Back Aa

Nobody

<h1 id="id04258" style="margin-top: 6em">CHAPTER XXXVI.</h1> <h3 id="id04259" style="margin-top: 3em">TWO SUNDAY SCHOOLS.</h3> Lois was inclined now to think it might be quite as well if something hindered Mr. Dillwyn's second visit. She did not wonder at Madge's evident fascination; she had felt the same herself long ago, and in connection with other people; the charm of good breeding and gracious manners, and the habit of the world, even apart from knowledge and cultivation and the art of conversation. Yes, Mr. Dillwyn was a good specimen of this sort of attraction; and for a moment Lois's imagination recalled that day's two walks in the rain; then she shook off the impression. Two poor Shampuashuh girls were not likely to have much to do with that sort of society, and—it was best they should not. It would be just as well if Mr. Dillwyn was hindered from coming again. But he came. A month had passed; it was the beginning of December when he knocked next at the door, and cold and grey and cloudy and windy as it is December's character in certain moods to be. The reception he got was hearty in proportion; fires were larger, the table even more hospitably spread; Mrs. Barclay even more cordial, and the family atmosphere not less genial. Nevertheless the visit, for Mr. Dillwyn's special ends, was hardly satisfactory. He could get no private speech with Lois. She was always "busy;" and at meal-times it was obviously impossible, and would have been impolitic, to pay any particular attention to her. Philip did not attempt it. He talked rather to every one else; made himself delightful company; but groaned in secret. "Cannot you make some excuse for getting her in here?" he asked Mrs. Barclay at evening. "Not without her sister." "With her sister, then." "They are very busy just now preparing some thing they call 'apple butter.' It's unlucky, Philip. I am very sorry. I always told you your way looked to me intricate." Fortune favoured him, however, in an unexpected way. After a day passed in much inward impatience, for he had not got a word with Lois, and he had no excuse for prolonging his stay beyond the next day, as they sat at supper, the door opened, and in came two ladies. Mr. Dillwyn was formally presented to one of them as to "my aunt, Mrs. Marx;" the other was named as "Mrs. Seelye." The latter was a neat, brisk little body, with a capable air and a mien of business; all whose words came out as if they had been nicely picked and squared, and sorted and packed, and served in order. "Sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Armadale" she began, in a chirruping little voice. Indeed, her whole air was that of a notable little hen looking after her chickens. Charity assured her it was no interruption. "Mrs. Seelye and I had our tea hours ago," said Mrs. Marx. "I had muffins for her, and we ate all we could then. We don't want no more now. We're on business." "Yes," said Mrs. Seelye. "Mrs. Marx and I, we've got to see everybody, pretty much; and there ain't much time to do it in; so you see we can't choose, and we just come here to see what you'll do for us." "What do you want us to do for you, Mrs. Seelye?" Lois asked. "Well, I don't know; only all you can. We want your counsel, and then your help. Mr. Seelye he said, Go to the Lothrop girls first. I didn't come first, 'cause there was somebody else on my way here; but this is our fourth call, ain't it, Mrs. Marx?" "I thought I'd never get you away from No. 3," was the answer. "They were very much interested,—and I wanted to make them all understand—it was important that they should all understand—" "And there are different ways of understanin'," added Mrs. Marx; "and there are a good many of 'em—the Hicks's, I mean; and so, when we thought we'd got it all right with one, we found somebody else was in a fog; and then he had to be fetched out." "But we are all in a fog," said Madge, laughing. "What are you coming to? and what are we to understand?" "We have a little plan," said Mrs. Seelye. "It'll be a big one, before we get through with it," added her coadjutor. "Nobody'll be frightened here if you call it a big one to start with, Mrs. Seelye. I like to look things in the face." "So do we," said Mrs. Armadale, with a kind of grim humour,—"if you will give us a chance." "Well, it's about the children," said Mrs. Seelye. "Christmas—" added Mrs. Marx. "Be quiet, Anne," said her mother. "Go on, Mrs. Seelye. Whose children?" "I might say, they are all Mr. Seelye's children," said the little lady, laughing; "and so they are in a way, as they are all belonging to his church. He feels he is responsible for the care of 'em, and he don't want to lose 'em. And that's what it's all about, and how the plan came up." "How's he goin' to lose 'em?" Mrs. Armadale asked, beginning now to knit again. "Well, you see the other church is makin' great efforts; and they're goin' to have a tree." "What sort of a tree? and what do they want a tree for?" "Why, a fir tree!"