The Farringdons

by Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler

  CHAPTER VII

  BROADER VIEWS

  He proved that Man is nothing more Than educated sod, Forgetting that the schoolmen's lore Is foolishness with God.

  "Do you know what I mean to do as soon as Cousin Maria will let me?"Elisabeth asked of Christopher, as the two were walking together--asthey walked not unfrequently--in Badgering Woods.

  "No; please tell me."

  "I mean to go up to the Slade School, and study there, and learn to be agreat artist."

  "It is sometimes a difficult lesson to learn to be great."

  "Nevertheless, I mean to learn it." The possibility of failure neveroccurred to Elisabeth. "There is so much I want to teach the world, andI feel I can only do it through my pictures; and I want to begin atonce, for fear I shouldn't get it all in before I die. There is plentyof time, of course; I'm only twenty-one now, so that gives me forty-nineyears at the least; but forty-nine years will be none too much in whichto teach the world all that I want to teach it."

  "And what time shall you reserve for learning all that the world has toteach you?"

  "I never thought of that. I'm afraid I sha'n't have much time forlearning."

  "Then I am afraid you won't do much good by teaching."

  Elisabeth laughed in all the arrogance of youth. "Yes, I shall; thethings you teach best are the things you know, and not the things youhave learned."

  "I am not so sure of that."

  "Surely genius does greater things than culture."

  "I grant you that culture without genius does no great things; neither,I think, does genius without culture. Untrained genius is a terriblewaste of power. So many people seem to think that if they have a sparkof genius they can do without culture; while really it is because theyhave a spark of genius that they ought to be, and are worthy to be,cultivated to the highest point."

  "Well, anyway--culture or no culture--I mean to set the Thames on firesome day."

  "You do, do you? Well, it is a laudable and not uncommon ambition."

  "Yes, I do; and you mustn't look so doubtful on the subject, as it isn'tpretty manners."

  "Did I look doubtful? I'm very sorry."

  "Horribly so. I know exactly what you will do, you are so shockinglymatter-of-fact. First you will prove to a demonstration that it isutterly impossible for such an inferior being as a woman to set theThames on fire at all. Then--when I've done it and London isilluminated--you will write to the papers to show that the 'flash-point'of the river is decidedly too low, or else such an unlooked-forcatastrophe could never have occurred. Then you will get the Governmentto take the matter up, and to bring a charge of arson against the NewWoman. And, finally, you will have notices put up all along the banksfrom Goring to Greenwich, 'Ladies are requested not to bringinflammatory articles near the river; the right of setting the Thames onfire is now--as formerly--reserved specially for men.' And then you willtry to set it on fire yourself."

  "A most characteristic programme, I must confess. But now tell me; whenyou have set your Thames on fire, and covered yourself with laurels, andgenerally turned the world upside down, sha'n't you allow some humbleand devoted beggarman to share your kingdom with you? You might find ita little dull alone in your glory, as you are such a sociable person."

  "Well, if I do, of course I shall let some nice man share it with me."

  "I see. You will stoop from your solitary splendour and say to thedevoted beggarman, 'Allow me to offer you the post of King Consort; itis a mere sinecure, and confers only the semblance and not the realityof power; but I hope you will accept it, as I have nothing better togive you, and if you are submissive and obedient I will make you ascomfortable as I can under the circumstances.'"

  "Good gracious! I hope I am too wise ever to talk to a man in that way.No, no, Chris; I shall find some nice man, who has seen through me allthe time and who hasn't been taken in by me, as the world has; and Ishall say to him, 'By the way, here is a small fire and a few laurelleaves; please warm your hands at the one and wear the others in yourbutton-hole.' That is the proper way in which a woman should treatfame--merely as a decoration for the man whom she has chosen."

  "O noble judge! O excellent young woman!" exclaimed Christopher. "Butwhat are some of the wonderful things which you are so anxious toteach?"

