The Soul of Susan Yellam Part 36

Uncle was nearly as much upset as the 'bus. The gallant fellow offered his services to his sister.

"Look 'ee here, Susan. I be a man o' parts. 'Tis no trick for me to larn motor-drivin'. To use a figure o' speech, I be a born shover, clever, as you be, wi' my brain and my fingers. Such a thatcher as Habakkuk Mucklow be fit for anything. I feel it in me, dear, to command armies. Say the word, and I'll declare war wi' Saint Willum; I'll downscramble 'un in two jiffs."

Mrs. Yellam thanked him, but the word was not said.

She appeared to accept misfortune with grim resignation. Not even to Fancy dared she unveil her heart. Alone with Solomon, she permitted a few words to escape.

"My faith, Solly, be on the wing again. Why should G.o.d Almighty raise His hand against an old 'ooman? He might ha' seen fit to cripple me wi'

rheumatics. I could ha' borne that wi'out whimpering. But why do He exalt Willum Saint? That's what tears me, my dog."

Solomon spared no effort of mind or body in the attempt to a.s.sure his mistress that these high matters were apprehended by all dumb animals.

Conscious of failure, he became very dejected.

A letter from Alfred heartened her a little.

"Dear Mother:" (he wrote) "I hope this finds you in the pink, as it leaves me. Don't worry about the old 'bus! _I don't, not a bit._ I have a notion that if you worry much 'twill be bad for Fancy and for Somebody Else, you know who I mean. As for William Saint, I say this--take a squint at his face! I wouldn't have his liver for the best carrying business in the world. If you've set your dear heart on my punching a rascal's head, I'll do it, so soon as I get back, and make a job of it, too. Hard blows hurt them as get them; hard thoughts hurt them as think them. I puzzled that out in the trenches, where we be making very merry again. You'll worry too about the loss of money. I say to that--_Napoo_!

That's French. I parleyvoo with the best of them, but when it comes to buying stuff, they do me in a fair treat...."

Mrs. Yellam read and re-read the letter. Fancy was at the Court when it came. Then she said to Solomon:

"Wherever does that boy o' mine get his Christian principles? Not from me, Solly, not from me. Wag tail, little man, and I'll tell 'ee for why.

Willum Saint, next Christmas, maybe, 'll take such a head to Salisbury as never was."

Sol barked.

Alfred's sentence about merry-making in the trenches provoked much thought. Mrs. Yellam had talked freely with scores of wounded Tommies.

They came, they conquered all reserves, they went. Some actually complained that life in Nether-Applewhite seemed "dull" after the "fun"

in the dug-outs. At first, she suspected "leg-pulling," but she limped to the slow conclusion that the high spirits of these gallant fellows came _from_ the trenches, and were not, as she had supposed at first, a natural result of finding themselves snug and safe after sh.e.l.l-fire.

Possessing the qualities which distinguish a "tufting" hound--a good nose for a scent, staying powers, and tenacity in sticking to her quarry, Mrs. Yellam decided, ultimately, that millions of young men and women were living, like gnats, for the pa.s.sing hour, buzzing gaily here and there, utterly regardless of past and future.

Could she bring herself to so happy a condition of mind?

"Take no thought for the morrow."

That injunction couldn't be ignored. Nevertheless, she had ignored it all her life. Hence, from a material point of view, her sound economic condition. She was independent of the 'bus.

Such thoughts were obsessing, also, the parson of the parish.

Hamlin was quite as handicapped as Mrs. Yellam by principles adopted long ago which he deemed, before the war, to be bomb-proof. He had pinned his faith to the ma.s.ses, dismissing the cla.s.ses as effete and lapped in luxury and indifference. All workers appealed to him irresistibly; men and women of leisure rather exasperated him. He held with Matthew Arnold that conduct was three-fourths of life, whereas culture might or might not claim the odd quarter.

The ma.s.ses had disappointed him. The cla.s.ses seemed to have justified their claim to superiority not in mere education but in a capacity and willingness to sc.r.a.p self-interest which astounded him. He had expected, too, a tremendous upward movement from German Socialists. Indeed, he had regarded the Socialists of Europe as a band of brothers prepared to stand shoulder to shoulder against autocracy.

And they had not done so.

