CHAPTER VIII

DISASTER

IT was Sunday afternoon. Orris sat under one of the old apple trees in the orchard in a lounge wicker chair. Pippa was sprawling on a plaid rug at her feet. She disdained chairs, and having on a fresh white muslin frock, was not allowed to roll the grass at will during her Sunday lesson time.

She lay on her chest now, chewing stalks of grass, and beating a tattoo with her impatient little feet, but she had been listening intently to one of the old Gospel stories which her aunt had been telling her. Orris was taking the different incidents in the life of our Lord, and had been telling the story of Zacchæus this afternoon.

Unseen by teacher or hearer Jock Muir had stolen up after them, and lounging behind a thick old apple trunk, had let his eyes dwell contentedly on the face which, to him, was the dearest and sweetest in the world. Then Pippa spoke.

"I wiss, Aunt Ollie, I wiss Jesus was going about in these villages to-day. Let's pretend He is. Only think how lovely it would be! He would be walking towards our house here, perhaps, and He'd have come through the village, and all the persons would have jumped out of their houses and run after Him; and old Mrs. Bone would hobble up to Him on her c'utches, and He'd give her new legs at once, and she would go skipping and dancing along; and little Johnnie White would be taken out of his bed, and made quite well; and old Tom Burden would have his ears touched, and never be deaf again. And then they'd all come along the road, and crowd and crowd round Him, and then I'd climb up into that old oak by the gate, and look at Him through the leaves, and He'd look up at me, and everybody would look too, and He'd say:

"'Make haste, Pippa, and come down, for I'm going to spend the day at your house!'

"Oh, how dreffully exciting it would be! And then I'd climb down and He'd perhaps take my hand and we'd come into the door and you would be waiting for us, and Mrs. Preston would be getting dinner ready as fast as she could, and the crowds would all have to wait outside. We'd shut the door tight and have Jesus all to ourselves!"

Orris never checked Pippa's flights of fancy. The child was looking up at her with shining eyes, her whole soul in her words.

"Well, Pippa, darling," said Orris, in a soft reverent voice, "suppose we did have our Lord to ourselves, what would you say to Him, would you ask Him for anything?"

Pippa shut her eyes tight and considered. Then, with screwed up eyelids she said at last with infinite satisfaction and content:

"I'd just creep up softly and sit upon His knees, and love Him."

There was a little silence; a blackbird suddenly lifted up his voice behind them, and burst into an ecstatic song of joy.

Orris murmured to herself, not loud enough for Pippa to hear:

"Of such is the kingdom of Heaven."

And then Jock showed himself.

Pippa jumped up and flung herself into his arms.

"We've done our lesson. Are you come to tea?"

"May I?" He looked at Orris, and she nodded with a smile.

"Pippa, darling, would you go in and help Mrs. Preston get the tea? I know you like to be useful."

Away danced Pippa.

"And Master Jock shall have some cream on his bread instead of butter. He likes that," she called out, as she ran into the house.

Jock lay down on the rug which Pippa had vacated.

"I've been listening for some minutes to you both."

Orris looked at him earnestly.

"Oh, don't you wish we were like little children? Don't you sometimes envy them their perfect faith and trust and love? It seems to shame one, when one doubts and hesitates and forgets."

Jock was silent. Then he said:

"I can't remember the exact somewhat hackneyed quotation. Doesn't it run like this:

"''Tis little joy To know I'm farther off from Heaven than when I was a boy'?"

"Did you have Pippa's faith when you were small?" Orris asked quietly.

"Didn't I tell you? I had a most religious tutor before I went to Harrow. He began teaching me when I was six. He went out as a missionary to India afterwards. He coloured my whole small life with his religion. I heard of his death about five years ago. He always wrote to me every Christmas—never failed."

"You haven't lost your faith?" asked Orris.

He looked at her meditatively.

"One can neglect, or nurture it. I've done a good deal in the neglecting way. Neglect a field, you know, and it soon turns out a crop of unwholesome weeds—gets rank and barren, doesn't it?"

"But a good farmer is always trying to reclaim his waste land."

"I'm a bad hat!" said Jock, trying to speak lightly, but failing.

Orris leant forward and laid her hand gently on his shoulder.

"Come back to your Owner," she said. "He'll clear and redeem your barren field. Hand yourself over to Him again. He had you as a little boy, He wants you now."

Jock thrilled at her touch, and also at her words.

"Is it all a myth?" he queried.

And then Orris said very softly:

"'I know Whom I have believed, and am persuaded that He is able to keep that which I have committed unto Him against that day.'"

Then there was silence again between them.

Jock broke it at last by saying in a lighter tone: "You didn't see me in church to-day?"

"No."

"I was there—came in late, and had to go out before the final hymn. The sick cow was taken worse. I believe my calling is a vet. I'm better at handling sick animals than Preston is, so he tells me. How do you like our new parson?"