  Elisabeth's mood changed at once, and her face grew serious. "I want toteach people that they were sent into the world to be happy, and not tobe miserable; and that there is no virtue in turning their backs to thesunshine and choosing to walk in the shade. I want to teach people thatthe world is beautiful, and that it is only a superficial view thatfinds it common and unclean. I want to teach people that human nature isgood and not evil, and that life is a glorious battlefield and not asordid struggle. In short, I want to teach people the dignity ofthemselves; and there is no grander lesson."

  "Except, perhaps, the unworthiness of themselves," suggestedChristopher.

  "No, no, Chris; you are wrong to be so hard and cynical. Can't youunderstand how I am longing to help the men and women I see around me,who are dying for want of joy and beauty in their lives? It is the oldstruggle between Hellenism and Hebraism--between happiness andrighteousness. We are sorely in need, here in England to-day, of theGreek spirit of Pantheism, which found God in life and art and nature,'as well as in sorrow and renunciation and death."

  "But it is in sorrow and renunciation and death that we need Him; andyou, who have always had everything you want, can not understand this:no more could the Pagans and the Royalists; but the early Christians andthe persecuted Puritans could."

  "Puritanism has much to answer for in England," said Elisabeth; "we haveto thank Puritanism for teaching men that only by hurting themselves canthey please their Maker, and that God has given them tastes and hopesand desires merely in order to mortify the same. And it is allfalse--utterly false. The God of the Pagan is surely a more mercifulBeing than the God of the Puritan."

  "A more indulgent Being, perhaps, but not necessarily a more mercifulone, Elisabeth. I disagree with the Puritans on many points, but I cannot help admitting that their conception of God was a fine one, eventhough it erred on the side of severity. The Pagan converted the Godheadinto flesh, remember; but the Puritan exalted manhood into God."

  "Still, I never could bear the Puritans," Elisabeth went on; "theyturned the England of Queen Elizabeth--the most glorious England theworld has ever known--into one enormous Nonconformist Conscience; andEngland has never been perfectly normal since. Besides, they discoveredthat nature, and art, and human affection, which are really revelationsof God, were actually sins against Him. As I said before, I can neverforgive the Puritans for eradicating the beauty from holiness, and forgiving man the spirit of heaviness in place of the garment of praise."

  "I wonder if Paganism helped you much when you were poor and ill andunhappy, and things in general had gone wrong with you. I daresay it wasvery nice for the cheerful, prosperous people; but how about those whohad never got what they wanted out of life, and were never likely to getit?" Christopher, like other people, looked at most matters from his ownindividual standpoint; and his own individual standpoint was not at alla comfortable spot just then.

  "The Greeks suffered and died as did the Jews and the Christians,"replied Elisabeth, "yet they were a joyous and light-hearted race. It isnot sorrow that saddens the world, but rather modern Christianity'sidealization of sorrow. I do not believe we should be half as miserableas we are if we did not believe that there is virtue in misery, and thatby disowning our mercies and discarding our blessings we are curryingfavour in the eyes of the Being, Who, nevertheless, has showered thosemercies and those blessings upon us."

  Thus had Alan Tremaine's influence gradually unmoored Elisabeth from theold faiths in which she had been brought up; and he had done it sogradually that the girl was quite unconscious of how far she had driftedfrom her former anchorage. He was too well-bred ever to be blatant inhis unbelief--he would as soon have thought of attacking a man's famil
yto his face as of attacking his creed; but subtly and with infinite tacthe endeavoured to prove that to adapt ancient revelations to modernrequirements was merely putting new wine into old bottles and mendingold garments with new cloth; and Elisabeth was as yet too young andinexperienced to see any fallacy in his carefully prepared arguments.

