CHAPTER IV.

Friends in Need.

Through whatsoever ills betide For you I will be spent and spend: I'll stand for ever by your side, And naught shall you and me divide, Because you are my friend.

Perhaps one of the most noteworthy characteristics of "the people called Methodists" is the _esprit de corps_--the spirit of clannishness--which runs through the whole body. Is any sick, the rest are eager to pray; is any merry, the rest are delighted to sing psalms; and they will not only pray and sing in sympathy, which is comparatively easy, but they are ready to spend and to be spent for the brethren to any extent. Men may know that they are Methodists from the love they have one to another. And this love does not confine itself to the actual members of the Church, but extends to their descendants, to the third and fourth generation, even though these descendants may have forsaken the faith of their fathers, and embraced other forms of worship. This clannishness is not so much the spiritual bond of a common creed, as a more human--and so more indissoluble--bond, like the tie of country or of kinship; and therefore no variations in belief can break it.

If the children of Methodism, as they grow up and see the various phases of modern life, incline to a broader faith or a more ornate ritual than those which satisfied their fathers, their Mother-Church does not blame them as perverts nor brand them as apostates; they are still her children and she will be interested in them to the end. Though the daughter may forget her own people and her father's house, she herself is ever remembered in the old home, where there is no bitterness on account of her forgetfulness, such forgetfulness being but the fulfilment of a law of natural growth.

It is this spirit of kinship that accounts for the wonderful freemasonry among all Wesleyan Methodists; and their masonic sign--their Shibboleth, so to speak--is their pronunciation of their denominational name. If a man pronounces the word Wesleyan as if the _s_ were a _z_, and puts the accent upon the second syllable, one may safely conclude that that man has never been inside this particular fold; but if he sounds the _s_ sharply as if it were double s, and accentuates the first syllable of the word, all Wesleyans know that he is, or his father was before him, one of themselves, for his speech bewrayeth him.

When Paul had been at Oxford for upwards of two years, and seemed on the high road to success in all his undertakings, a sudden change came o'er the spirit of his dream. The bank in which Mrs. Seaton's fortune was invested stopped payment, and the heavy calls which her husband was obliged to pay left him with but a very small addition to his income as a "supernumerary". To many men of his age this would have been a crushing blow; but Mark Seaton's mind was so uniformly set upon things above, and so indifferent to all earthly considerations, that worldly misfortunes had little power to hurt him. But the stroke, nevertheless, fell heavily upon his wife; not that she was more worldly-minded than her husband, but because poverty always presses harder upon a woman than upon a man. Poverty meets a man face to face upon the battle-field of life, and he then and there either conquers or is conquered by it; but it waylays a woman in her home, lurking for her in the recesses of her wardrobe and jumping out upon her from her kitchen and her storeroom; and a secret foe is always worse than an open enemy.

The blow fell when Paul was down for the Long Vacation, and he saw far more clearly than his father did what it would mean to his mother and sister. With an intuition which was rare in so young a man, he realized how the daily struggle to make both ends meet--which hardly penetrated into the minister's study--would embitter Joanna's youth and render Mrs. Seaton's declining years but labour and sorrow to her; and with his accustomed decision he made up his mind that this burden must be lightened at all costs, even though the lightening taxed him to his uttermost farthing.

"Joanna," he said one day, when he and his sister were alone together, "I am not going back to Oxford."

"Not going back to Oxford, Paul? What do you mean?"

"Simply what I say. Instead of finishing my time there, I have decided to set about earning something at once, so as to make life a little less hard for you and mother."

"But there is no need for that," said Joanna. "Mother and I were saying only yesterday what a good thing it was that you had your scholarship and so were independent of us."

"That's all rot!" said Paul. "A fellow can't be independent of his own people in that sense; and I'm not going to have mother fagged to death over things if I can stop it."

"But, Paul, it would spoil your career if you left Oxford without taking your degree."

"Don't bother about that! And besides--career or no career--my mind is made up."

