The Channings Part 5

"If we--you and I, and Arthur--can only manage to earn enough money, and if we can observe strict economy at home, who knows but we may send papa to the German baths yet?"

A cloud came over Hamish's face, and his smile faded. "I don't see how that is to be done."

"But you have not heard of my good luck. I am going to Lady Augusta's, and am to have forty guineas a year. Now, if you and Arthur will help, it may be easy. Oh, Hamish, it would be worth any effort--any struggle. Think how it would be rewarded. Papa restored to health! to freedom from pain!"

A look of positive pain seated itself on Hamish's brow. "Yes," he sighed, "I wish it could be done."

"But you do not speak hopefully."

"Because, if I must tell you the truth, I do not feel hopefully. I fear we could not do it: at least until things are brighter."

"If we do our very best, we might receive great help, Hamish."

"What help?" he asked.

"G.o.d's help," she whispered.

Hamish smiled. He had not yet learnt what Constance had. Besides, Hamish was just then in a little trouble on his own account: he knew very well that his funds were wanted in another quarter.

"Constance, dear, do not look at me so wistfully. I will try with all my might and main, to help my father; but I fear I cannot do anything yet. I mean to draw in my expenses," he went on, laughing: "to live like any old screw of a miser, and never squander a halfpenny where a farthing will suffice."

He took his books and went in to Mr. Channing. Constance began training the honeysuckle, her mind busy, and a verse of Holy Writ running through it--"Commit thy way unto the Lord, and put thy trust in Him, and He shall bring it to pa.s.s."

"Ay!" she murmured, glancing upwards at the blue evening sky: "our whole, whole trust in patient reliance; and whatsoever is best for us will be ours."

Annabel stole up to Constance, and entwined her arms caressingly round her. Constance turned, and parted the child's hair upon her forehead with a gentle hand.

"Am I to find a little rebel in you, Annabel? Will you not try and make things smooth for me?"

"Oh, Constance, dear!" was the whispered answer: "it was only my fun last night, when I said you should not take me for lessons in an evening. I will study all day by myself, and get my lessons quite ready for you, so as to give you no trouble in the evening. Would you like to hear me my music now?"

Constance bent to kiss her. "No, dear child; there is no necessity for my taking you in an evening, until my days shall be occupied at Lady Augusta Yorke's."

CHAPTER VII.

MR. KETCH.

Mrs. Channing sat with her children. Breakfast was over, and she had the Bible open before her. Never, since their earliest years of understanding, had she failed to a.s.semble them together for a few minutes' reading, morning and evening. Not for too long at once; she knew the value of not tiring young children, when she was leading them to feel an interest in sacred things. She would take Hamish, a little fellow of three years old, upon her knee, read to him a short Bible story, suited to his age, and then talk to him. Talk to him in a soft, loving, gentle tone, of G.o.d, of Jesus, of heaven; of his duties in this world; of what he must do to attain to everlasting peace in the next. Day by day, step by step, untiringly, unceasingly, had she thus laboured, to awaken good in the child's heart, to train it to holiness, to fill it with love of G.o.d. As the other children came on in years, she, in like manner, took them. From simple Bible stories to more advanced Bible stories, and thence to the Bible itself; with other books at times and seasons: a little reading, a little conversation, Gospel truths impressed upon them from her earnest lips. Be you very sure that where this great duty of all duties is left unfulfilled by a mother, a child is not brought up as it ought to be. Win your child towards heaven in his early years, and he will not forget it when he is old.

It will be as a very shield, compa.s.sing him about through life. He may wander astray--there is no telling--in the heyday of his hot-blooded youth, for the world's temptations are as a running fire, scorching all that venture into its heat; but the good foundation has been laid, and the earnest, incessant prayers have gone up, and he will find his way home again.

Mrs. Channing closed the Bible, and spoke, as usual. It was all that teaching should be. Good lessons as to this world; loving pictures of that to come. She had contrived to impress them, not with the too popular notion that heaven was a far-off place up in the skies some vague, millions of miles away, and to which we might be millions of years off; but that it was very near to them: that G.o.d was ever present with them; and that Death, when he came, should be looked upon as a friend, not an enemy. Hamish was three and twenty years old now, and he loved those minutes of instruction as he had done when a child. They had borne their fruit for him, and for all: though not, perhaps, in an equal degree.