—and, "Why, a Christmas tree!" cried the two ladies who advocated the "plan," both in a breath. "Mother don't know about that," Mrs. Marx went on. "It's a new fashion, mother,—come up since your day. They have a green tree, planted in a tub, and hung with all sorts of things to make it look pretty; little candles especially; and at night they light it up; and the children are tickled to death with it." "In-doors?" "Why, of course in-doors. Couldn't be out-of-doors, in the snow." "I didn't know," said the old lady; "I don't understand the new fashions. I should think they would burn up the house, if it's in-doors." "O no, no danger," explained Mrs. Seelye. "They make them wonderfully pretty, with the branches all hung full with glass balls, and candles, and ribbands, and gilt toys, and papers of sugar plums—cornucopia, you know; and dolls, and tops, and jacks, and trumpets, and whips, and everything you can think of,—till it is as full as it can be, and the branches hang down with the weight; and it looks like a fairy tree; and then the heavy presents lie at the foot round about and cover the tub." "I should think the children would be delighted," said Madge. "I don't believe it's as much fun as Santa Claus and the stocking," said Lois. "No, nor I," said Mrs. Barclay. "But we have nothing to do with the children's stockings," said Mrs. Seelye. "They may hang up as many as they like. That's at home. This is in the church." "O, in the church! I thought you said it was in the house—in people's houses," said Charity. "So it is; but this tree is to be in the church." "What tree?" "La! how stupid you are, Charity," exclaimed her aunt. "Didn't Mrs. Seelye tell you?—the tree the other church are gettin' up." "Oh—" said Charity. "Well, you can't hinder 'em, as I see." "Don't want to hinder 'em! What should we hinder 'em for? But we don't want 'em to get all our chil'en away; that's what we're lookin' at." "Do you think they'd go?" "Mr. Seelye's afraid it'll thin off the school dreadful," said Mr. Seelye's helpmate. "They're safe to go," added Mrs. Marx. "Ask children to step in and see fairyland, and why shouldn't they go? I'd go if I was they. All the rest of the year it ain't fairyland in Shampuashuh. I'd go fast enough." "Then I don't see what you are goin' to do about it," said Charity, "but to sit down and count your chickens that are left." "That's what we came to tell you," said the minister's wife. "Well, tell," said Charity. "You haven't told yet, only what the other church is going to do." "Well, we thought the only way was for us to do somethin' too." "Only not another tree," said Lois. "Not that, for pity's sake." "Why not?" asked the little minister's wife, with an air of being somewhat taken aback. "Why haven't we as good a right to have a tree as they have?" "Right, if you like," said Lois; "but right isn't all." "Go on, and let's hear your wisdom, Lois," said her aunt. "I s'pose you'll say first, we can't do it." "We can do it, perhaps," said Lois; "but, aunt Anne, it would make bad feeling." "That's not our look-out," rejoined Mrs. Marx. "We haven't any bad feeling." "No, not in the least," added Mrs. Seelye. "We only want to give our children as good a time as the others have. That's right." "'Let nothing be done through strife or vainglory,'" Mrs. Armadale's voice was here heard to say. "Yes, I know, mother, you have old-fashioned ideas," said Mrs. Marx; "but the world ain't as it used to be when you was a girl. Now everybody's puttin' steam on; and churches and Sunday schools as well as all the rest. We have organs, and choirs, and concerts, and celebrations, and fairs, and festivals; and if we don't go with the crowd, they'll leave us behind, you see." "I don't believe in it all!" said Mrs. Armadale. "Well, mother, we've got to take the world as we find it. Now the children all through the village are all agog with the story of what the yellow church is goin' to do; and if the white church don't do somethin', they'll all run t'other way—that you may depend on. Children are children." "I sometimes think the grown folks are children," said the old lady. "Well, we ought to be children," said Mrs. Seelye; "I am sure we all know that. But Mr. Seelye thought this was the only thing we could do." "There comes in the second difficulty, Mrs. Seelye," said Lois. "We cannot do it." "I don't see why we cannot. We've as good a place for it, quite." "I mean, we cannot do it satisfactorily. It will not be the same thing. We cannot raise the money. Don't it take a good deal?" "Well, it takes considerable. But I think, if we all try, we can scare it up somehow." Lois shook her head. "The other church is richer than we are," she said. "That's a fact," said Charity. Mrs. Seelye hesitated. "I don't know," she said,—"they have one or two rich men. Mr. Georges—" "O, and Mr. Flare," cried Madge, "and Buck, and Setterdown; and the Ropers and the Magnuses." "Yes," said Mrs. Seelye; "but we have more people, and there's none of 'em to call poor. If we get 'em interested—and those we have spoken to are very much taken with the plan—very