"Don't you know," urged Joanna, "that father and mother and I would gladly give up everything we have for the sake of you and your future?"

"Of course I do. And do you suppose I haven't the same consideration for you?"

"But, Paul, it seems such a shame!"

"It's no use arguing with me. I've made up my mind, I tell you. Of course I'm sorry to leave Oxford and throw up my chance of a First and all that that means; but, you know, there are some things a fellow can pay too dearly for, and that is one of them."

Joanna's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Paul! are you sure it is necessary?"

"Look here! I think it is necessary that I should set about earning some money as soon as possible."

"It is awfully good of you, dear!"

"Oh! I don't know much about the goodness of it; but I do know that a man couldn't very well act differently under the circumstances."

"But, Paul, think of your boating, and how you would miss that!"

For the first time in the conversation Paul's lip quivered. "Please don't let's talk about that! Besides, boating isn't everything."

After a few moments Joanna asked: "Then what shall you do instead of going back to Oxford?"

"I shall go and teach 'small Latin and less Greek' to Sir Richard Esdaile's son. I wrote to my tutor, telling him how matters stood, and asking him if he could put me in the way of getting a job. And he wrote back saying that old Esdaile--who is a chum of his--wanted somebody to teach his small boy and prepare him for Eton."

"And so he recommended you?"

"He said he should be pleased to recommend me to anybody, as I took a First in Mods, and was pretty sure to do the same in Greats if I'd stayed up. So I shall go to Esdaile Court after the summer holidays are over."

"I see."

"The pay is two hundred a year," continued Paul; "and I can send most of it home, as I shall have only my clothes to pay for."

"Oh, Paul, how good you are!"

"You see, even if I stayed on at Oxford and took my degree and went to the Bar, it would be ages before I could earn anything; and I feel I mustn't waste any more time. But I shall write articles and things for magazines in the intervals of teaching young Esdaile his A,B,C, and I hope in time to make a good thing out of my pen."

"But do you think you will like teaching?" asked Joanna.

"I can't say anything about that at present. Just now my idea of teaching anybody anything is to say it over and over again in the same words, but louder and louder each time, with the addition of a few epithets hurled at the stupidity of the pupil. But I daresay I shall warm to the work in time; and as what must be must be, there is no good talking any more about it."

So Paul Seaton renounced his heart's desire, and gave up his youthful dreams. It was no light matter to him thus to forego all the things that he had longed for from his youth up; but he was hopeful enough to believe that if a man can succeed in anything he can succeed in everything, and that success is a matter of character rather than a question of circumstance. Therefore Paul made up his mind that if he could not distinguish himself in law, he would distinguish himself in letters, and would be a great author as he might not be a great advocate; and in the meantime he worked and waited, and did all in his power to lighten the cloud which had fallen upon the little home at Chayford.

And things pressed heavily there at first, before Paul's salary had begun to come in, and before the necessary retrenchments had been put into practice: for one cannot reconstruct the management of a household in a day. But it was better for the Seatons than it might otherwise have been, because of that wonderful Methodist freemasonry.

"My husband and I want to know," said Mrs. Ford to the minister one day, "if--instead of renting another house, as you intend--you will do us the favour of living in our little cottage. We do not need it, as long as our son remains unmarried; and we should not like to let it, as Chayford Cottage has never been let. So it really will be a kindness to us if you and Mrs. Seaton will keep it warm for us till such time as we want it for Edgar and his wife."

The minister grasped her hand. "You are very good to us," he said, and his voice shook, "but I hardly like to take advantage of such generosity."

"Let me assure you that such a feeling is quite beside the mark. It is really far better for a house to be inhabited by gentlepeople than by caretakers; and yet I should not like to have any one living there with whom I was not on terms of the most intimate friendship. So you are really conferring the favour on us."

