A Tale of a Lonely Parish Part 9

He turned and fled. The vicar was waiting for him, and eyed him rather curiously as he came back. Mr. Juxon was standing in the middle of the road, making Stamboul jump over his stick, backwards and forwards.

"Good-night," he said, pausing in his occupation. The vicar and John turned away and walked homewards. Before they turned the corner towards the village John instinctively looked back. Mr. Juxon was still making Stamboul jump the stick before the cottage, but as far as he could see in the dusk, Mrs. G.o.ddard and Nellie had disappeared within. John felt that he was very unhappy.

"Mr. Ambrose," he began. Then he stopped and hesitated. "Mr. Ambrose," he continued at last, "you never told me half the news of Billingsfield in your letters."

"You mean about Mrs. G.o.ddard? Well--no--I did not think it would interest you very much."

"She is a very interesting person," said John. He could have added that if he had known she was in Billingsfield he would have made a great sacrifice in order to come down for a day to make her acquaintance. But he did not say it.

"She is a great addition," said the vicar.

"Oh--very great, I should think."

Christmas eve was pa.s.sed at the vicarage in preparation for the morrow.

Mrs. Ambrose was very active in binding holly wherever it was possible to put it. The mince-pies were tasted and p.r.o.nounced a success, and old Reynolds was despatched to the cottage with a small basket containing a certain number of them as a present to Mrs. G.o.ddard. An emissary appeared from the Hall with a variety of articles which the squire begged to contribute towards the vicar's Christmas dinner; among others a haunch of venison which Mrs. Ambrose p.r.o.nounced to be in the best condition. The vicar retorted by sending to the Hall a magnificent Cottenham cheese which, as a former Fellow of Trinity, he had succeeded in obtaining.

Moreover Mr. Ambrose himself descended to the cellar and brought up several bottles of Audit ale which he declared must be allowed to stand some time in the pantry in order to bring out the flavour and to be thoroughly settled. John gave his a.s.sistance wherever it was needed and enjoyed vastly the old-fas.h.i.+oned preparations for Christmas day. It was long since the season had brought him such rejoicing and he intended to rejoice with a good will towards men and especially towards the Ambroses.

After dinner the whole party, consisting of three highly efficient persons and old Reynolds, adjourned to the church to complete the decorations for the morrow.

The church of Billingsfield, known as St. Mary's, was quite large enough to contain twice the entire population of the parish. It was built upon a part of the foundations of an ancient abbey, and the vicar was very proud of the monument of a crusading Earl of Oxford which he had caused to be placed in the chancel, it having been discovered in the old chancel of the abbey in the park, far beyond the present limits of the church. The tower was the highest in the neighbourhood. The whole building was of gray rubble, irregular stones set together with a crumbling cement, and presented an appearance which, if not architecturally imposing, was at least sufficiently venerable. At the present time the aisles were full of heaped-up holly and wreaths; a few lamps and a considerable number of tallow candles shed a rather feeble light amongst the pillars; a crowd of school children, not yet washed for the morrow, were busy under the directions of the schoolmistress in decorating the chancel; Mr. Thomas Reid the conservative s.e.xton was at the top of a tall ladder, presumably using doubtful language to himself as every third nail he tried to drive into the crevices of the stone "crooked hisself and larfed at him," as he expressed it; the organ was playing and a dozen small boys with three or four men were industriously practising the anthem "Arise, s.h.i.+ne,"

producing strains which if not calculated altogether to elevate the heart by their harmony, would certainly have caused the hair of a sensitive musician to rise on end; three or four of the oldest inhabitants were leaning on their sticks in the neighbourhood of the great stove in the middle aisle, warming themselves and grumbling that "times warn't as they used to be;" Mr. Abraham Boosey was noisily declaring that he had "cartlods more o' thim greens" to come, and Muggins, who had had some beer, was stumbling cheerfully against the pews in his efforts to bring a huge load of fir branches to the foot of Mr. Thomas Reid's long ladder.

It was a thorough Christmas scene and John Short's heart warmed as he came back suddenly to the things which for three years had been so familiar to him and which he had so much missed in his solitude at Cambridge. Mr. and Mrs. Ambrose set to work and John followed their example. Even the p.r.i.c.kly holly leaves were pleasant to touch and there was a homely joy in the fir branches dripping with half melted snow.

Before they had been at work very long, John was aware of a little figure, m.u.f.fled in furs and standing beside him. He looked up and saw little Nellie's lovely face and long brown curls.

"Can't I help you, Mr. Short?" she asked timidly. "I like to help, and they won't let me."

"Who are 'they'?" asked John kindly, but looking about for the figure of Nellie's mother.

"The schoolmistress and Mrs. Ambrose. They said I should dirty my frock."

"Well," said John, doubtfully, "I don't know. Perhaps you would. But you might hold the string for me--that won't hurt your clothes, you know."