  She had nobody to help her to resist him, poor child! and she wasdazzled with the consciousness of intellectual power which his attitudeof mind appeared to take for granted. Miss Farringdon was cast in toostern a mould to have any sympathy or patience with the blind gropingsof an undisciplined young soul; and Christopher--who generallyunderstood and sympathized with all Elisabeth's difficulties andphases--was so jealous of her obvious attachment to Tremaine, and sounhappy on account of it, that for the time being the faithful friendwas entirely swallowed up in the irate lover, sighing like one of theOsierfield furnaces. Of course this was very unfair and tiresome ofhim--nobody could deny that; but it is sometimes trying to theamiability of even the best of men to realize that the purely mundaneand undeserved accident of want of money can shut them off entirely fromever attaining to the best kind of happiness whereof their natures arecapable--and especially when they know that their natures are capable ofattaining and appreciating a very high standard of happiness indeed. Itmay not be right to be unsociable because one is unhappy, but it is veryhuman and most particularly masculine; and Christopher just then wasboth miserable and a man.

  There was much about Alan that was very attractive to Elisabeth: hepossessed a certain subtlety of thought and an almost feminine quicknessof perception which appealed powerfully to her imagination. Imaginationwas Elisabeth's weak, as well as her strong, point. She was incapable ofseeing people as they really were; but erected a purely imaginaryedifice of character on the foundations of such attributes as her rapidintuition either rightly or wrongly perceived them to possess. As arule, she thought better of her friends than they deserved--or, at anyrate, she recognised in them that ideal which they were capable ofattaining, but whereto they sometimes failed to attain.

  Life is apt to be a little hard on the women of Elisabeth's type, whoidealize their fellows until the latter lose all semblance of reality;for experience, with its inevitable disillusionment, can not fail to puttheir ideal lovers and friends far from them, and to hide theiretherealized acquaintances out of their sight; and to give instead, tothe fond, trusting souls, half-hearted lovers, semi-sincere friends, andacquaintances who care for them only as the world can care. Poorimaginative women--who dreamed that you had found a perfect knight and afaithful friend, and then discovered that these were only an ordinaryselfish man and woman after all--life has many more such surprises instore for you; and the surprises will shock you less and hurt you moreas the years roll on! But though life will have its surprises for you,death perchance will have none; for when the secrets of all hearts areopened, and all thwarted desires are made known, it may be that theordinary selfish man and woman will stand forth as the perfect knightand faithful friend that God intended them, and you believed them, andthey tried yet failed to be; and you will be satisfied at last when yousee your beloved ones wake up after His likeness, and will smile as yousay to them, "So it is really you after all."

  Although Tremaine might be lacking in his duty toward God, he fulfilled(in the spirit if not in the letter) his duty toward his neighbour; andElisabeth was fairly dazzled by his many schemes for making life easierand happier to the people who dwelt in the darkness of the BlackCountry.

  It was while he was thus figuring as her ideal hero that Elisabeth wentto stay with Felicia Herbert, near a manufacturing town in Yorkshire.Felicia had been once or twice to the Willows, and was well acquaintedwith the physical and biographical characteristics of the place; and shecherished a profound admiration both for Miss Farringdon and ChristopherThornley. Tremaine she had never met--he had been abroad each time thatshe had visited Sedgehill--but she disapproved most heartily of hisinfluence upon Elisabeth, and of his views as set forth by that younglady. Felicia had been brought up along extremely strict lines, and in aspirit of comfortable intolerance of all forms of religion notabsolutely identical with her own; consequently, a man with no form ofreligion at all was to her a very terrible monster indeed. On theSundays of her early youth she had perused a story treating of anUnbeliever (always spelled with a capital U), and the punishments thatwere meted out to the daughter of light who was unequally yoked withhim; and she was imbued with a strong conviction that these samepunishments were destined to fall upon Elisabeth's head, shouldElisabeth incline favourably to the (at present) hypothetical suit ofthe master of the Moat House. Thus it happened that when Elisabeth cameto the Herberts', full of girlish admiration for Alan Tremaine, Feliciadid her best to ripen that admiration into love by abusing Alan in andout of season, and by endeavouring to prove that an attachment to himwould be a soul-destroyer of the most irreparable completeness.