Mr. Seaton smiled. "There was once another great woman who builded a little chamber in the wall that a prophet might abide there, and who was careful for him with all care. And we do not read that the prophet's pride rebelled against the sense of obligation, nor that he hesitated to take a favour at the great woman's hands because she happened to be rich and he was poor."

"Because when one gets to the heart of life, and understands that nothing is one's own but that all things are God's, there is no such thing as a sense of obligation; such a sense is a mere vulgar superficiality," said Mrs. Ford.

"Precisely; therefore, dear Mrs. Ford, I accept your kind offer with more gratitude than I can express. I can never repay you and your husband for what you have done for me and mine; but, like the prophet of old, I can speak for you to the King and the Captain of the Host; and, believe me, I shall do that every time I am on my knees. And may God grant more abundantly than I can desire or conceive, all the prayers that I shall offer up on your behalf!"

So it was arranged that the Seatons should take up their abode at Chayford Cottage. Thus they were saved from paying rent--a heavy item in small homes; but, nevertheless, the incidental expenses of moving and so forth were so great that Mr. Seaton decided, with much sorrow, that he should be obliged to part with his library in order to meet them. On hearing of this decision, Miss Dallicot called at the minister's.

"Is it true, dear Mr. Seaton," she began, "that you are contemplating the sale of your interesting and valuable library? Mrs. Ford informed me that she believed such was the case, though she had no authority for making the statement beyond the sanction of rumour."

"It is true, I am grieved to say," replied the minister. "I have always made it my rule in life to pay ready money for all things, and never to run into debt even for a shilling's worth; therefore I am in need of some cash in hand to pay the expenses of our move into the cottage. My conscience would not allow me to borrow the necessary sum, so I see no alternative but to dispose of my books."

"Still you possess so many friends who would feel it a privilege to advance the sum you require, that it seems a matter of regret that you will not avail yourself of the loan."

"Do not tempt me, dear Miss Dallicot, to act against my principles. I have made a vow to owe no man anything, even for an hour; and I should not feel it consistent with my profession as a minister of Christ to run into debt on any pretext whatsoever."

"Then that being the case," said Miss Drusilla, "you will not deem it unseemly or commercial on my part to inform you that I have long viewed with feelings of envy your admirably selected collection of old books. I have come here to-day with the intention of making you a reasonable offer for the same; but I felt that such an offer would savour of impertinence if your mind were not as yet finally made up in favour of disposing of your valuable library."

Mr. Seaton looked pleased. "I am very glad to hear you say this. I confess it is a wrench to me to part with my books, and I cannot disguise from myself that I shall miss them sorely. Yet it is a great comfort to me to think that my carefully selected library will not be broken up, but will be in the possession of a cultured person capable of appreciating it."

"Then," said Miss Dallicot blushing, "may I be so mercenary as to mention the sum I should offer in exchange for your admirable collection of volumes?"

"Certainly, dear Miss Dallicot. I am, as you know, a child in these matters, and have no idea what my library is worth."

"The sum I should suggest is five hundred pounds; but if you think that insufficient, pray tell me so, and I will increase it at once."

"Nay, Miss Drusilla; that seems to me far too much. I could not take such a large sum as that for my little library."

"Believe me, dear Mr. Seaton, it is none too much," said Miss Dallicot, with more charity than veracity. "In fact I believe at a sale your books would command a far larger sum; but, as you remark, it would be a source of regret to see so carefully selected a collection ruthlessly resolved again into its integral parts."

The minister looked doubtful. "I am a poor hand at business, but I think you are too generous, dear friend."

"Quite the reverse. Take my word for it, Mr. Seaton, I am making what is vulgarly termed a bargain. To obtain a valuable library, which I have long coveted, for the comparatively trifling sum of five hundred pounds, is a stroke of good fortune such as does not generally fall to my portion."

Mark Seaton shook his head. "I trust that we are not deceiving ourselves, and letting your kindness of heart run away with us."

"Certainly not; have no doubts on that score, I entreat you. And now I have a favour to ask of you, if you will not think me importunate in so doing."

