oughtn’t to count; I used to have fines for lots of other wrong things too. Besides this, I’d hit myself with whips and straps to try and make me gooder, but it’s very difficult to hurt oneself much. It was a better mortification when I wore Humphrey’s new jersey under all my clothes, because, though it wasn’t hairy, nor a shirt, it was very rough and tight, but Fräulein discovered it and was most cross.

It was because I hated the others always running away from me that I took to writing about their wickedness instead. I pretended that I was a dumb missionary, and so it wasn’t my fault, and I used to push little notes into their pockets all in printing, so as to be easy to read, but after the first they threw them away without looking at them, so it was no use at all. That’s what made me take to writing things on the walls, where they couldn’t help seeing them, like in our room I put, “Don’t have the cat in bed,” for Violet to read, because Fräulein doesn’t like us to. In the dining-room I put, “It’s horrible to drink with your mouth full,” opposite to where Humphrey sits. Instead of being pleased, though, Fräulein got in a rage again, and said I was spoiling the wall-paper, and made me rub it all out. It did seem difficult to do good.

It was after this that I thought of writing placards. It was all my own idea, and didn’t hurt anything, and was just as good as putting it on the wall. I forgot to say that I hadn’t invented that plan myself. I took it out of Belshazzar’s Feast, and I do think they must have made much worse marks than I did, because in the piece of poetry we learnt it says:

So it must have made great holes. I suppose the plaster was wet. At any rate, I thought that with the placards no one could possibly grumble.

I couldn’t have done the placards, of course, if I hadn’t known just the sort of naughty things that the Heathens would do. So I wrote very big on large sheets of paper, “DON’T,” and then a whole heap of different wrong things. I kept them all stuffed up the front of my dress (it was rather loose, because of my growing so fast, and that was the only helping part I had). Then when the others were naughty I got out the right placard, for they were all put like the alphabet, most beautifully, and I waved it in front of them. They used to get dreadfully cross, and Humph tore a good many trying to snatch them away, but I always wrote them again. It was a good idea!

It was out of the placards, though, that all the trouble came; at least, it was partly that and partly our not hearing that Father had come home unexpectedly. You see, it was after we’d gone to bed, so we couldn’t possibly guess it of ourselves. So the next morning, when I heard the water running in the bathroom, which is next door to the room where Violet and I sleep, I thought of course it must be Humphrey. Ted doesn’t have baths in the morning because of being croupy, and, as I said, I didn’t know that Father was at home; besides, he always gets up much later. I’d been wanting to be awake when Humph had his bath for a long while, so I jumped up quickly, though it was very cold, and put on my dressing-gown and tore round to the bathroom door. Then I pushed a new placard under the crack, a very big one all done in red ink. It said, “Dirty Pig, scrub your toe-nails.”

Well, I thought Humphrey might be cross, but I didn’t expect what really happened. There was a roar like a lion, and the door was pulled back, and there stood a perfectly strange gentleman. He was in his shirt and trousers; he was rather fat, and his face was scarlet; he could hardly speak, he was in such a rage.

I was so astonished I couldn’t say anything either. At last he did. He shouted out, “Unverschämtes Fraunzimmer.” He said a lot more too that I didn’t quite understand, though it was only in German. Then he suddenly slammed the door in my face.

Well, of course after that I didn’t feel very comfortable. I went back to my room and dressed myself, but my legs were all going wiggle-waggle most horridly, and I had a pain inside. I did want Mother. I wanted her so that I felt I must burst or something. I tried the plan of thinking that when I was an old, old woman I should have stopped being unhappy about this horrid time, but there wasn’t any comfort in that like there generally is.

We children had breakfast in the schoolroom, because we always do when there are visitors, but I felt so sick that I could hardly eat any. And in the middle it happened. Father dashed in, just as I expected. He was dreadfully angry. I don’t think I have ever seen him so angry. He said that the German gentleman was a most celebrated musician, and even if I had heard any idiotic chatter of the maids about his not attending to his personal appearance, how dared I take it on myself to give him moral maxims worded in the most insulting language? I didn’t exactly know what Father meant by that, but it sounded horrid. Also, he said that I stuck myself up as being better than any one, and that my conceit was perfectly insufferable. After a lot more besides, he ended up by telling me that I should be sent to boarding school at once. Then he rushed out of the room again.