much; I think it would be a great disappointment now if we were to stop; and the children have got talking about it. I think we can do it; and it would be a very good thing for the whole church, to get 'em interested." "You can always get people interested in play," said Mrs. Armadale. "What you want, is to get 'em interested in work." "There'll be a good deal of work about this, before it's over," said Mrs. Seelye, with a pleased chuckle. "And I think, when they get their pride up, the money will be coming." Mrs. Marx made a grimace, but said nothing. "'When pride cometh, than cometh shame,'" said Mrs. Armadale quietly. "O yes, some sorts of pride," said the little minister's wife briskly; "but I mean a proper sort. We don't want to let our church go down, and we don't want to have our Sunday school thinned out; and I can tell you, where the children go, there the fathers and mothers will be going, next thing." "What do you propose to do?" said Lois. "We have not fairly heard yet." "Well, we thought we'd have some sort of celebration, and give the school a jolly time somehow. We'd dress up the church handsomely with evergreens; and have it well lighted; and then, we would have a Christmas tree if we could. Or, if we couldn't, then we'd have a real good hot supper, and give the children presents. But I'm afraid, if we don't have a tree, they'll all run off to the other church; and I think they're going already, so as to get asked. Mr. Seelye said the attendance was real thin last Sabbath." There followed an animated discussion of the whole subject, with every point brought up again, and again and again. The talkers were, for the most part, Charity and Madge, with the two ladies who had come in; Mrs. Armadale rarely throwing in a word, which always seemed to have a disturbing power; and things were taken up and gone over anew to get rid of the disturbance. Lois sat silent and played with her spoon. Mrs. Barclay and Philip listened with grave amusement. "Well, I can't sit here all night," said Charity at last, rising from behind her tea-board. "Madge and Lois,—just jump up and put away the things, won't you; and hand me up the knives and plates. Don't trouble yourself, Mrs. Barclay. If other folks in the village are as busy as I am, you'll come short home for your Christmas work, Mrs. Seelye." "It's the busy people always that help," said the little lady propitiatingly. "That's a fact; but I don't see no end o' this to take hold of. You hain't got the money; and if you had it, you don't know what you want; and if you did know, it ain't in Shampuashuh; and I don't see who is to go to New York or New Haven, shopping for you. And if you had it, who knows how to fix a Christmas tree? Not a soul in our church." Mrs. Barclay and her guest withdrew at this point of the discussion. But later, when the visitors were gone, she opened the door of her room, and said, "Madge and Lois, can you come in here for a few minutes? It is business." The two girls came in, Madge a little eagerly; Lois, Mrs. Barclay fancied, with a manner of some reserve. "Mr. Dillwyn has something to suggest," she began, "about this plan we have heard talked over; that is, if you care about it's being carried into execution." "I care, of course," said Madge. "If it is to be done, I think it will be great fun." "If it is to be done," Lois repeated. "Grandmother does not approve of it; and I always think, what she does not like, I must not like." "Always?" asked Mr. Dillwyn. "I try to have it always. Grandmother thinks that the way—the best way—to keep a Sunday school together, is to make the lessons interesting." "I am sure she is right!" said Mr. Dillwyn. "But to the point," said Mrs. Barclay. "Lois, they will do this thing, I can see. The question now is, do you care whether it is done ill or well?" "Certainly! If it is done, I should wish it to be as well done as possible. Failure is more than failure." "How about ways and means?" "Money? O, if the people all set their hearts on it, they could do it well enough. But they are slow to take hold of anything out of the common run they are accustomed to. The wheels go in ruts at Shampuashuh." "Shampuashuh is not the only place," said Philip. "Then will you let an outsider help?" "Help? We would be very glad of help," said Madge; but Lois remarked, "I think the church ought to do it themselves, if they want to do it." "Well, hear my plan," said Mr. Dillwyn. "I think you objected to two rival trees?" "I object to rival anythings," said Lois; "in church matters especially." "Then I propose that no tree be set up, but instead, that you let Santa Claus come in with his sledge." "Santa Claus!" cried Lois. "Who would be Santa Claus?" "An old man in a white mantle, his head and beard covered with snow and fringed with icicles; his dress of fur; his sledge a large one, and well heaped up with things to delight the children. What do you think?" Madge's colour rose, and Lois's eye took a sparkle; both were silent. Then Madge spoke. "I don't see how that plan could be carried out, any more than the other. It is a great deal better, it is magnificent; but it is a great deal too magnificent for Shampuashuh." "Why so?" "Nobody here knows how to do it." "I know how." "You! O but,—that would be too much—" "All you have to do is to get the other things ready, and let it be known that at the proper time Santa Claus will appear, with a well-furnished sled. Sharp on time." "Well-furnished!