As regards other work, much that is accepted waits long months for insertion and payment. More lies waiting consideration. Meanwhile the children at home wear out boots and shoes, and seem to grow visibly every day out of their clothes, and though Jasper is a vegetarian, and chiefly lives on bread and dates, life is a very dark outlook for him at present.
"What are you writing now, Jasper?" asks Gildas, mischievously, one evening when he has called to fetch the children home from the Manse. Mr. Haven is downstairs again, and Mr. Hornby has stepped in awhile to see him, so Gildas ought to know better than to allude to Ruthven's authorship in their presence.
"I suppose," she says, "you're very busy, as usual. Won't you tell us the name of your last story, Jasper?"
"'Steeped in Gore'; or the 'Glorious Escapes of Petratello, the Pirate,' and 'Fair Angelina, the Heiress of the Earl of Rumpelrampant.' Would you like to hear any more about it?" returns Jasper, in desperation at the remarks he knows to be inevitable.
"My young friend," begins Mr. Hornby, in horror, "has it ever occurred to you that the contaminating influences of fiction, the pernicious, I might say iniquitous, consequences of idle works of imagination, such as you have mentioned---"
"Oh, Mr. Hornby!" says Gildas, laughing, "Jasper doesn't really write things like that. It is only his nonsense. Jasper writes the sweetest, loveliest stories, and the most beautiful poetry"
Jasper throws at her the wild roses he has brought, to silence her. The children come running in from the garden, eager to exhibit to Mr. Haven a baby toad they have found among the grass, and Jones pants after them, resolute not to realize or betray he is growing too old to romp and race with boys and girls as of yore.
"Has it ever occurred to you, young man," asks Mr. Hornby, in a low, solemn voice, "that yours is a tremendous responsibility as regards those dear young people in the morning of life?"
"Yes," says Jasper, "that has occurred to me more than once. Jemmie, don't tire Mr. Haven. You're too heavy to sit on his lap."
But the children are absorbed in the minister's talk concerning the baby toad, Mr. Haven being as devoted to children as he to being a naturalist. They cling round the old man, asking him all kinds of questions about their treasure, while Jemmie, whispering in his ear, tries in vain to disclose to him confidentially that he has learnt a new hymn on purpose to recite to him, and he would like to repeat it before he forgets.
"The minds of the rising generation, my young brother," says Mr. Hornby, clearing his throat, "are as a white and unsoiled page. It would be to you an untold grief that anyone should poison the thoughts of these children we see before us by the debasing influences of idle works of fancy. Has it ever occurred to you that hundreds of young people, who could be using precious time for their instruction and improvement, are led by the multiplication of works of fiction to waste precious moments, and dwell on things that are visionary and unreal? To me it is an awful fact that there is a demand at the present day for fiction, for mere stories. If you young people only knew the mental enrichment of inspiring biography, of----"
"Pardon me, Mr. Hornby," says Jasper, coldly. "I'm extremely fond of biography. Only last week Mr. Pendrill lent me the life of Saint Augustine."
There is a cloud now on the face of Gildas, who distinctly disapproves Jasper's acquaintance with the curate, and Mr. Hornby interrupts him by an exclamation of solemn protest.
"It's a glorious book," says Jasper. "I strongly advise you to read it, Mr. Hornby. But with regard to your sweeping condemnation of fiction, has it ever occurred to you that in the present hard age of toil and mental strain, people need means of recreation as well as improvement? To release a reader's faculties, or to afford the medicine of a laugh now and then, to rest the mind that has been working for its right to live -- is this altogether from below, as I fear you suggest? It is iniquitous to write anything evil or impure, but to denounce all fiction as of the infernal regions seems to me somewhat uncharitable, especially from pulpit or platform, when nobody can reply! Come, children, you ought to be in bed. Say goodnight. And Chidgey sent this wrap for you, Milly. Mind you put it on."
"Let Jemmie say his hymn first," begs the minister. "Come, hold up your head, and let us hear what Mrs. Chidgey has taught you."
"I know one," says Jacky, rather inclined to resent his twin brother's reputation as a reciter; "and nobody didn't teach it to me, Mr. Haven. I learnt it my own self from hearing brother say it when he's getting up. Brother always talks to himself when he's dressing."