The reading over, and the conversation over, she gave the book to Constance to put away, and the boys rose, and prepared to enter upon their several occupations. It was not the beginning of the day for Tom and Charles, for they had been already to early school.

"Is papa so very much worse to-day, mamma?" asked Tom.

"I did not say he was worse, Tom," replied Mrs. Channing. "I said he had pa.s.sed a restless night, and felt tired and weak."

"Thinking over that confounded lawsuit," cried hot, thoughtless Tom.

"Thomas!" reproved Mrs. Channing.

"I beg your pardon, mamma. Unorthodox words are the fashion in school, and one catches them up. I forget myself when I repeat them before you."

"To repeat them before me is no worse than repeating them behind me, Tom."

Tom laughed. "Very true, mamma. It was not a logical excuse. But I am sure the news, brought to us by the mail on Wednesday night, is enough to put a saint out of temper. Had there been anything unjust in it, had the money not been rightly ours, it would have been different; but to be deprived of what is legally our own--"

"Not legally--as it turns out," struck in Hamish.

"Justly, then," said Tom. "It's too bad--especially as we don't know what we shall do without it."

"Tom, you are not to look at the dark side of things," cried Constance, in a pretty, wilful, commanding manner. "We shall do very well without it: it remains to be proved whether we shall not do better than with it."

"Children, I wish to say a word to you upon this subject," said Mrs. Channing. "When the news arrived, I was, you know, almost overwhelmed by it; not seeing, as Tom says, what we were to do without the money. In the full shock of the disappointment, it wore for me its worst aspect; a far more sombre one than the case really merited. But, now that I have had time to see it in its true light, my disappointment has subsided. I consider that we took a completely wrong view of it. Had the decision deprived us of the income we enjoy, then indeed it would have been grievous; but in reality it deprives us of nothing. Not one single privilege that we possessed before, does it take from us; not a single outlay will it cost us. We looked to this money to do many things with; but its not coming renders us no worse off than we were. Expecting it has caused us to get behindhand with our bills, which we must gradually pay off in the best way we can; it takes from us the power to article Arthur, and it straitens us in many ways, for, as you grow up, you grow more expensive. This is the extent of the ill, except--"

"Oh, mamma, you forget! The worst ill of all is, that papa cannot now go to Germany."

"I was about to say that, Arthur. But other means for his going thither may be found. Understand me, my dears: I do not see any means, or chance of means, at present: you must not fancy that; but it is possible that they may arise with the time of need. One service, at any rate, the decision has rendered me."

"Service?" echoed Tom.

"Yes," smiled Mrs. Channing. "It has proved to me that my children are loving and dutiful. Instead of repining, as some might, they are already seeking how they may make up, themselves, for the money that has not come. And Constance begins it."

"Don't fear us, mother," cried Hamish, with his sunny smile. "We will be of more use to you yet than the money would have been."

They dispersed--Hamish to his office, Arthur to Mr. Galloway's, Tom and Charles to the cloisters, that famous playground of the college school. Stolen pleasures, it is said, are sweetest; and, just because there had been a stir lately amongst the cathedral clergy, touching the desirability of forbidding the cloisters to the boys for play, so much the more eager were they to frequent them.

As Arthur was going down Close Street, he encountered Mr. Williams, the cathedral organist, striding along with a roll of music in his hand. He was Arthur's music-master. When Arthur Channing was in the choir, a college schoolboy, he had displayed considerable taste for music; and it was decided that he should learn the organ. He had continued to take lessons after he left the choir, and did so still.

"I was thinking of coming round to speak to you to-day, Mr. Williams."

"What about?" asked the organist. "Anything pressing?"

"Well, you have heard, of course, that that suit is given against us, so I don't mean to continue the organ. They have said nothing to me at home; but it is of no use spending money that might be saved. But I see you are in too great a hurry, to stay to talk now."

"Hurry! I am hurried off my legs," cried the organist. "If a dozen or two of my pupils would give up learning, as you talk of doing, I should only be obliged to them. I have more work than I can attend to. And now Jupp must go and lay himself up, and I have the services to attend myself, morning and afternoon!"

