It Is Never Too Late to Mend Part 16

"Me! what have I to do with father's visitors?"

"Miss," replied Jane mysteriously, "it is a parson, and you are so fond of them, I could not think to let him go away without getting a word with anybody; and he has such a face. La, miss, you never saw such a face."

"Silly girl, what have I to do with handsome faces?"

"But he is not handsome, miss, not in the least, only he is beautiful.

You go and see else."

"I hate strangers' faces, but I will go to him, Jane; it is my duty, since it is a clergyman. I will just go upstairs."

"La, miss, what for? you are always neat, you are--n.o.body ever catches you in your dishables like the rest of 'em."

"I'll just smooth my hair."

"La, miss, what for? it is smooth as marble--it always is."

"Where is he, Jane?"

"In the front parlor."

"I won't be a moment."

She went upstairs. There was no necessity; Jane was right there; but it was a strict custom in the country, and is, for that matter, and will be till time and vanity shall be no more. More majorum a girl must go up and look at herself in the gla.s.s if she did nothing more, before coming in to receive company.

Susan entered the parlor; she came in so gently that she had a moment to observe her visitor before he saw her. He had seated himself with his back to the light, and was devouring a stupid book on husbandry that belonged to her father. The moment she closed the door he saw her and rose from his seat.

"Miss Merton?"

"Yes, sir."

"The living of this place has been vacant more than a month."

"Yes, sir."

"It will not be filled up for three months, perhaps."

"So we hear, sir."

"Meantime you have no church to go to nearer than Barmstoke, which is a chapel-of-ease to this place, but two miles distant."

"Two miles and a half, sir."

"So then the people here have no divine service on the Lord's day."

"No, sir, not for the present," said Susan meekly, lowering her lashes, as if the clergyman had said, "This is a parish of heathens, whereof you are one."

"Nor any servant of G.o.d to say a word of humility and charity to the rich, of eternal hope to the poor, and" (here his voice sunk into sudden tenderness) "of comfort to the sorrowful."

Susan raised her eyes and looked him over with one dove-like glance, then instantly lowered them.

"No, sir, we are all under a cloud here," said Susan sadly.

"Miss Merton, I have undertaken the duty here until the living shall be filled up; but you shall understand that I live thirty miles off, and have other duties, and I can only ride over here on Sat.u.r.day afternoon and back Monday at noon."

"Oh, sir!" cried Susan, "half a loaf is better than no bread! The parish will bless you, sir, and no doubt," added she timidly, "the Lord will reward you for coming so far to us."

"I am glad you think so," said the clergyman thoughtfully. "Well, let us do the best we can. Tell me first, Miss Merton, do you think the absence of a clergyman is regretted here?"

"Regretted, sir! dear heart, what a question. You might as well ask me do father's turnips long for rain after a month's drought;" and Susan turned on her visitor a face into which the innocent venerating love her s.e.x have for an ecclesiastic flashed without disguise.

Her companion smiled, but it was with benevolence, not with gratified vanity.

"Let me explain my visit. Your father is one of the princ.i.p.al people in the village. He can a.s.sist me or thwart me in my work. I called to invite his co-operation. Some clergymen are jealous of co-operation; I am not. It is a good thing for all parties; best of all for those who co-operate with us; for in giving alms wisely they receive grace, and in teaching the ignorant they learn themselves. Am I right?" added he rather sharply, turning suddenly upon Susan.

"Oh, sir," said Susan, a little startled, "it is for me to receive your words, not to judge them."

"Humph!" said the reverend gentleman rather dryly; he hated intellectual subserviency. He liked people to think for them-selves; and to end by thinking with him.

"Father will never thwart you, sir, and I--I will co-operate with you, sir, if you will accept of me," said Susan innocently.

"Thank you, then let us begin at once." He took out his watch. "I have an hour and a half to spare, then I must gallop back to Oxford. Miss Merton, I should like to make acquaintance with some of the people.

Suppose we go to the school, and see what the children are learning, and then visit one or two families in the village, so I shall catch a glimpse of the three generations I have to deal with. My name is Francis Eden. You are going to get your bonnet?"

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you."

They pa.s.sed out through the garden. Mr. Eden stopped to look at the flowers. Susan colored.

"It has been rather neglected of late," said she apologetically.

"It must have been very well taken care of before, then," said he, "for it looks charming now. Ah! I love flowers dearly!" and he gave a little sigh.

They reached the school, and Mr. Eden sat down and examined the little boys and girls. When he sat down Susan winced. How angry he will be at their ignorance! thought Susan. But Mr. Eden, instead of putting on an awful look, and impressing on the children that a being of another generation was about to attack them, made himself young to meet their minds. A pleasant smile disarmed their fears. He spoke to them in very simple words and childish idioms, and told them a pretty story, which interested them mightily. Having set their minds really working, he put questions arising fairly out of his story, and so fathomed the moral sense and the intelligence of more than one. In short, he drew the brats out instead of crushing them in. Susan stood by, at first startled at the line he took, then observant, then approving. Presently he turned to her.

"And which is your cla.s.s, Miss Merton?"

Susan colored.

"I take these little girls when I come, sir.

"Miss Merton has not been here this fortnight," said a pert teacher.

Susan could have beat her. What will this good man think of me now?

thought poor Susan. To her grateful relief, the good man took no notice of the observation; he looked at his watch.

"Now, Miss Merton, if I am not giving you too much trouble," and they left the school.