"By no means, dear Miss Drusilla. It will be the greatest pleasure to me to do anything in my power for so faithful a friend as you have proved yourself to be."

"The request I have to make is that you will grant me permission to keep my library under your roof for a time. As you will perceive, I have no space at present for any increase in my shelf-room. I may possibly add a small octagonal room to my present study, like the one at Chayford House; but until this arrangement is carried out, I must trespass on your kindness so far as to leave the library I have purchased from you in your keeping."

The minister's face glowed with innocent pleasure. He had no suspicion of any guile on the good spinster's part, and it rejoiced his heart to know that he and his beloved books would not be parted just yet.

"I shall be only too delighted to oblige you in this matter, Miss Dallicot; in fact," added he, with the air of one imparting a new view of the question, "I myself shall profit by the arrangement; for I am sure you will not have any objection to my using the books as long as they are in my charge."

"Of course not, dear Mr. Seaton; I trust you will avail yourself of the library just the same whether it is nominally in my possession or in yours. And it will be a source of unbounded satisfaction to me to feel that my treasured books are under such safe jurisdiction."

"I hope that I have not acted in a deceitful manner," said Miss Dallicot to herself on her way home, "but the worthy man would not have accepted help more openly bestowed, I fear; wherefore my little ruse was perhaps excusable. And I was not actually guilty of any untruth--at least I trust I was not. Surely the value of anything is what it happens to be worth to us; and the minister's library is worth far more than five hundred pounds to me, for it represents the earthly happiness of my dear friend and pastor. And it is undoubtedly true that I have no more book-room in my little home: my shelves are already so overcrowded that a new hymn-book would prove a superfluity to me at present. But I fear I overstepped the mark a little in my speech anent the octagonal enlargement; I have no actual intention of ever enlarging my borders, and I am sorely afraid I conveyed the impression that such an intention formed part of my immediate programme. I trust that I have not sinned in this, and done evil that good may come!" And the good lady sighed in much contrition of spirit, never having read how the recording angel blots out with a tear some entries even as he makes them.

But the entry against Miss Drusilla was not the only erasure that the recording angel had to make that day.

"Martha," said Mrs. Seaton to her faithful handmaiden, "it goes to my heart to say it, but I fear we cannot keep you with us any longer."

"Well to be sure, ma'am!" exclaimed Martha, in unfeigned surprise. "And what may have put such a notion as that into your head? You'll be talking about giving the minister notice next."

"The fact is, Martha, that we can no longer afford so valuable a maid as yourself. Now that our circumstances are changed, we can only keep one servant for the very rough work, and Miss Joanna and I must do the rest ourselves."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that it is the money-question that has put you thus beside yourself, ma'am, and not any dissatisfaction with me. Not that I should have left, even if such had been the case; I should have stayed with you for your own good, even though you had given me notice twenty times a day. Bless you, ma'am, if I wasn't here to look after you all, the whole place would go to rack and ruin."

"You are right, Martha. Home would not be home without you!"

"Then don't multiply words any more, ma'am, or talk nonsense about my going away. I have made up my mind to stay on with you all, and not to take any wages whatsoever: and when Martha Prosser puts her foot down, all the king's horses and all the king's men can't pick it up again."

"But, dear Martha, we can't let you go on serving us without wages."

"And why not, I should like to know? What do I want with wages? My face is too plain for me to care to spend money on my back--which is no secret, being there for all the world to see. And I don't hold with saving, ma'am. Money is like the manna, to my thinking; it is all very well to supply the needs of the passing day, but when you begin to save it up it doesn't improve with keeping."

"Yet we should all of us lay by what we can for our old age," suggested Mrs. Seaton.

"I don't hold with that, neither. It is a poor compliment, to my mind, to say, 'The Lord will provide'; and then to bolster Him up with a bank-book, as if He couldn't do His part of the business without our assistance. My conscience alive! If we'll only do our part properly, He'll do His, never fear!"