"There are more greens this year," remarked Nellie, sitting down upon the end of the choir bench where John was at work and taking the ball of string in her hand. "Mr. Juxon has sent a lot from the park."

"He seems to be always sending things," said John, who had no reason whatever for saying so, except that the squire had sent a hamper to the vicarage. "Did he stay long before dinner?" he added, in the tone people adopt when they hope to make children talk.

"Stay long where?" asked Nellie innocently.

"Oh, I thought he went into your house after we left you," answered John.

"Oh no--he did not come in," said Nellie. John continued to work in silence. At some distance from where he was, Mrs. G.o.ddard was talking to Mrs. Ambrose. He could see her graceful figure, but he could hardly distinguish her features in the gloom of the dimly-lighted church. He longed to leave Nellie and to go and speak to her, but an undefined feeling of hurt pride prevented him. He would not forgive her for having taken the vicar's arm in coming home through the park; so he stayed where he was, p.r.i.c.king his fingers with the holly and rather impatiently pulling the string off the ball which Nellie held. If Mrs. G.o.ddard wanted to speak to him, she might come of her own accord, he thought, for he felt that he had behaved foolishly in asking if she wished to see his odes. Somehow, when he thought about it, the odes did not seem so good now as they had seemed that afternoon.

Mrs. G.o.ddard had not seen him at first, and for some time she remained in consultation with Mrs. Ambrose. At last she turned and looking for Nellie saw that she was seated beside John; to his great delight she came towards him. She looked more lovely than ever, he thought; the dark fur about her throat set off her delicate, sad face like a frame.

"Oh--are you here, too, Mr. Short?" she said.

"Hard at work, as you see," answered John. "Are you going to help, Mrs.

G.o.ddard? Won't you help me?"

"I wanted to," said Nellie, appealing to her mother, "but they would not let me, so I can only hold the string."

"Well, dear--we will see if we can help Mr. Short," said Mrs. G.o.ddard good-naturedly, and she sat down upon the choir bench.

John never forgot that delightful Christmas Eve. For nearly two hours he never left Mrs. G.o.ddard's side, asking her advice about every branch and bit of holly and following out to the letter her most minute suggestions.

He forgot all about the squire and about the walk back from the park, in the delight of having Mrs. G.o.ddard to himself. He pushed the school children about and spoke roughly to old Reynolds if her commands were not instantly executed; he felt in the little crowd of village people that he was her natural protector, and he wished he might never have anything in the world to do save to decorate a church in her company. He grew more and more confidential and when the work was all done he felt that he had thoroughly established himself in her good graces and went home to dream of the happiest day he had ever spent. The organ ceased playing, the little choir dispersed, the school children were sent home, Mr. Abraham Boosey retired to the bar of the Duke's Head, Muggins tenderly embraced every tombstone he met on his way through the churchyard, the "gentlefolk" followed Reynolds' lantern towards the vicarage, and Mr.

Thomas Reid, the conservative and melancholic s.e.xton, put out the lights and locked the church doors, muttering a sour laudation of more primitive times, when "the gentlefolk minded their business."

For the second time that day, John and Mr. Ambrose walked as far as the cottage, to see Mrs. G.o.ddard to her home. When they parted from her and Nellie, John was careful not to say anything more about the odes, a subject to which Mrs. G.o.ddard had not referred in the course of the evening. John thanked her rather effusively for her help--he could never have got through those choir benches without her, he said; and the vicar added that he was very much obliged, too, and surrept.i.tiously conveyed to Mrs. G.o.ddard's hand a small package intended for Miss Nellie's Christmas stocking, from him and his wife, and which he had forgotten to give earlier. Nellie was destined to have a fuller stocking than usual this year, for the squire had remembered her as well as Mr. Ambrose.

John went to bed in his old room at the vicarage protesting that he had enjoyed the first day of his holiday immensely. As he blew out the light, he thought suddenly how often in that very room he had gone to bed dreaming about the lady in black and composing verses to her, till somehow the Greek terminations would get mixed up with the Latin roots, the quant.i.ties all seemed to change places, and he used to fall asleep with a delicious half romantic sense of happiness always unfulfilled yet always present. And now at last it began to be fulfilled in earnest; he had met the lady in black at last, had spent nearly half a day in her company and was more persuaded than ever that she was really and truly his ideal. He did not go to sleep so soon as in the old days, and he was sorry to go to sleep at all; he wanted to enjoy all his delicious recollections of that afternoon before he slept and, as he recapitulated the events which had befallen him and recalled each expression of the face that had charmed him and every intonation of the charmer's voice, he felt that he had never been really happy before, that no amount of success at Cambridge could give him half the delight he had experienced during one hour in the old Billingsfield church, and that altogether life anywhere else was not worth living. To-morrow he would see Mrs. G.o.ddard again, and the next day and the day after that and then--"bother the future!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed John, and went to sleep.

