CHAPTER IV.

SUNDAY.

THE Sunday morning rose fair and beautiful, and every one was stirring in good time, for milk must be cared for and animals fed on Sunday as well as on other days. Marion was a little late—not a very uncommon occurrence; and when she came down, it was to find Aunt Christian doing her special work of setting the table, placing the porridge-basins and her father's pitcher of kirn milk (buttermilk) by his place as if she had always done it.

"That is my work, Aunt Christian," said Marion, trying to speak pleasantly, though she felt a little vexed, she hardly knew why.

"Is it? It always used to be mine. I believe setting the table is always the work of the youngest member of the family. It seemed very natural to fall into it again."

"Aunt Christian means to show us that she doesn't feel above us," thought Marion as she began to put things in order in the sitting-room; but she was mistaken.

It never occurred to Aunt Christian to think that any should suppose her capable of "feeling above" any one, least of all her own family.

"Did you preach while you were in Scotland, Duncan?" asked old Hector as after prayers they sat down to breakfast.

"Oh yes, several times—once at St. Andrew's, where I had a famous churchful of professors and students and the principal himself, two or three times in other places, and once at I—, where the duke himself did me the honour to come and hear me."

Marion cast a glance of triumph at Aunt Baby.

"That was very civil of His Grace," said Hector.

"Did he speak to you?" asked Marion.

"Yes; he made me a very pretty compliment and asked me to call upon him."

"And did you?"

"Of course. I was bound to pay my duty to my chief and my father's landlord; and besides, His Grace was pleased to desire some information concerning his affairs in these parts which I was able to give him. He was very gracious, asked specially after you, father—and presented me his snuff-mull to give you, a fine silver one with a Cairngorm pebble for a lid."

"That was very pretty of him," said the old man, evidently much gratified. "I shall use it with much pleasure."

"How does he look, Uncle Duncan?" asked Marion.

"He is said very strongly to resemble your humble servant, my dear. I think I am quite his equal in good looks, though I say it that shouldn't."

"Were you frightened at preaching before him?" asked Marion, pursuing her catechism.

"Not a bit. I was rather blate at holding forth before the principal of St. Andrew's, but I soon forgot it. There is one great pleasure in preaching to a Scotch congregation—you are sure that not a word will be lost by inattention."

"But, Uncle Duncan, I thought you were a medical doctor, and not a D. D.?" said Marion.

"Both, Marie; I preach on Sundays and practice on week-days."

"Then you do more than a good many people," said Uncle Alick.

"Mr. Parmalee will be after you to preach for him next Sunday."

"And I shall do so very willingly, but to-day I shall be very thankful neither to preach nor practice in that sense. Do we walk or ride to church?"

"We walk always in pleasant weather. It is only a mile. Come, children, you must not sit talking any longer, or we shall not be ready."

The walk to church was a very pleasant one down the valley. A good part of the way was by the bank of the clear little river which ran through Holford, and was pleasantly shaded by birch and pine trees, while two or three points gave beautiful views of the mountains which "stood round about" the pretty village.

"'Look how the hills on every side Jerusalem enclose,'"

quoted Doctor Campbell. "I am always reminded of that verse when I come down this road, though these green, shady hills are not much like the arid mountains round Jerusalem."

"And you have seen Lebanon and Carmel since you were here last?" remarked Alick.

"Yes, and the mountains of Moab and Olympus and Ararat, and many a famous height besides."

"There is where I envy you," said Alick—"I mean your travels all over the world. I believe I want to see Lebanon as much as ever Moses did. If I had my wish, I would travel seven years."

"Why, Uncle Alick, I never supposed you cared for any such thing," said Marion, with not a very polite emphasis. "I never supposed you thought of anything but crops and cattle, you seem always so contented with our humdrum way of living."

"You don't quite know Uncle Alick all through, Marie, for as long as you have lived with him," answered Alick, good-humouredly.

"But if you like to travel so much, why don't you?"

"When you are as old as I am, you will know that the next best thing to having what you like is liking what you have. Pray, what do you suppose would have become of the farm and the stock if I should indulge my fancy for wandering all over the world? So I do my travelling with newspapers and books and stereoscopic views."

"Of which last I have brought you a bushel, more or less," said Duncan. "One thing I can tell you, Marie: if you don't like what you have, you will find you will never have what you like."

"I don't understand you, Uncle Duncan."

"Consider the saying as a wise oracle, to be worked out at your leisure," said Doctor Campbell. "How does your church missionary society prosper, Alick?"

Alick answered, and the two men walked on, engaged in earnest conversation, while Marion, instead of considering her uncle's oracle, began wondering whether she had not said something foolish—something which would lower her in Uncle Duncan's estimation.

