The Setons Part 23

"Sit down and have some lunch," said Mr. Seton.

"Thank you, Mr. Seton, no. I just brought in Miss Seton's tracts." He did not go away, however, nor did he sit down, and Arthur Townshend found it very difficult to go on with his luncheon with this gentleman standing close beside him; no one else seemed to mind, but went on eating calmly.

"A good meeting this morning," said Mr. Seton.

"Very nice, Mr. Seton. Pleasant to see the younger members coming forward as, I think, you observed in your remarks."

"Quite so," said Mr. Seton.

"How is your aunt?" Elizabeth asked him.

"Poorly, Miss Seton; indeed I may say very poorly. She has been greatly tried by neuralgia these last few days."

"I'm so sorry. I hope to look in to see her one day this week."

"Do so, Miss Seton; a visit from you will cheer Aunt Isa, I know. By the way, Miss Seton, I would like to discuss our coming Social Evening with you, if I may."

"Yes. Would Thursday evening suit you?"

"No, Miss Seton. I'm invited to a cup of tea on the Temperance Question on Thursday."

"I see. Well, Sat.u.r.day?"

"That would do nicely. What hour is most convenient, Miss Seton?"

"Eight--eight-thirty; just whenever you can come."

"Thank you, Miss Seton. Good morning. Good morning, Mr. Seton." He again went round the room, shaking hands with everyone, and withdrew.

"Did you recognize the chairman of the Fellowship Meeting?" Elizabeth asked Arthur Townshend. "Isn't he a genteel young man?"

"He has very courtly manners," said Arthur.

"Yes; and his accent is wonderful, too. He hardly ever falls through it. I only once remember him forgetting himself. He was addressing the Young Women's Bible Cla.s.s on Jezebel, and he got so worked up he cried, 'Oh, girrls, girrls, Jezebel was a bad yin, girrls.' I wonder why he didn't talk about the Social here and now? He will come trailing up to the house on Sat.u.r.day and put off quite two hours."

"My dear," said her father, "don't grudge the time, if it gives him any pleasure. Remember what a narrow life he has, and be thankful little things count for so much to him. To my mind, Hugh M'Auslin is doing a very big thing, and the fine thing about him is that he doesn't see it."

"But, Father, what is he doing?"

"Is it a small thing, Lizbeth, for a young man to give up the best years of his life to a helpless invalid? Mr. M'Auslin," Mr. Seton explained to Arthur Townshend, "supports an old aunt who cared for him in his boyhood. She is quite an invalid and very cantankerous, though, I believe, a good woman. And--remember this, you mocking people, when you talk of courtly manners--his manners are just as 'courtly' when his old aunt upbraids him for not spending every minute of his spa.r.s.e spare time at her bedside."

"I never said that Mr. M'Auslin wasn't the best of men," said Elizabeth, "only I wish he wouldn't be so coy. Well, my district awaits me, I must go. I wonder what you would like to do, Mr. Townshend? I can lend you something to read--_The Newcomes_ is in the cupboard--and show you a quiet cubby-hole to read it in, if you would like that."

"That will be delightful, but--is it permitted to ask what you are going to do?"

"I? Going with my tracts. That's what we do between services. I have two 'closes,' with about ten doors to each close. Come with me, if you like, but it's a most unsavoury locality."

Thomas and Billy were getting into their overcoats preparatory to going away. Buff asked if he might go part of the way with them and, permission being given, they set off together.

Elizabeth looked into the little square looking-gla.s.s on the mantelpiece to see if her hat was straight, then she threw on her fur, and went out with Arthur Townshend into the street.

The frost of the morning had brought a slight fog, but the pavements were dry and it was pleasant walking. "It's only a few steps," said Elizabeth--"not much of a task after all. One Sunday I sent Ellen, and Buff went with her. She had a formula which he thought very neat. At every door she said, 'This is a tract. Chilly, isn't it?'"

Arthur Townshend laughed. "What do you say?" he asked.

"At first I said nothing, simply poked the tract at them. When Father prayed for the 'silent messengers'--meaning, of course, the tracts--I took it to mean the tract distributors! I have plucked up courage now to venture a few remarks, but they generally fall on stony ground."