  "It is no use talking to me about his goodness," she said; "nobody isgood who isn't a Christian."

  "But he is good," persisted Elisabeth--"most tremendously good. The poorpeople simply adore him, he does such a lot for them; and he couldn'thave lovelier thoughts and higher ideals if he were a girl instead of aman. There must be different ways of goodness, Felicia."

  "There are not different ways of goodness; mamma says there are not, andit is very wicked to believe that there are. I am afraid you are nothalf as religious as you were at Fox How."

  "Yes, I am; but I have learned that true religion is a state of mindrather than a code of dogmas."

  Felicia looked uncomfortable. "I wish you wouldn't talk like that; I amsure mamma wouldn't like it--she can not bear anything that borders onthe profane."

  "I am not bordering on the profane; I am only saying what I uphold istrue. I can not take things for granted as you do; I have to think themout for myself; and I have come to the conclusion that what a man is isof far more importance than what a man believes."

  "But you ought not to think things like that, Elisabeth; it isn't rightto do so."

  "I can't help thinking it. I am an independent being with a mind of myown, and I must make up that mind according to what I see going onaround me. What on earth is the good of having an intellect, if yousubmit that intellect to the will of another? I wonder how you can takeyour ideas all ready-made from your mother," exclaimed Elisabeth, whojust then was taking all hers ready-made from Alan Tremaine.

  "Well, I can not argue. I am not clever enough; and, besides, mammadoesn't like us to argue upon religious subjects--she says it isunsettling; so I will only say that I know you are wrong, and then wewill let the matter drop and talk about Christopher. How is he?"

  "Oh, he is all right, only very horrid. To tell you the truth, I amgetting to dislike Christopher."

  "Elisabeth!" Felicia's Madonna-like face became quite sorrowful.

  "Well, I am; and so would you, if he was as stand-off to you as he is tome. I can't think what is wrong with him; but whatever I do, and howevernice I try to be to him, the North Pole is warm and neighbourly comparedwith him. I'm sick of him and his unsociable ways!"

  "But you and he used to be such friends."

  "I know that; and I would be friends now if he would let me. But how canyou be friends with a man who is as reserved as the Great Pyramid and asuncommunicative as the Sphinx, and who sticks up iron palings all roundhimself, like a specimen tree in the park, so that nobody can get nearhim? If a man wants a girl to like him he should be nice to her, and notrequire an introduction every time they meet."

  Felicia sighed: her sweet, placid nature was apt to be overpowered byElisabeth's rapid changes of front. "But he used to be so fond of you,"she expostulated feebly.

  Elisabeth shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, I suppose he likes me now, in hiscold, self-satisfied way: it isn't that. What I complain of is that hedoesn't admire me enough, and I do so love to be admired."

  "Do you mean he doesn't think you are pretty?" Felicia always had tohave things fully ex
plained to her; excess of imagination could neverlead her astray, whatever it might do to her friend.

  "Of course not; I don't see how he could, considering that I'm not:women don't expect men to admire them for things that they don'tpossess," replied Elisabeth, who had still much to learn. "What I meanis he doesn't realize how clever I am--he despises me just as he used todespise me when I was a little girl and he was a big boy--and that isawfully riling when you know you are clever."

  "Is it? I would much rather a man liked me than thought I was clever."

  "I wouldn't; anybody can like you, but it takes a clever person toappreciate cleverness. I have studied myself thoroughly, and I havecome to the conclusion that I need appreciation far more than affection:I'm made like that."

  "I don't understand you. To me affection is everything, and I can notlive without it. If people are really fond of me, they can think me asstupid as they like."

  Elisabeth's face grew thoughtful; she was always interested in theanalysis of herself and her friends. "How different we two are! Icouldn't forgive a person for thinking me stupid, even if I knew thatperson adored me. To me no amount of affection would make up for thelack of appreciation. I want to be understood as well as liked, and thatis where Christopher and I come across each other; he never understandsme in the least. Now that is why Mr. Tremaine and I get on so welltogether; he understands and appreciates me so thoroughly."