As they drew near the village they overtook Therese.

"I thought you were going to stay at home over Sunday?" said Marion.

"So did I," answered Therese, "but mother thought there would be a storm this afternoon; and besides, I don't like to miss the Sunday school. You have company, haven't you?"

"Yes; my uncle and aunt from Syria."

"What, the missionaries? How nice! Oh, Marion, do you think he will talk to the Sunday school? Miss Oliver said perhaps he would when he came. And have you asked him about our girl—little Rachel, you know?" said Therese, with sparkling eyes and true French volubility.

"How you do ask questions, Therese! Uncle and aunt came only last night, and I have not had time to ask them everything," said Marion, who in truth had never thought of little Rachel. "I dare say my uncle will give a lecture or do something of that kind; missionaries always do."

"How does your class collection come on? Ours is almost made up," said Therese.

"I supposed Kitty Tremaine's class would have finished first because she gives so much herself," said Marion; "our teacher, Mrs. Buckley, gives only ten cents a Sunday."

"Kitty gives only five, I know."

"Why, Therese Beaubien! As rich as they are, to give only five cents a Sunday! Well, I would be ashamed."

"I don't think they are so very rich, Marion," said Therese; "Kitty has only a dollar a month of pocket-money, besides the six dollars a year she gets from her uncle in New York, which she keeps for Christmas. I think if she gives away so much of her income, she does pretty well, don't you?"

"I didn't think of that," said Marion; "but her mother might give her more!"

"Yes, but then it would not be her contribution, you see, and now it is."

"It is miserable to be obliged to calculate so closely, anyhow," said Marion, impatiently. "I do hate to think about every cent I spend. Uncle Duncan visited a gentleman in Scotland who has a million dollars a year."

"Oh, Marion!"

"Yes, he has, and more than that."

"It must be very nice," said Therese. "But, Marion, I don't call you poor. What would you do if you had to work for seventy-five cents a week, as I do?"

"I wouldn't live at all," said Marion.

"Yes, but you would have to, whether you liked it or not," said Therese, shrewdly. "People are not asked whether they will live or not. They are set down in their lot and left to make the best of it."

"Eh, little lass, how is that? Left?" said old Hector, who was nearer than the girls thought, and whose hearing was as sharp as ever, notwithstanding his great age.

Therese turned round, blushing and smiling. She had a great reverence for the old man and always felt pleased and flattered when he talked with her, as he often did. In fact, there was a very warm friendship between the old Highlander and the little French girl, despite the difference in their ages.

"Why, yes, I suppose so," said she, doubtfully, in answer to his question.

"I would think a bit more anent that matter," said Hector. "That would be a dreary faith to sit down with, my dawtie—not much better than that of the old heathen philosophers, poor souls! But here we are at the kirk door even now. Take the thought with you, and see what you will make of it before we meet again. It is a matter worth thinking of, I can assure you, lassie."

So, you see, Marion and Therese had each her own problem to consider. But the two treated the matter very differently. Marion wondered what Uncle Duncan meant, then tossed the whole subject aside into a dark closet of her mind, and fell to thinking what a fine thing it would be to have such an income as the duke of Argyle. Some time, perhaps, she may clear out—or, as Hector would say, "redd up,"—this same dark closet, and find various matters hidden therein.

Therese, to continue the figure, laid her problem on a shelf in plain sight, that she might often turn her eyes toward it as she went about her daily toil.

There was quite an excitement when Mr. Parmalee proclaimed at the close of Sunday school that Doctor Campbell would give a missionary lecture in the church on Wednesday evening, and that Mrs. Campbell would meet the girls of the missionary band at the parsonage on Saturday afternoon at two o'clock.

"Won't it be nice?" said Therese, with sparkling eyes.

"Very," answered Marion, but she did not seem particularly interested in the matter.

"Marion has had the advantage of us," said Kitty Tremaine; "she has had the first news. Did your aunt bring us a photograph of little Rachel, Marion? She said she would if she could."

"I don't know," said Marion, in the same dreamy way. And then, waking up a little, "I couldn't ask her everything all in a minute, you know. There were plenty of things to talk about, without beginning on missions the first thing. Just think how long it is since aunt has seen any of her friends! I do hope I have some consideration," said Marion with her grand air.

"I dare say you never thought of it," said Lizzy Gates.

"Well, and if she didn't, it is no wonder," returned Kitty, seeing from Marion's manner that Lizzy had, as usual, hit the mark with her conjecture.

"Not a bit of harm," answered Lizzy, laughing. "Oh, Marion, where did you get your watch? Did your aunt bring it to you?"