I hadn’t said anything all the time Father was speaking, and I hadn’t cried at all, because I wouldn’t let myself. As soon as he’d gone I ran away to our bedroom. I couldn’t hide in my secret trouble place, because I didn’t feel that I could ever bear to go into the bathroom again. The worst of it was our door doesn’t lock, for Humphrey lost the key once when we were wicked gaolers of the Tower, but I barricaded it with chairs. Then, of course, I did cry. I cried awfully until everything got quite dizzy. I was still crying when Humphrey climbed in at the window, but I seemed too miserable to mind. He was most nice though. He didn’t talk, but he stroked my hand and shoved his big peppermint into it, just as if there hadn’t been any horrid missionarying. Then, when I didn’t move, he said, “Father won’t go on being cwoss;” and I said, “I wish I were dead.” So I did. It’s a horrid feeling to have.

All of a sudden Humph said, “Why don’t you ’splain it was my dirty toe-nails?” I just sobbed out, “I don’t know.” It was very sensible, really, what Humph said, but I was too unhappy to see that; besides, I was thinking more about the other things Father had scolded me about. I said, “I don’t think I’m better than other people, I don’t, I don’t! I think I’m a beast, and horrible.” Humph said, “No, you’re not.” Then he wagged his head, and went away.

The part that comes next I didn’t know at the time, of course, but Humph told me about it afterwards. He was nice; he can be most ’straordinarily sensible sometimes, though you’d never think it. He went straight to the study where the German gentleman was sitting, and said, “It was my toe-nails.”

The German gentleman jumped up very quickly, but Humph went on telling him. He said, “You see, I don’t scrub mine very much because it tickles. My sister didn’t even know about yours.” He talked in German, because that’s one of the funny things about Humph, he likes it. It was lucky though, because we found out afterwards it always pleased the German gentleman to hear his own language. Then Humph pulled off his shoes and stockings to show his feet. It sounds a naughty thing to do in the drawing-room, but I don’t think it really was.

The German gentleman looked very astonished, but he didn’t look cross, Humphrey told me. At last he said, “So; but why was it written out and pushed under the door like that?”

“Because I stop up my ears and won’t listen when she speaks to me,” Humph explained. He went on and told the German gentleman all about the missionarying, and the gentleman seemed very interested. Then at the end Humph said, “But my sister is starving; she didn’t eat hardly nothing for bweakfast, and no biscuits at eleven, and she won’t even suck my peppermint. I think she’ll soon be dead and it’ll be you that’s done it.”

When the German gentleman heard that he was very nice, Humph said. Of course he must have known that people can live longer than that without food on desert islands and places, though Humph was really frightened about it. He took hold of Humph’s hand and said, “Ach! then we must go quickly and ask that the little sister may be forgiven.” I believe he liked boys better than girls anyway, which does seem funny.

The first thing I knew of all this, though, was Father coming up to my room. He said in quite a different way, “Cheer up, Molly, I hear it was only a mistake. You must be more discreet in your sisterly admonitions though.” It made me feel much better. I went down and told the German gentleman that I was sorry I’d seemed rude. He was all right, but things weren’t really comfortable until he and Father went away again the next day.

I didn’t do any more missionarying after that though; it seemed to be too dangerous. It was a comfort to stop. Besides, the next week I got a letter from Mother, explaining that the clergyman couldn’t have meant it like that at all, because the chief thing if you want to have a good influence over people is that they should be fond of you, so a plan that prevents that must be a mistake. She said, too, that people didn’t generally have a good influence unless it was unconscious, so my best way was just to leave the others alone and try and be good myself. But she said I needn’t worry too much even over that (she seemed to guess all about my finings and hittings though I’d never told her). She said if I just loved people and tried to make them happy, I’d find in the end that I had been good. At the bottom of the letter, just before the kisses, there was a bit that surprised me very much. It was lovely; I don’t much like to say it. Mother said that I’d always been a good influence and a help to her, even though I hadn’t tried to be a missionary. She said that once when she was speaking to Teddy about telling stories (he does sometimes, you see, because he’s so little), she said to him that heroes never told untruths, and he answered at once and very proudly, “Nor does Molly, either.”

It did make me feel funny inside.