  Felicia's pretty month fell into stern lines of disapproval. "I am sureI should hate Mr. Tremaine if I knew him," she said.

  "Oh, no, you wouldn't--you simply couldn't, Felicia, he is sodelightful. And, what is more, he is so frightfully interesting:whatever he says and does, he always makes you think about him. Now,however fond you were of Chris--and he really is very good and kind insome ways--you could never think about him: it would be such dreadfullyuninteresting thinking, if you did."

  "I don't know about that; Christopher is very comfortable and homelike,somehow," replied Felicia.

  "So are rice-puddings and flannel petticoats, but you don't occupy yourmost exalted moments in meditating upon them."

  "Do you know, Elisabeth, I sometimes think that Christopher is in lovewith you." Unlike Elisabeth, Felicia never saw what did not exist, andtherefore was able sometimes to perceive what did.

  "Good gracious, what an idea! He'd simply roar with laughter at the merethought of such a thing! Why, Christopher isn't capable of falling inlove with anybody; he hasn't got it in him, he is so frightfullymatter-of-fact."

  Felicia looked dubious. "Then don't you think he will ever marry?"

  "Oh, yes, he'll marry fast enough--a sweet, domestic woman, who playsthe piano and does crochet-work; and he will talk to her about the priceof iron and the integrity of the empire, and will think that he ismaking love, and she will think so too. And they will both of them godown to their graves without ever finding out that the life is more thanmeat or the body than raiment."

  Elisabeth was very hard on Christopher just then, and nothing thatFelicia could say succeeded in softening her. Women are apt to be hardwhen they are quite young--and sometimes even later.

  Felicia Herbert was the eldest of a large family. Her parents, thoughwell-to-do, were not rich; and it was the dream of Mrs. Herbert's lifethat her daughter's beauty should bring about a great match. She was agood woman according to her lights, and a most excellent wife andmother; but if she had a weakness--and who (except, of course, one'sself) is without one?--that weakness was social ambition.

  "You will understand, my dear," she said confidentially to Elisabeth,"that it would be the greatest comfort to Mr. Herbert and myself to seeFelicia married to a God-fearing man; and, of course, if he kept hisown carriage as well we should be all the better satisfied."

  "I don't think that money really makes people happy," replied Elisabeth,strong in the unworldliness of those who have never known what it is todo without anything that money can buy.

  "Of course not, my dear--of course not; nothing but religion can bringtrue happiness. Whenever I am tempted to be anxious about my children'sfuture, I always check myself by saying, 'The Lord will provide; thoughI can not sometimes help hoping that the provision will be an ample oneas far as Felicia is concerned, because she is so extremelynice-looking."

  "She is perfectly lovely!" exclaimed Elisabeth enthusiastically; "andshe gets lovelier and lovelier every time I see her. If I were to changeplaces with all the rich men in the world, I should never do anythingbut keep on marrying Felicia."

  "Still, she could only marry one of you, my dear. But, betweenourselves, I just want to ask you a few questions about a Mr. Thornleywhom Felicia met at your house. I fancied she was a wee bit interestedin him."

  "Interested in Chris! Oh! she couldn't possibly be. No girl could beinterested in Christopher in that way."

  "Why not, my dear? Is he so unusually plain?"

  "Oh! no; he is very good-looking; but he has a good head for figures anda poor eye for faces. In short, he is a sensible man, and girls don'tfall in love with sensible men."

  "I think you are mistaken there; I do indeed. I have known manyinstances of women becoming sincerely attached to sensible men."

  "You don't know how overpoweringly sensible Christopher is. He is sowise that he never makes a joke unless it has some point in it."

  "There is no harm in that, my dear. I never see the point of a jokemyself, I admit; but I like to know that there is one."

  "And when he goes for a walk with a girl, he never talks nonsense toher," continued Elisabeth, "but treats her exactly as if she were hismaiden aunt."