The minister's wife did not reply in words; but she threw her arms round Martha's neck, and sobbed out her griefs and her gratitude on that faithful breast.

As for Martha, when she had soothed and comforted her mistress, she armed herself with the wisdom of the serpent, and knocked at the door of the minister's study.

"If you please, sir," she said in a sepulchral tone, "I want to consult you about a spiritual difficulty."

"Certainly, Martha, certainly," replied Mr. Seaton with much warmth, feeling far more at home on eternal than on temporal ground. "Sit down and tell me all about it, and I will see how I can help you."

Thus adjured, Martha took a seat. "I used to think," she began, "that when one had got to a sensible age, one would have outgrown the snares and wiles of the devil; but, bless my soul! he has got them suited to fit all ages and sizes, as they say of ready-made clothes."

"He has indeed, my poor Martha; and it is when we think he has no longer the power to harm us that he is most to be dreaded. But tell me, what is the temptation that has been assailing you now?"

Martha's face was the picture of gloom as she replied: "I feel that covetousness and the love of money are creeping upon me in my old age; and we all know that the Lord hateth the covetous man, and that the love of money is the root of all evil."

Mr. Seaton's face was very tender as he answered: "I fancy that you are unduly distressing yourself. Surely I, who know you so well and with whom you have met in class all these years, should have perceived this fault in your character had it ever existed. Believe me, your conscience is over-sensitive, and now falsely accuses you."

But Martha shook her head. "The heart knoweth its own bitterness," she replied, "and I want you to help me to conquer the devil, and not explain him away. As my Aunt Matilda Jane said, when the doctor told her she had nasal catarrh: 'It is a common cold in the head, and I haven't sent for you to christen it but to cure it'. That is what Aunt Matilda Jane said, and she had right on her side, to my thinking."

"Well, Martha, if, as you say, the sin of covetousness is lying in wait for your soul, I can only pray for you, and entreat you to watch as well as pray that you enter not into this temptation."

"That is not enough. There is more than prayer wanted in my case. Not that prayer is not sufficient for some, and I should be the last to say a word against it; but I want something more myself," replied the penitent.

"Then tell me what that more is," demanded Martha's spiritual adviser, in some perplexity.

"I want you to remove the temptation far from me, so that I can no longer behold the accursed thing. In fact I want you to take all my savings, and spend them, and never let me hear of them again, they being but filthy lucre at best, and amounting to one hundred and eleven pounds, fifteen shillings and sixpence in all," added the excited Martha, thrusting her bank-book into her master's hand. "If I keep them, they may draw my soul into perdition, and make me as them that have their portion in this life; while if you'll only take and spend them, you'll save my soul alive, and be able to have a fire in your bedroom all the winter, which the mistress ought never to be without, her being so rheumatic, bless her dear heart!"

Then at last the minister understood; and he also understood that when any pilgrim's face is set as though to go to Jerusalem, it is no sign of true apostleship to try to turn that pilgrim back. So he took Martha's bank-book into his keeping, until such time as he saw fit to return it to her.

"Thank you, Martha," he said, and his eyes were full of tears. "I will do as you bid me, and shall be able to see that your dear mistress lacks nothing during the coming winter, owing to your generosity. And you in your turn will always remember that in this household, as in the early Church, we have all things in common; and that whatever is ours is also yours."

"Then that's settled," replied Martha cheerfully; "and now I must go back to the kitchen to see the oven, which is apt to burn the pie-crust without baking it, unless duly warned and admonished by them that have authority. You'd wonder how an oven could burn without baking; but human nature is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked, and our kitchen oven is one of the worst."

"Yet, Martha, God is very good, and therefore human nature is sometimes very good likewise; I have certainly proved it of late."

"Well, you see, sir, it is in this way," expounded Martha. "God made man in His own image; and though man spoils himself in the making, and loses his proper pattern, and falls out of shape, the original mould is not broken yet--nor never will be, trust the Lord for that!"