At a close-mouth blocked by two women and several children Elizabeth stopped and announced that this was her district. It was very dirty and almost quite dark, but as they ascended the light got better.

Elizabeth knocked in a very deprecating way at each door. Sometimes a woman opened the door and seemed pleased to have the tract, and in one house there was a sick child for whom Elizabeth had brought a trifle.

On the top landing she paused. "Here," she said, "we stop and ponder for a moment. These two houses are occupied respectively by Mrs.

Conolly and Mrs. O'Rafferty. I keep on forgetting who lives in which."

"Does it matter?"

"Yes, a lot. You see, Mrs. Conolly is a nice woman and Mrs. O'Rafferty is the reverse. Mrs. Conolly takes the tract and thanks me kindly; Mrs.

O'Rafferty, always gruff, told me on my last visit that if I knocked again at her door she would come at me with a fender. So you see it is rather a problem. Would you like to try and see what sort of 'dusty answer' you get? Perhaps, who knows, the sight of you may soothe the savage breast of the O'Rafferty. I'll stand out of sight."

Arthur Townshend took the proffered tract from Elizabeth's hand, smiling at the mischief that danced in her eyes, and was about to knock, when one of the doors suddenly opened. Both of the tract distributors started visibly; then Elizabeth sprang forward, with a relieved smile.

"Good morning, Mrs. Conolly. I was just going to knock. I hope you are all well."

Mrs. Conolly was understood to say that things were moderately bright with her, and that close being finished, Elizabeth led the way downstairs.

"What quite is the object of giving out these things?" asked Arthur Townshend, as they emerged into the street. "D'you think it does good?"

"Ah! 'that I cannot tell, said he,'" returned Elizabeth. "I expect the men light their pipes with them, but that isn't any business of mine.

My job is to give out the tracts and leave the results in Higher Hands, as Father would say."

The afternoon service began at two and lasted an hour. Mr. Seton never made the mistake of wearying his people with long services. One member was heard to say of him: "He needs neither specs nor paper, an' he's oot on the chap o' the hour."

The attendance was larger in the afternoons, and the sun struggled through the fog and made things more cheerful. Mr. Seton preached on Paul. It was a subject after his own heart, and his face shone as he spoke of that bond-slave of Jesus Christ--of all he gave up, of all he gained. At the church door, the service ended, people stood in groups and talked. Elizabeth was constantly stopped by somebody. One stolid youth thrust himself upon her notice, and when she said pleasantly, "How are you all, Mr...?" (she had forgotten his name), he replied, "Fine, thanks. Of coorse ma faither's deid and buried since last I saw ye."

"Why 'of course'?" Elizabeth asked Arthur. "And there is another odd thing--the use of the word 'annoyed.' When I went to condole with a poor body whose son had been killed in an explosion, she said, 'Ay, I'm beginnin' to get over it now, but I was real annoyed at first.' It sounds so _inadequate_."

"It reminds me of a Hindu jailer," said Arthur, "in charge of a criminal about to be hung. Commenting on his downcast look, the jailer said, 'He says he is innocent, and he will be hung to-morrow, therefore he is somewhat peevish.'"

Arthur Townshend found himself introduced to many people who wrung his hand and said "V'ry pleased to meet you." Little Mr. Taylor, hopping by the side of his tall wife, asked him if he had ever heard Mr. Seton preach before, and being told "No," said, "Then ye've had a treat the day. Isn't he great on Paul?"

The Taylors accompanied them part of the way home. Mr. Taylor's humour was at its brightest, and with many sly glances at Mr. Townshend he adjured Elizabeth to be a "good wee miss" and not think of leaving "Papa." Finding the response to his witticisms somewhat disappointing, he changed the subject, and laying a hand on Buff's shoulder said, "Ye'll be glad to hear, Mr. Townshend, that this boy is going to follow his Papa and be a minister."

Buff had been "stotting" along the road, very far away from Glasgow and Mr. Taylor and the Sabbath Day. He had been Cyrano de Bergerac, and was wiping his trusty blade after having accounted for his eighty-second man, when he was brought rudely back to the common earth.

He turned a dazed eye on the speaker. What was he saying? "This boy is going to be a minister."

And he had been Cyrano! The descent was too rapid.