Mr. Jupp was a.s.sistant-organist. An apprentice to Mr. Williams, but just out of his time.

"What's the matter with Jupp?" asked Arthur.

"A little bit of fever, and a great deal of laziness," responded Mr. Williams. "He is the laziest fellow alive. Since his uncle died, and that money came to him, he doesn't care a straw how things go. He was copyist to the cathedral, and he gave that up last week. I have asked Sandon, the lay-clerk, if he will take the copying, but he declines. He is another lazy one."

The organist hurried off. Arthur strove to detain him for another word or two, but it was of no use. So he continued his way to Mr. Galloway's.

Busy enough were his thoughts there. His fingers were occupied with writing, but his mind went roaming without leave. This post of copyist of music to the cathedral, which appeared to be going begging; why should not he undertake it, if Mr. Williams would give it to him? He was quite able to do so, and though he very much disliked music-copying, that was nothing: he was not going to set up dislikes, and humour them. He had only a vague idea what might be the remuneration; ten, or twelve, or fifteen pounds a year, he fancied it might bring in. Better that, than nothing; it would be a beginning to follow in the wake that Constance had commenced; and he could do it of an evening, or at other odd times. "I won't lose an hour in asking for it," thought Arthur.

At one o'clock, when he was released from the office, he ran through the Boundaries to the cloisters, intending to pa.s.s through them on his way to the house of the organist, that being rather a nearer road to it, than if he had gone round the town. The sound of the organ, however, struck upon his ear, causing him to a.s.sume that it was the organist who was playing. Arthur tried the cathedral door, found it open, and went it.

It was Mr. Williams. He had been trying some new music, and rose from the organ as Arthur reached the top of the stairs, no very pleasant expression on his countenance.

"What is the matter?" asked Arthur, perceiving that something had put him out.

"I hate ingrat.i.tude," responded Mr. Williams. "Jenkins," he called out to the old bedesman, who had been blowing for him, "you may go to your dinner; I shan't want you any more now."

Old Jenkins hobbled down from the organ-loft, and Mr. Williams continued to Arthur: "Would you believe that Jupp has withdrawn himself utterly?"

"From the college?" exclaimed Arthur.

"From the college, and from me. His father comes to me, an hour ago, and says he is sure Jupp's in a bad state of health, and he intends to send him to his relatives in the Scotch mountains for some months, to try and brace him up. Not a word of apology, for leaving me at a pinch."

"It will be very inconvenient for you," said Arthur. "I suppose that new apprentice of yours is of no use yet for the services?"

"Use!" irascibly retorted Mr. Williams, "he could not play a psalm if it were to save his life. I depended upon Jupp. It was an understood thing that he should remain with me as a.s.sistant; had it not been, I should have taken good care to bring somebody on to replace him. As to attending the services on week-days myself, it is next door to an impossibility. If I do, my teaching will be ruined."

"I wish I was at liberty," said Arthur; "I would take them for you."

"Look here, Channing," said the organist. "Since I had this information of old Jupp's, my brain has been worrying itself pretty well, as you may imagine. Now, there's no one I would rather trust to take the week-day services than you, for you are fully capable, and I have trained you into my own style of playing: I never could get Jupp entirely into it; he is too fond of noise and flourishes. It has struck me that perhaps Mr. Galloway might spare you: his office is not overdone with work, and I would make it worth your while."

Arthur, somewhat bewildered at the proposal, sat down on one of the stools, and stared.

"You will not be offended at my saying this. I speak in consequence of your telling me, this morning, you could not afford to go on with your lessons," continued the organist. "But for that, I should not have thought of proposing such a thing to you. What capital practice it would be for you, too!"

"The best proof to convince you I am not offended, is to tell you what brings me here now," said Arthur in a cordial tone. "I understood, this morning, that you were at a loss for some one to undertake the copying of the cathedral music: I have come to ask you to give it to me."

"You may have it, and welcome," said Mr. Williams. "That's nothing; I want to know about the services."

"It would take me an hour, morning and afternoon, from the office," debated Arthur. "I wonder whether Mr. Galloway would let me go an hour earlier and stay an hour later to make up for it?"