—but there again—I don't believe we can raise money enough for that." "How much money?" asked Dillwyn, with an amused smile. "O, I can't tell—I suppose a hundred dollars at least." "I have as much as that lying useless—it may just as well do some good. It never was heard that anybody but Santa Claus furnished his own sled. If you will allow me, I will take care of that." "How splendid!" cried Madge. "But it is too much; it wouldn't be right for us to let you do all that for a church that is nothing to you." "On the contrary, you ought to encourage me in my first endeavours to make myself of some use in the world. Miss Madge, I have never, so far, done a bit of good in my life." "O, Mr. Dillwyn! I cannot believe that. People do not grow useful so all of a sudden, without practice," said Madge, hitting a great general truth. "It is a fact, however," said he, half lightly, and yet evidently meaning what he said. "I have lived thirty-two years in the world—nearly thirty-three—without making my life of the least use to anybody so far as I know. Do you wonder that I seize a chance?" Lois's eyes were suddenly lifted, and then as suddenly lowered; she did not speak. "I can read that," he said laughingly, for his eyes had caught the glance. "You mean, if I am so eager for chances, I might make them! Miss Lois, I do not know how." "Come, Philip," said Mrs. Barclay, "you are making your character unnecessarily bad. I know you better than that. Think what you have done for me." "I beg your pardon," said he. "Think what you have done for me. That score cannot be reckoned to my favour. Have no scruples, Miss Madge, about employing me. Though I believe Miss Lois thinks the good of this undertaking a doubtful one. How many children does your school number?" "All together,—and they would be sure for once to be all together!—there are a hundred and fifty." "Have you the names?" "O, certainly." "And ages—proximately?" "Yes, that too." "And you know something, I suppose, about many of them; something about their families and conditions?" "About all of them?" said Madge. "Yes, indeed we do." "Till Mrs. Barclay came, you must understand," put in Lois here, "we had nothing, or not much, to study besides Shampuashuh; so we studied that." "And since Mrs. Barclay came?—" asked Philip. "O, Mrs. Barclay has been opening one door after another of knowledge, and we have been peeping in." "And what special door offers most attraction to your view, of them all?" "I don't know. I think, perhaps, for me, geology and mineralogy; but almost every one helps in the study of the Bible." "O, do they!" said Dillwyn somewhat dryly. "I like music best," said Madge. "But that is not a door into knowledge," objected Lois. "I meant, of all the doors Mrs. Barclay has opened to us." "Mrs. Barclay is a favoured person." "It is we that are favoured," said Madge. "Our life is a different thing since she came. We hope she will never go away." Then Madge coloured, with some sudden thought, and she went back to the former subject. "Why do you ask about the children's ages and all that, Mr. Dillwyn?" "I was thinking— When a thing is to be done, I like to do it well. It occurred to me, that as Santa Claus must have something on his sledge for each one, it might be good, if possible, to secure some adaptation or fitness in the gift. Those who would like books should have books, and the right books; and playthings had better not go astray, if we can help it; and perhaps the poorer children would be better for articles of clothing.—I am only throwing out hints." "Capital hints!" said Lois. "You mean, if we can tell what would be good for each one—I think we can, pretty nearly. But there are few poor people in Shampuashuh, Mr. Dillwyn." "Shampuashuh is a happy place." "This plan will give you an immensity of work, Mr. Dillwyn." "What then?" "I have scruples. It is not fair to let you do it. What is Shampuashuh to you?" "It might be difficult to make that computation," said Mr. Dillwyn dryly. "Have no scruples, Miss Lois. As I told you, I have nothing better to do with myself. If you can make me useful, it will be a rare chance." "But there are plenty of other things to do, Mr. Dillwyn," said Lois. He gave her only a glance and smile by way of answer, and plunged immediately into the business question with Madge. Lois sat by, silent and wondering, till all was settled that could be settled that evening, and she and Madge went back to the other room. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2

Update Required To play the media you will need to either update your browser to a recent version or update your Flash plugin.