There is a general laugh, and Jacky is encouraged to repeat his "hymn," which he does with his eyes fixed on the ceiling, and his sturdy legs planted well apart:
"O Mary, at thy window be,
It is the wish'd, the trysted hour!
Those smiles and glances let me see,
That make the miser's treasure poor:
How blythely was I bide the stour,
A weary slave frae sun to sun,
Could I the rich reward secure,
The lovely Mary Morison.
"That isn't a hymn," says Jemmie, contemptuously. "That's only something brother sings week-a-days. I know a Sunday hymn. Isn't it a nice one, Mr. Haven? Chidgey says I'm not to say it sing-song. Do I put the emfuz right?"
"Our days, alas! our mortal days,
Are short and wretched too;
'Evil and few,' the patriarch says,
And well the patriarch knew!
"Please, I could eat a ginger biscuit and a cocoanut cake," adds Jemmie hurriedly, bringing his recitation abruptly to conclusion as he observes Gildas is distributing contributions from the biscuit box.
Mr. Hornby commends Jemmie's good memory, and the minister tenderly puts back the curls from his brow, and gazes at the children with wistful eyes, saying, "The God of light and gladness, the Lord who redeemed me from all evil, bless these little pilgrim feet."
Gildas throws on a light shawl and goes down the garden with her little guests. She wishes to speak to Jasper, for she thinks it would be more than she could bear if he -- her playfellow of old, her brother in all but name -- were induced by the wiles of Pendrill's pretended friendship to go over to Saint Simeon's and forsake the church of his fathers.
"Don't mind Mr. Hornby, Jasper," she says, soothingly. "He never reads any stories, you know, so how can he judge what fiction is like? As to reading poetry, he would think that a sinful misuse of time! But Father and I are so proud of you. Father was asking me only yesterday how you're getting on now as regards your writing. He wants you to come and have a long talk with him now he is better; but tonight Mr. Hornby is over about Father's favourite movement, the Friends of the Jews Society, and when Father gets the Jews into his mind, you know he becomes utterly absorbed."
"Yes, I suppose the annual meeting will soon come off now. Mr. Haven is always in his element when anything is to be done for the Israelites," says Jasper, smiling, his passing vexation dispersing like a mist now Gildas is beside him, gentle and gracious. On the subject of his own writing he says nothing, however. Even to Gildas he cannot share the history of wounds, disappointments, and heart-wearying delays.
"How many times Father has been induced to render private help to needy Jews, and how many times their supposed needs have turned out works of imagination, I cannot reckon," says Gildas. "But I would not have Father different, Jasper. As he says, 'Better be beguiled nineteen times than be unbrotherly once,' and he loves the race -- and I do too -- for the sake of Him who came out of Israel. Father declares there are glorious days waiting for the Jews, and he is always studying the prophecies concerning them, and always trying to increase the Meadthorpe subscriptions for the Friends of the Jews Society. I even had a box for that society when I was smaller than Milly, and so had my brother David."
"I suppose the meeting will be at the Town Hall, as usual?"
"Oh, yes; and Father is to be in the chair, as he has been for so many years."
"You generally ask the clergy as well as the chapel mi
nisters, do you not, Gildas, because the society is quite nondenominational?"
"We ask them, Jasper, but we know exactly which of them will come: dear old Mr. Cayley from Thicket End, and Mr. Buisson, the vicar from Bilsboro'. Mr. Buisson is often at our house now. He's writing a book on hymnology, and I believe Father knows more about hymns than anybody else in the place, so they have many a chat together."
"What does Mr. Bertram, the Rector, say on such occasions?"
"Oh, last time he 'had a cold,' and the time before he wrote a very nice letter, 'regretting the weakness of his throat prevented evening meetings just then.'"
"He does have a weak throat -- that's his great trouble," says Jasper. "I suppose those who arrange the meeting will ask him again this year, and mind you don't forget your friend, the curate, Gildas. Be sure to send him an invitation."
"My friend, indeed! But don't start me on the subject of that person, Jasper. He puts me out of all patience. You know very well he's my pet aversion. I often come across him now in the street or about the lanes, but of course I take no notice of him. Half Meadthorpe seems to bow down to him, but I can see him in his true colours. He is nothing but a Jesuit, full of priestly airs and intolerance."