"Yes; Mr. Van Alstine sent it to me from New York," answered Marion, displaying her treasure.

"How pretty!" "And your name on it, and all!" "What a nice man your father-in-law must be!" said one and another.

"I should be looking to see what time it was a dozen times in an hour if it was mine," said Lizzy. "Let us see yours, Kitty."

Kitty produced the one she wore, an old-fashioned open-faced watch with ornaments of coloured gold and some very curious engraving on the back.

"But that isn't your grand one," said Lizzy.

"I mean the little green one with all the diamonds in the back."

"Oh, I don't wear that; mamma says it is altogether too fine for a school-girl, and I must keep it till I am grown up. So I leave it safely in its box, and use this, which Aunt gave me. And to tell the truth, I like this a great deal better. But yours is lovely, Marion—just the very thing."

"Such is life," said Lizzy, assuming a tragic air; "one person riots in watches, and the next has only an eight-day clock—perhaps only a brass one which needs winding every night. Here comes Julia Parmalee. Julia, have you heard any more of the mission meeting? Are we to bring our work, or what?"

"You can bring what if you like, but I would choose the work," said Julia. "Anyhow, mother hopes you will all come prepared to stay to tea, and we want to send to all the girls who are not here. Marion, can you get word to the Bryants?"

"Yes, but they won't come. Mr. Bryant doesn't believe in giving money to foreign missions."

"What does he believe in giving money to? Does anybody know?" asked Lizzy.

"Hush, young woman! Restrain your intellect, and don't be satirical. Anyhow, Marion, we will give them the chance, and perhaps they will come for once."

"Especially if they know it is a tea-fight," said Lizzy the irrepressible.

"Lizzy, I shall ask my father to take you in hand and give you a lecture if you don't behave better. Come, now, be good. Will you undertake to tell Eliza Bridgeman? You can't say she doesn't care for missions, and she isn't here to-day."

"No, indeed! She cares for everything that is good, poor little dear! I will not only tell her of the meeting, but I will coax Miss Perkins to let her come. Now, is there anybody else?"

"Nobody that I can think of. Father will give out the notice in church this afternoon, and we shall talk it all over in school. Here comes Matty McRae; I must ask her specially. Matty, you will be sure to come to the meeting at our house Saturday, won't you, and please tell all the district school girls?"

"I shall not do any such thing, Miss Julia Parmalee, so there!" answered Matty, with a movement of her whole person which I don't know how to describe otherwise than as a flounce. "You may get some one else to do your errands for you; and as for me, I am too proud to go where I am not wanted."

The girls looked at each other, and Julia answered, gently,—

"But we do want you, Matilda. Why should you think we don't?"

"Because I know you all feel above me; you Crocker school girls think yourselves above all the rest of the world. I think I am as good as you are any day, if I don't wear a gold watch. And I must say, as for the missionaries, I think, when they are able to give away gold watches to their nieces, they are able to support themselves."

"Oh!" said Lizzy, in a tone which implied "Now I understand."

"But, Matilda, neither my aunt nor uncle gave me the watch," said Marion. "It was sent me by my father-in-law, Mr. Van Alstine."

"Oh yes, so you say now! And you couldn't keep quiet about it, but must look at it once in ten minutes all Sunday school time. I do hate such ostentation."

"Matty, did you ever have a loose tooth?" asked Therese.

"Yes, I suppose so; what of it?" answered Matilda, forgetting her anger for the moment in the oddity of the question.

"And didn't you keep touching it with your tongue or feeling it every few minutes?"

"Yes, I suppose so; every one does."

"Well, was that because you were proud of it?"

All the girls laughed, and Lizzy exclaimed, "Well done, Therese! That is what Miss Oliver would call an apt and pertinent illustration."

"You had better mind your own business, Therese Beaubien," said Matilda. "I don't think Tone Beaubien's daughter has any business crowding herself in with decent people, anyhow. Well, there! You needn't all look at me as if I had committed murder," she added, with an uneasy laugh, as she felt the glances of contempt which fell upon her from all sides. "I shouldn't have said anything if she hadn't begun it. I do think so, and a great many other people besides me."

"Then you and your 'great many other people' had better keep your thoughts to yourselves," said Lizzy Gates, angrily. "You—Well, there, Julia! I won't begin, so you needn't look at me so. Never mind, Therese dear; nobody cares for what such people say."