  "But why should he talk nonsense to her? It is a great waste of time totalk nonsense; I am not sure that it is not even a sin. Is Mr. Thornleywell off?"

  "No. His uncle, Mr. Smallwood, is the general manager of our works; andChristopher has only his salary as sub-manager, and what his uncle mayleave him. His mother was Mr. Smallwood's sister, and married ane'er-do-weel-who left her penniless; at least, that is to say, if heever had a mother--which I sometimes doubt, as he understands women solittle."

  "Still, I think we can take that for granted," said Mrs. Herbert,smiling with pride at having seen Elisabeth's little joke, and feelingquite a wit herself in consequence. One of the secrets of Elisabeth'spopularity was that she had a knack of impressing the people with whomshe talked, not so much with a sense of her cleverness as with a senseof their own. She not only talked well herself, she made other peopletalk well also--a far more excellent gift.

  "So," she went on, "if his uncle hadn't adopted him, I suppose Chriswould have starved to death when he was a child; and that would havebeen extremely unpleasant for him, poor boy!"

  "Ah! that would have been terrible, my dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Herbert, sofull of pity for Christopher that she was willing to give him anythingshort of her firstborn. She was really a kind-hearted woman.

  Elisabeth looked out of the window at the group of stunted shrubs withblack-edged leaves which entitled Felicia's home to be called Wood Glen."There is one thing to be said in favour of starvation," she saidsolemnly, "it would keep one from getting stout, and stoutness is thecruellest curse of all. I'd rather be dead than stout any day."

  "My dear child, you are talking nonsense. What would be the advantage ofbeing thin if you were not alive?"

  "When you come to that, what would be the advantage of being alive ifyou weren't thin?" retorted Elisabeth.

  "The two cases are not parallel, my dear; you see you couldn't be thinwithout being alive, but you could be alive without being thin."

  "It is possible; I have come across such cases myself, but I devoutlytrust mine may never be one of them. As the hymn says, I shall always be'content to fill a little space.'"

  "Ah! but I think the hymn doesn't mean it quite in that sense. I believethe hymn refers rather to the greatness of one's attainments andpossessions than to one's personal bulk."

  Elisabeth opened her eyes wide with an expression of childlikesimplicity. "Do you really think so?"<
br />
  "I do, my dear. You know one must not take poetry too literally; versewriters are allowed what is termed 'poetic license,' and are rarely, ifever, quite accurate in their statements. I suppose it would be toodifficult for anybody to get both the truth and the rhyme to fit in, andso the truth has to be somewhat adapted. But about Mr. Thornley, mylove; you don't think that he and Felicia are at all interested in oneanother?"

  "Good gracious, no! I'm sure they are not. If they had been, I shouldhave spotted it and talked about it ages ago."

  "I hope you are not given to talk about such things, even if you doperceive them," said Mrs. Herbert, with reproof in her tone; "talkingscandal is a sad habit."

  "But it isn't scandal to say that a man is in love with a woman--infact, it is the very opposite. It is much worse scandal never to talkabout a woman in that way, because that means that you think she iseither too old or too ugly to have a lover, and that is the worstscandal of all. I always feel immensely tickled when I hear womenpluming themselves on the fact that they never get talked about; and Ilong to say to them, 'There is nothing to be proud of in that, my dears;it only means that the world is tacitly calling you stupid old frights.'Why, I'd rather people found fault with me than did not talk about me atall."

  "Then I am afraid you are not 'content to fill a little space,'" saidMrs. Herbert severely.

  "To tell you the truth I don't think I am," replied Elisabeth, withengaging frankness; "conceit is my besetting sin and I know it. Notstately, scornful, dignified pride, but downright, inflated, perky,puffed-up conceit. I have often remarked upon it to Christopher, and hehas always agreed with me."

  "But, my dear, the consciousness of a fault is surely one step towardits cure."