He could find for the ma.s.ses, not at the front, all the excuses which fell so glibly from the lips of Democracy's champions. Strikers complained of lack of good faith on the part of the Government, of local injustices, of this and that, but the fact remained that self-interest swayed them, as it had swayed the privileged cla.s.ses before the war. The tables seemed to be turned. Aristocracy, governed possibly by its fine motto, "_n.o.blesse oblige_," hurled self-interest to the void; Democracy picked it up and hugged it. Indisputable evidence exhibited Labour as rejoicing in an increased wage, and spending pounds a week upon luxuries, many actually praying that the war might continue, because they believed that the end of it would mean a return to dull, grinding pre-war conditions.

And Hamlin admitted sorrowfully to himself that if the war did end suddenly, leaving Labour triumphant, insatiate for more and more wealth, and in a position to dictate terms to Capital, that the country would be plunged into abysmal depths, depths in which new tyrants would impose a new slavery without any of the restrictions which culture and tradition had prescribed upon the former autocrats and plutocrats.

He envisaged England at the mercy of the mob!

With pleasure and relief he turned from the Industrials to the Soldiers.

What a fine spirit animated them! With Mrs. Yellam, he had arrived, by a different road, at the same conclusion.

Our men of all ranks were facing unspeakable horrors with a laugh.

How had it come to pa.s.s?

According to Hamlin's teaching, a supreme Sacrifice, a Divine Atonement, had regenerated the pagan world. Did sacrifice make not only for regeneration but for joyousness? Lionel Pomfret, still on his crutches, was joyous. The Squire, after the sale of many heirlooms, was joyous. A finer humanity informed him, radiating from him.

The Parson pondered these things in his heart. He might have found another object-lesson in William Saint. He was unmistakably prospering, making money hand over fist. But he was not joyous.

Very reluctantly, Hamlin decided that the time for peace might be far distant, if the designs of Omnipotence were rightly apprehended by him.

Armageddon would continue till pain had purged the whole world, till materialism in its hydraheaded forms was slain by spirituality, by a faith, simple as that preached by the Nazarene, which counted worldly gain as naught if such gain involved the loss of the soul.

Faithful to his promise to Alfred, Hamlin kept a watchful eye on Mrs.

Yellam. Her empty pew had affected him poignantly. He thought of empty pews throughout Europe. They stood mute witnesses against teachers and preachers, against creeds that crumbled when the cannon thundered. He respected this old woman for braving gossip by staying at home. She had moral courage, nearly as rare and even more precious than common-sense.

But when she came back to her pew, when he heard her loud responses, he realised sadly that her son, not her G.o.d, had found this wandering sheep and led it back to the fold.

At any moment the pew might be empty again.

Next Sunday, he took for his text the verse out of the hundredth-and-sixth Psalm:

"_And He gave them their desire; but withal He sent leanness into their soul._"

No coincidence was involved in this choice of a text. Fancy Broomfield, before she married, had asked her master to explain "leanness of soul."

He had said a few simple words. Afterwards, he jotted down some notes and put them away.

He re-read these notes, thinking of William Saint, whose activities had not escaped his notice. But he wrote the sermon with a wider application. And although he had to bear in mind the limited intelligence of his congregation, what he set down const.i.tuted an indictment of a material, world-wide prosperity.

Hamlin began by reminding his parishioners of what he had said in his sermon on patriotism: the soul in its essence was always right.

"What there is of it," he added impressively. "Some souls are very lean."

Jane Mucklow maintained afterwards that the Parson looked hard at Uncle.

Uncle was equally positive that austere eyes dwelt on Jane. Mrs. Yellam sat bolt upright in her pew with Fancy beside her. William Saint a.s.sumed an air of detachment. He attended church once a week to curry favour with his Squire and landlord. He held Hamlin in some disdain, because so able a man had pushed himself no farther along preferment's highway than Nether-Applewhite. A man who had played cricket for the Gentlemen of England ought surely to be a dean at least, if he had any gumption in him.

Hamlin repeated the text.

"I want you to notice," he said, in his quiet voice, "that the word 'soul' is used in the singular. G.o.d sent leanness into the soul of His people. Nations, therefore, like individuals, possess souls.

"Has leanness entered into our national soul?

"We have prospered exceedingly. We are even richer than our expert accountants deemed us to be. Some of you may have glanced casually at the stupendous figures which set forth the wealth and resources of the British Empire. We forget to consider how this vast wealth is piled up.

It is not my purpose to consider that with you, to-day. But such consideration is the duty of those who are able to deal intelligently with these astounding figures.

"We have been, in short, given our desire.

"In the text you will note that G.o.d gave His people their desire; and then He sent leanness into their souls.