"I think this missionary business is all nonsense, any way, and so does pa," continued Matilda, feeling, to do her justice, rather ashamed of her meanness and willing to divert attention from herself. "Pa says he should come to church more only for this everlasting begging. He says, too, that it is all nonsense to take the Sunday school collection from the children and then give it to foreign missions. It ought to go to support the school, and I think so too. I think we might just as well use our forty dollars to buy new Sunday school books with."

"But where would be the charity in that, Matilda?" asked Marion. "It would be just taking money out of one pocket to put it into the other."

"Or we could have a nice Christmas festival," continued Matilda. "Pa says he gave a dollar and a half last year, and the presents we had off the tree didn't come to more than a dollar."

"Because all the nicest and prettiest things went to the poor children," said Julia Parmalee, who never lost patience in explaining matters.

"Well, anyhow, I am not going to give money to help buy gold watches for anybody's niece," said Matilda, and with that she departed.

"Now she will tell that story to her aunt, Miss Perkins, and it will go all over the town," said Lizzy; "and I dare say she won't let Eliza come to the meeting, after all."

"But then I told her just how it was," said Marion.

"Yes, much she will care for that, or Miss Perkins, either. Never mind, Marion; it wasn't your fault."

"I wish I hadn't worn my watch at all," said Marion; "I am sure I didn't mean to make any display of it. But that's just the way it always is," added Marion, with a sigh. "There is never anything nice in the world but somebody comes to spoil it."

"'I never nursed a dear gazelle To glad me with its soft black eye But when it came to know me well, And love me—'

"Somebody was sure to say 'My uncle gave it to me,'" quoted Lizzie, slightly altering the verse to suit the occasion. "Dear me, Marion! If you are going to let your pleasure in your watch be spoiled so easily, you don't deserve to have it."

"And as for the story, it is only one more," added Julia. "I wouldn't mind about it. I don't believe Matilda will influence any one who would have given anything. Kitty, how does your class get on?"

"Oh, pretty well," answered Kitty. "The bother of my class is that as soon as the children really begin to learn anything I have to send them away. I sent out three of my nicest children this morning—two little Lenoirs and your cousin Madelaine, Therese. Why, where is Therese? I thought she was here."

"She has gone home, I fancy," said Julia. "Poor child! I am so sorry for her."

"I do think it is the meanest thing that ever was in the world to twit that child with her father," said Lizzy Gates, with her usual emphasis. "Just as though she was to blame!"

"It is a shame," said Kitty. "Miss Perkins asked mother if we were not afraid to trust Therese about the house. She said she should always be expecting her to get up in the night and let her father in at the back door. But I think Therese will live it down. She has a great deal of force and of real principle too."

"Miss Perkins needn't say anything. One reason why Lenore Beaubien has got away so much of her custom is that people who took lace and velvet to Miss Perkins thought they didn't get it all back again."

"Hush, Lizzy! You shouldn't say so."

"Well, perhaps not, after your father's sermon on evil speaking this morning. I can't help being vexed for Therese, and she never says a word for herself. But there goes the bell for afternoon church. You are not vexed at me, are you, Marion?"

"No, of course not," said Marion; "only vexed at having made such a fuss."

"It was not you that made the fuss. I wouldn't mind about it, anyhow. Don't let it spoil your Sunday, as mother says to me when anything disagreeable happens."

"I don't see why Kitty Tremaine should have a class in Sunday school any more than the rest of us," said Marion to Julia when the rest had gone and they were left alone together for a few minutes. "She is only six months older than I am."

"Well, you know it begun three years ago, because Kitty was the only one in the school besides her mother and Miss Oliver who could speak French," * said Julia. "Kitty would like very well to give up her class, and come into school, but your uncle won't hear of it because she manages the infants so nicely."

* See "Kitty's Christmas Tree," American Sunday School Union.

"Oh yes, Uncle Alick thinks she is the eighth wonder of the world. I don't see anything so remarkable about her. Just think how intimate she used to be with that horrid Fanny Duskin, and what scrapes she used to get into."

"But that was a long time ago, Marion. Kitty has not been in a scrape in school for more than two years. I don't mean, of course, that she never does wrong, but I do think she tries to be a consistent Christian."

"Your geese are all swans, Julia."

"Well, that is better than thinking all my swans geese. But, Marion, if you really want to try teaching, why don't you ask Mr. McGregor to let you have Emily Sibley's class? You know she won't be here after this Sunday, and you couldn't wish for a nicer class than that."

"I mean to ask him about it this very day," said Marion.

"I wonder what old Mr. McGregor meant by what he said to me this morning?" thought Therese, as she brushed away a few tears, "I'm sure my lot is a hard one enough, and I don't see any best to be made of it. I ought not to say I am left, either, I suppose, when I have so many good friends. I wonder if that was what he meant?"