  "Not it," replied Elisabeth, shaking her head; "I've always known I amconceited, yet I get conceiteder and conceiteder every year. Bless you!I don't want to 'fill a little space,' and I particularly don't want 'aheart at leisure from itself'; I think that is such a dull, old-maidishsort of thing to have--I wouldn't have one for anything. People who havehearts at leisure from themselves always want to understudy Providence,you will notice."

  Mrs. Herbert looked shocked. "My dear, what do you mean?"

  "I mean that really good people, who have no interests of their own, aretoo fond of playing the part of Providence to other people. That theirmotives are excellent I admit; they are not a bit selfish, and theyinterfere with you for your own good; but they successfully accomplishas much incurable mischief in half an hour as it would take half a dozenprofessional mischief-makers at least a year to finish offsatisfactorily. If they can not mind their own business it doesn'tfollow that Providence can't either, don't you see?"

  Whereupon Felicia entered the room, and the conversation was abruptlyclosed; but not before Mrs. Herbert had decided that if Providence hadselected her daughter as the consoler of Christopher's sorrows,Providence must be gently and patiently reasoned with until another andmore suitable comforter was substituted. She did not, of course, put thematter to herself thus barely; but this was what her decisionpractically amounted to.

  But although people might not be talking, as Mrs. Herbert imagined,about Christopher and Felicia, the tongues of Sedgehill were all agogon the subject of the evident attachment between Elisabeth Farringdonand the master of the Moat House.

  "I'm afeared as our Miss Elisabeth is keeping company with that Mr.Tremaine; I am indeed," Mrs. Bateson confided to her crony, Mrs. Hankey.

  Mrs. Hankey, as was her wont, groaned both in spirit and in person. "SoI've heard tell, more's the pity! Miss Elisabeth is no favourite ofmine, as you know, being so dark-complexioned as a child, and I nevercould abide dark babies. I haven't much to be thankful for, I'm sure,for the Lord has tried me sore, giving me Hankey as a husband, and sucha poor appetite as I never enjoy a meal from one year's end to another;but one thing I can boast of, and that is my babies were all fair, withas clear a skin as you could want to see. Still, I don't wish the younglady no harm, it not being Christian to do so; and it is sad at her ageto be tied to a husband from which there is no outlet but the grave."

  "I don't hold with you there, Mrs. Hankey; it is dull work for the womenwho have nobody to order 'em about and find fault with 'em. Why, where'sthe good of taking the trouble to do a thing well, if there's no man toblame you for it afterward? But what I want to see is Miss Elisabethmarried to Master Christopher, them two being made for one another, asyou might say."

  "He has a new heart and a nice fresh colour, has Master Christopher;which is more than his own mother--supposing she was alive--could sayfor Mr. Tremaine."

  "That is so, Mrs. Hankey. I'm afeared there isn't much religion abouthim. He don't even go to church on a Sunday, let alone chapel; thoughhe is wonderful charitable to the poor, I must admit."

  Mrs. Hankey pursed up her mouth. "And what are works without faith, Ishould like to know!"

  "Quite true--quite true; but maybe the Lord ain't quite as hard on us aswe are on one another, and makes allowances for our bringing-up andsuch."

  "Maybe," replied Mrs. Hankey, in a tone which implied that she hoped herfriend was mistaken.

  "You see," continued Mrs. Bateson, "there's nothing helps you tounderstand the ways of the Lord like having children of your own. Why,afore I was married, I was for whipping every child that was contrairytill it got good again; but after my Lucy Ellen was born, I found thather contrairiness made me sorry for her instead of angry with her, and Iknowed as the poor little thing was feeling poorly or else she'd neverhave been like that. So instead of punishing her, I just comforted her;and the more contradictious she got, the more I knowed as she wantedcomfort. And I don't doubt but the Lord knows that the more we kickagainst Him the more we need Him; and that He makes allowanceaccordingly."

  "You seem to have comfortable thoughts about things; I only hope as youare not encouraging false hopes and crying peace where there is nopeace," remarked Mrs. Hankey severely.