He awoke early, roused by the loud clanging of the Christmas bells, and looking out he saw that the day was fine and cold and bright as Christmas day should be, and generally is. The h.o.a.r frost was frozen into fantastic shapes upon his little window, the snow was clinging to the yew branches outside and the robins were hopping and chirping over the thin crust of frozen snow that just covered the ground. The road was hard and brown as on the previous day, and the ice in the park would probably bear. Perhaps Mrs. G.o.ddard would skate in the afternoon between the services, but then--Juxon would be there. "Never mind Juxon," quoth John to himself, "it is Christmas day!"

At the vicarage and elsewhere, all over the land, those things were done which delight the heart of Englishmen at the merry season. Everybody shook hands with everybody else, everybody cried "Merry Christmas!" to his neighbour in the street, with an intonation as though he were saying something startlingly new and brilliant which had never been said before.

Every labourer who had a new smock-frock put it on, and those who had none had at least a bit of new red worsted comforter about their throats and began the day by standing at their doors in the cold morning, smoking a "ha'p'orth o' s.h.a.g" in a new clay pipe, greeting each other across the village street. Muggins, who had spent a portion of the night in exchanging affectionate Christmas wishes with the tombstones in the churchyard, appeared fresh and ruddy at an early hour, clad in the long black coat and tall hat which he was accustomed to wear when he drove Mr.

Boosey's fly on great festivals. Most of the cottages in the single street sported a bit of holly in their windows, and altogether the appearance of Billingsfield was singularly festive and mirthful. At precisely ten minutes to eleven the vicar and Mrs. Ambrose, accompanied by John, issued from the vicarage and went across the road by the private path to the church. As they entered the porch Mr. Reid, who stood solemnly tolling the small bell, popularly nicknamed the "Ting-tang,"

and of which the single rope pa.s.sed down close to the south door, vouchsafed John a sour smile of recognition. John felt as though he had come home. Mrs. G.o.ddard and Nellie appeared a moment afterwards and took their seats in the pew traditionally belonging to the cottage, behind that of the squire who was always early, and the sight of whose smoothly brushed hair and brown beard was a constant source of satisfaction to Mrs. Ambrose. John and Mrs. Ambrose sat on the opposite side of the aisle, but John's eyes strayed very frequently towards Mrs. G.o.ddard; so frequently indeed that she noticed it and leaned far back in her seat to avoid his glance. Whereupon John blushed and felt that the vicar, who was reading the Second Lesson, had probably noticed his distraction. It was hard to realise that two years and a half had pa.s.sed since he had sat in that same pew; perhaps, however, the presence of Mrs. G.o.ddard helped him to understand the lapse of time. But for her it would have been very hard; for the vicar's voice sounded precisely as it used to sound; Mrs.

Ambrose had not lost her habit of removing one glove and putting it into her prayer book as a mark while she found the hymn in the accompanying volume; the bright decorations looked as they looked years ago above the organ and round the chancel; from far down the church, just before the sermon, came the old accustomed sound of small boys shuffling their hobnailed shoes upon the stone floor and the audible guttural whisper of the churchwarden admonis.h.i.+ng them to "mind the stick;" the stained-gla.s.s windows admitted the same pleasant light as of yore--all was unchanged.

But Mrs. G.o.ddard and Nellie occupied the cottage pew, and their presence alone was sufficient to mark to John the fact that he was now a man.

The service was sympathetic to John Short. He liked the simplicity of it, even the rough singing of the choir, as compared with the solemn and magnificent musical services of Trinity College Chapel. But it seemed very long before it was all over and he was waiting for Mrs. G.o.ddard outside the church door.

There were more greetings, more "Merry Christmas" and "Many happy returns." Mrs. G.o.ddard looked more charming than ever and was quite as cordial as on the previous evening.

"How much better it all looked this morning by daylight," she said.

"I think it looked very pretty last night," answered John. "There is nothing so delightful as Christmas decorations, is there?"

"Perhaps you will come down next year and help us again?" suggested Mrs.

G.o.ddard.

"Yes--well, I might come at Easter, for that matter," answered the young man, who after finding it impossible to visit Billingsfield during two years and a half, now saw no difficulty whatever in the way of making two visits in the course of six months. "Do you still decorate at Easter?" he asked.

"Oh yes--do you think you can come?" she said pleasantly. "I thought you were to be very busy just then."

"Yes, that is true," answered John. "But of course I could come, you know, if it were necessary."

"Hardly exactly necessary--" Mrs. G.o.ddard laughed.

"The doctor told me some relaxation was absolutely indispensable for my health," said John rather sententiously.

"You don't really look very ill--are you?" She seemed incredulous.

"Oh no, of course not--only a little overworked sometimes."

"In that case I have no doubt it would do you good," said Mrs. G.o.ddard.

"Do you really think so?" asked John, hopefully.