"No, Gildas, if you knew him better you couldn't say he gives himself airs. There's no pride or assumption about Bernard Pendrill. Of his calling, his ideas are exalted; but as to himself, he would as soon walk and talk in the High Street with a chimney sweep as with the people from the Manor."
"Sooner, perhaps," says Gildas, bitterly, "if the sweep were a chapel-goer, and he could win him over to the Establishment."
"Gently, Gildas," answers Jasper. "You're not wont to be uncharitable, little woman, but I really think you do Pendrill injustice. A great many of those he has drawn back to Saint Simeon's were Church people already, you know, only I imagine they found very little help in the preaching at the parish church. Things had become rather neglected there. And if a few have been won over from Nonconformity, it's only natural that anyone with strong convictions will seek to impress them on others. Pendrill believes there are blessings that can only be fully received, and graces to be obtained at their highest through the channels of the Church. In his Episcopal zeal he tries to draw souls within the shelter of the Church. He has no bitterness against Dissent, only pity for it. The fact is, he has never entered a chapel in his life. And of Nonconformity he knows absolutely nothing. He told me I'm the only Dissenting acquaintance he possesses."
"Yes, Jasper, and I want to warn you earnestly against him. He will seek to draw you into the Establishment. He's a wolf in sheep's clothing, and I feel very uncomfortable about your knowing him at all, and reading his books. Oh, Jasper, it would be dreadful not to see you any more at Rehoboth. I don't know what the Sunday school and the Children's Union would do without you."
His face flushes with pleasure at the thought that his presence and help are prized by Gildas, but he assures her she need have no forebodings as to his abandonment of Nonconformist principles.
"I hope I have more backbone than to surrender my views on Free Church doctrines because Bernard Pendrill is my friend," he says, smiling. "I have only had three books from him as yet, Gildas -- a Browning Commentary, an Analysis of the Art of Shakespeare, and the Life of Saint Augustine. None of these are making me a churchman, though I revel in them all. Of course we have often talked concerning our different views. I think I have learnt to understand that the ritualism we Dissenters despise so impatiently is to such as Pendrill but an object lesson of religion, to teach great and glorious truths. Many minds are reached more easily through the eye and sense. In reality, Gildas, we're not so far apart as we seem. I only wish these religious differences didn't mean, as a rule, distrust and suspicion. But never fear, I shall not desert Rehoboth Chapel."
"I hope you never will," says Gildas; "but Pendrill is a dangerous sort of friend. I thought it right to warn you, at any rate. Now I really must turn and hasten home."
"Jasper," suddenly exclaims round-faced Milly, who has been staring hard at the two until her feminine nature has evolved a charming romance, "brother Jasper, aren't you big enough to get married? The big boy, Burrows-Alexander, you know, he got married the other day, and you look bigger than him. Why don't you marry Gildas, brother? Then we could all live with Mr. Haven, and hear lots of stories about the dear little teeny frogs."
Jasper's face burns hotly as he tries to silence the child, but Gildas answers lightly, "A man may not marry his sister, Milly, and you know cousin Jasper is my dear 'brother' as well as yours. Besides, I made up my mind long ago, Milly, to be an old maid -- old maids are so free and independent -- and Jasper means to marry a blue-stocking one of these days: some gifted girl, clever enough to deserve a great literary genius for a husband! Oh, Jasper, I'm ashamed of you to bring Milly up so sentimentally. Fancy that mite giving you matrimonial advice!"
Gildas kisses the children and goes off laughingly. Jasper walks silently on to Forest Cottage, the children clinging lovingly about him.
"If ... if ... I were more than the playfellow she cares about 'for old sake's sake' -- if there were a gleam of hope for me in the coming days, she wouldn't look so natural and undisturbed," he says to himself sadly. "It is better indeed that Gildas does not care. A home of my own such as other men strive for is not for me. Did I not promise our mother of these children to provide for them as a tender trust from God?"
Chapter 7
Kitty Demsey's Quilt
WHO may Timotheus Mundey be, Miss Rowena?"
"Timotheus Mundey, Mr. Pendrill?"