  But Mrs. Bateson was not affrighted. "Don't you know how ashamed youfeel when folks think better of you than you deserve? I remember yearsago, when Caleb came a-courting me, I was minded once to throw him over,because he was full solemn to take a young maid's fancy. And when I wasdebating within myself whether I'd throw him over or no, he says to me,'Kezia, my lass,' he says, 'I'm not afeared as ye'll give me the slip,for all your saucy ways; other folks may think you're a bit flirty, butI know you better than they do, and I trust you with all my heart.' Doyou think I could have disappointed him after that, Mrs. Hankey? Not forthe whole world. But I was that ashamed as never was, for even havingthought of such a thing. And if we poor sinful souls feel like that, doyou think the Lord is the One to disappoint folks for thinking better ofHim than He deserves? Not He, Mrs. Hankey; I know Him better than that."

  "I only wish I could see things in such a cheerful light as you do."

  "It was only after my first baby was born that I began to understand theLord's ways a bit. It's wonderful how caring for other folks seems tobring you nearer to Him--nearer even than class meetings and specialservices, though I wouldn't for the world say a word against the meansof grace."

  This doctrine was too high for Mrs. Hankey; she could not attain to it,so she wisely took refuge in a side issue. "It was fortunate for youyour eldest being a girl; if the Lord had thought fit to give me adaughter instead of three sons, things might have been better with me,"she said, contentedly moving the burden of personal responsibility fromher own shoulders to her Maker's.

  "Don't say that, Mrs. Hankey. Daughters may be more useful in the house,I must confess, and less mischievous all round; but they can't work ashard for their living as the sons can when you ain't there to look afterthem."

  "You don't know what it is to live in a house full of nothing but men,with not a soul to speak to about all the queer tricks they're at, manya time I feel like Robinson Crusoe on a desert island among a lot ofsavages."

  "And I don't blame you," agreed Mrs. Bateson sympathetically; "for mypart I don't know
what I should have done when Caleb and the boys weretroublesome if I couldn't have passed remarks on their behaviour to LucyEllen; I missed her something terrible when first she was married forthat simple reason. You see, it takes another woman to understand howqueer a man is."

  "It does, Mrs. Bateson; you never spoke a truer word. And then thinkwhat it must be on your death-bed to have the room full of stupid men,tumbling over one another and upsetting the medicine-bottles and puttingeverything in its wrong place. Many a time have I wished for a daughter,if it was but to close my eyes; but the Lord has seen fit to withholdHis blessings from me, and it is not for me to complain: His ways notbeing as our ways, but often quite the reverse."

  "That is so; and I wish as He'd seen fit to mate Miss Elisabeth withMaster Christopher, instead of letting her keep company with that Mr.Tremaine."

  Mrs. Hankey shook her head ominously. "Mr. Tremaine is one that hasreligious doubts."

  "Ah! that's liver," said Mrs. Bateson, her voice softening with pity;"that comes from eating French kickshaws, and having no mother to seethat he takes a dose of soda and nitre now and then to keep his systemcool. Poor young man!"

  "I hear as he goes so far as to deny the existence of a God," continuedMrs. Hankey.

  "All liver!" repeated Mrs. Bateson; "it often takes men like that; whenthey begin to doubt the inspiration of the Scriptures you know theywill be all the better for a dose of dandelion tea; but when they go onto deny the existence of a God, there's nothing for it but chamomile.And I don't believe as the Lord takes their doubts any more seriouslythan their wives take 'em. He knows as well as we do that the poorthings need pity more than blame, and dosing more than converting; forHe gave 'em their livers, and we only have to bear with them and returnthanks to Him for having made ours of a different pattern."

  "And what do the women as have doubts need, I should like to know?"

  "A husband and children is the best cure for them. Why, when a woman hasa husband and children to look after, and washes at home, she has notime, bless you! to be teaching the Lord His business; she has enough todo minding her own."