"You can put the question to him. I dare say he will: especially as he is on terms of friendship with your father. I would give you--let me see," deliberated the organist, falling into a musing att.i.tude--"twelve pounds a quarter. Say fifty pounds a year; if you stay with me so long. And you should have nothing to do with the choristers: I'd practise them myself."

Arthur's face flushed. It was a great temptation: and the question flashed into his mind whether it would not be well to leave Mr. Galloway's, as his prospects there appeared to be blighted, and embrace this, if that gentleman declined to allow him the necessary hours of absence. Fifty pounds a year! "And," he spoke unconsciously aloud, "there would be the copying besides."

"Oh, that's not much," cried the organist. "That's paid by the sheet."

"I should like it excessively!" exclaimed Arthur.

"Well, just turn it over in your mind. But you must let me know at once, Channing; by to-morrow at the latest. If you cannot take it, I must find some one else."

Arthur Channing went out of the cathedral, hardly knowing whether he stood on his head or his heels. "Constance said that G.o.d would help us!" was his grateful thought.

Such a whirlwind of noise! Arthur, when he reached the cloisters, found himself in the midst of the college boys, who were just let out of school. Leaping, shouting, pushing, scuffling, playing, contending! Arthur had not so very long ago been a college boy himself, and enjoyed the fun.

"How are you, old fellows--jolly?"

They gathered around him. Arthur was a favourite with them; had been always, when he was in the school. The elder boys loftily commanded off the juniors, who had to retire to a respectful distance.

"I say, Channing, there's the stunningest go!" began Bywater, dancing a triumphant hornpipe. "You know Jupp? Well, he has been and sent in word to Williams that he is going to die, or something of that sort, and it's necessary he should be off on the spree, to get himself well again. Old Jupp came this morning, just as college was over, and said it: and Williams is in the jolliest rage; going to be left without any one to take the organ. It will just pay him out, for being such a tyrant to us choristers."

"Perhaps I am going to take it," returned Arthur.

"You?--what a cram!"

"It is not, indeed," said Arthur. "I shall take it if I can get leave from Mr. Galloway. Williams has just asked me."

"Is that true, Arthur?" burst forth Tom Channing, elbowing his way to the front.

"Now, Tom, should I say it if it were not true? I only hope Mr. Galloway will throw no difficulty in my way."

"And do you mean to say that you are going to be c.o.c.k over us choristers?" asked Bywater.

"No, thank you," laughed Arthur. "Mr. Williams will best fill that honour. Bywater, has the mystery of the inked surplice come to light?"

"No, and be shot to it! The master's in a regular way over it, though, and--"

"And what do you think?" eagerly interrupted Tod Yorke, whose face was ornamented with several shades of colour, blue, green, and yellow, the result of the previous day's pugilistic encounter: "my brother Roland heard the master say he suspected one of the seniors."

Arthur Channing looked inquiringly at Gaunt. The latter tossed his head haughtily. "Roland Yorke must have made some mistake," he observed to Arthur. "It is perfectly out of the question that the master can suspect a senior. I can't imagine where the school could have picked up the notion."

Gaunt was standing with Arthur, as he spoke, and the three seniors, Channing, Huntley, and Yorke, happened to be in a line facing them. Arthur regarded them one by one. "You don't look very like committing such a thing as that, any one of you," he laughed. "It is curious where the notion can have come from."

"Such absurdity!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Gerald Yorke. "As if it were likely Pye would suspect one of us seniors! It's not credible."

"Not at all credible that you would do it," said Arthur. "Had it been the result of accident, of course you would have hastened to declare it, any one of you three."

As Arthur spoke, he involuntarily turned his eyes on the sea of faces behind the three seniors, as if searching for signs in some countenance among them, by which he might recognize the culprit.

"My goodness!" uttered the senior boy, to Arthur. "Had any one of those three done such a thing--accident or no accident--and not declared it, he'd get his name struck off the rolls. A junior may be pardoned for things that a senior cannot."

"Besides, there'd be the losing his chance of the seniorship, and of the exhibition," cried one from the throng of boys in the rear.

"How are you progressing for the seniorship?" asked Arthur, of the three. "Which of you stands the best chance?"

"I think Channing does," freely spoke up Harry Huntley.

"Why?"

"Because our progress is so equal that I don't think one will get ahead of another, so that the choice cannot be made that way; and Channing's name stands first on the rolls."