"Yes," says the curate, handing her a letter from his pocketbook. "'Timotheus Mundey, Local Secretary of the Friends of the Jews Society.' You see, I'm favoured by a communication from this personage, inviting me to be present at the annual meeting, and regretting the Rector's indisposition again prevents his attendance."
"Oh, of course, my father must avoid crowded evening meetings while he is under Sir Henry Marsh's treatment for his throat," says Miss Rowena. "Mr. Mundey is the draper in High Street, Mr. Pendrill, but his initials, I believe, are J.O.; Timotheus must be his son. I daresay you've noticed the young man arranging the window, and serving in the shop. He is very thin and pale, and wears glasses. Of course, we always deal at Emerton's, but I believe the Mundeys are civil, respectable people. The son is a teacher at Rehoboth day school."
"What an extraordinary thing it is," says Bernard Pendrill, reflectively, "that Dissent is almost exclusively confined to small trades-people and the like. They are nearly sure to be Nonconformists, I have often noticed."
"Please, Aunt Rowena, can't I go on the common and see Mr. Ruthven's team at the football match?" Gilbert runs in eagerly, and seeing Pendrill he exclaims, "Oh, Mr. Pendrill, it's the last match this season. Do coax Auntie to let me go!"
"Does your tutor go in for football then?" asks the curate, whose mind has been lately occupied in devising athletic clubs for the villagers, though this first winter in Meadthorpe he has been too busy to help his parishioners as to the matter of games.
"Go in for football? Why, when he was at school he was captain of the first team, and at college he was one of the crack men. He always goes out with the Grammar School boys on half-holidays, you know; and today there's a splendid match on with the Invincibles. Can't I go on the heath for an hour, Aunt Rowena?"
"Are all your lessons duly prepared for tomorrow, Gilbert?" asks his aunt.
"Yes, and I even know my history," he answers eagerly. "It's such a nice chapter today -- all about Cromwell and his Ironsides, and the brave things they did, and how they never were afraid of anybody or anything. Aunt Rowena, now I have learnt my history, and done my money sums, can't I go?"
Miss Bertram consents, and off he dashes, convinced, by successful and repeated experiment, that his aunt is somehow far more amenable to persuasion and coaxing when Mr. Pendrill is allied with the pleading force.
"Of course," says the curate, resuming his conve
rsation with Miss Bertram, "there are exceptions to every rule, and Ruthven is a manly young fellow enough. In the majority of cases, I maintain, Dissenters are remarkably wanting in physical and intellectual stamina. Poor, weak-kneed Timotheus is a fair specimen, I imagine, of Rehoboth adherents -- amiable, well-meaning people, but in no sense the flower and glory of healthy English life."
"To be honest," says Rowena Bertram, smiling, "I must remind you that most of the chapel people are unknown to you, Mr. Pendrill. I scarcely think your notion correct, though it is very complimentary to our own congregation. Griffith, the blacksmith, belongs to Shiloh, another Dissenting chapel; and the chapel keeper at Rehoboth is Platt, a most vigorous looking man, employed by the firm of engineers now making the new railway tunnel. Then the grandsons of Mr. Channing-Surtees are always taking prizes at the athletic sports around. Oh, I am sure your idea is mistaken. Think of Gildas Haven!"
"Gildas Haven?"
"Yes, the minister's daughter. You may have noticed her about the town. A dark eyed girl with very beautiful hair, who generally has a collie called Jones for companion, and walks quickly, as if in a hurry. It is well known she's exceedingly clever, and her health must be perfect, or she never could attend to all the varied work she accomplishes in connection with her father's chapel. So, you see, all Dissenters are not without stamina. But perhaps you have not chanced to see Miss Haven as yet."
"Yes," says Bernard Pendrill, "I know her by sight. I'm sorry to say that Miss Haven is a great hindrance to parish work in Meadthorpe. Her fanatical notions have done very much mischief in the place. I cannot understand how she has gained such an influence around Meadthorpe. Her manner appears to me most brusque and overbearing."
"I know nothing of her," says Miss Bertram, "except from hearsay. But I believe she gives addresses, and arranges most things at Rehoboth Chapel, and altogether takes on herself more than is consistent with my own ideal of womanhood."
"Ah, you feel as I do, Miss Rowena, that woman, like the violet, should only be discerned by its sweet, subtle fragrance."
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