"Very much. Better than Mr. Villars. He is alive, and believes in his message."

Pippa here joined them again, summoning them to tea.

Orris had said what she wanted to Jock; it was not her way to worry, or to weary anyone by over-much talking. But she had always felt that something real lay under Jock's happy-go-lucky nature.

As he and Pippa teased and joked and played together that quiet Sunday evening, she wondered if he had cast aside his memories again. But when he took his leave of her a little later on, he said:

"Thank you for my Sunday lesson. I shan't forget it." Then he raised her hand suddenly to his lips, kissed it, and departed before she could say a word.

Orris found herself thinking about him a great deal. One of the traits in his character that she admired, was the good-tempered philosophical way in which he took the loss of his inheritance; there seemed to be no bitterness or vindictiveness in his composition towards those who had evidently defrauded him of his rights. It was not that he did not feel it, she felt sure. She had seen the sudden flash of his eyes, and the tightening of his lips, when his will or wishes were crossed, but she never heard him lift his voice in anger to anyone. He seemed to have absolute control over his feelings, and no one could make him lose his temper. All children, all animals, adored him; the farm hands would do anything for him, and he got more work out of them than did anyone else.

One day he and she were having a discussion together over the world in general. Orris had been talking about her sister-in-law, and said she was one of the products of the war.

"I ought to make more allowances for her. She tells me I am not sympathetic, and think and show my superiority in every way, but the fact is, I'm almost a generation behind her. I don't smoke, I don't shingle, or use a lip-stick, or care for jazz dances and night clubs. I'm hopelessly old-fashioned, and, of course, she thinks me a prig, but our tastes are utterly different. And what I say is that this present generation are too much like a flock of sheep. They follow each other, and some of them have not the courage to own to a different standard and individuality to the rest. The worst thing in the world for a young girl is to be found out-of-date or behind the times. It's all wrong. We each have a different personality, and ought to know our own minds and stick to them, without being biased by others. I suppose all ideals and standards have been lost.

"'Live like the rest, and let everything else go hang!' That's the motto of the young girl of to-day. I am thinking of Pippa in the years to come. I may not have her with me many years. How can I expect her to be stronger than the rest of her contemporaries?"

Jock was silent for a few minutes, then he turned to her with his delightfully sunny smile.

"You know, I understand your sister-in-law's point of view. And you are so strong, so genuinely superior to most of us that it does give one a kind of hopeless feeling about getting hold of you and your affections. I sometimes wickedly feel that I should like to see you brought down a little lower—not in your ideals and morals—Heaven forbid that!—but in your—shall I say circumstances? I should like to see you low enough to be glad and thankful of my comfort and guidance. I should like to have the raising of you."

"Oh, dear!" cried Orris. "You will always become so personal. But I am sorry I seem to show my superiority. I don't feel superior in any way—except, honestly—yes, in my heart I do feel superior to Venetia, and that is the reason why I have never been able to influence her or get her to like me. I'm all wrong. I wish I had more patience, more tolerance, more love for those who have such a different outlook to myself."

Jock nodded.

"More love," he murmured. "It will come if you cultivate it, and I can wait."

He generally ended all serious conversation by some such remark. But Orris thought of what he had said, and prayed daily for more humility and diffidence of self.

One day, after the haymaking was over, and when the weather was rather wet and stormy, Orris took Pippa down to Pinestones with her. The young girl who was looking after her was not very satisfactory, and did not seem to be able to manage her. Pippa had been rescued, soaking wet to the skin, from a shallow pond, where she had been trying to wash some young pigs, and had refused to have her frock changed, saying that, as she was wet, she could have a good paddle. Later, she developed a bad cold, and had to be kept in bed for two days. Now she was well again, but Orris thought that she would rather have her under her own eye in the library; and Pippa, of course, was delighted at the prospect before her.

She accompanied her aunt well wrapped up in her little mackintosh cape and hood, carrying her Teddy bear, a doll, and a box of zigzag puzzles.

"I shall be frifefully busy, Aunt Ollie," she said, "and I promise not to say one word to you, only to myself and to Teddy and to Rosemary."

Orris established her in a corner of the library, and for an hour or two this plan was very satisfactory. Orris was absorbed in her work, and Pippa in her play.

Then came an interruption. Reyne came to ask if Miss Dashwood might speak to Orris for a moment. It was about an entertainment which she was getting up for the benefit of the village girls' club, and in which Orris had promised to perform.

"Could you come and speak to her? I hate interrupting you, and it is against rules, I know, but she came up here, hoping to catch you."

Orris consented immediately, telling Pippa to stay where she was till she returned. Miss Dashwood kept her longer than she thought, and she found it was getting near lunch time when the interview was over.

Coming hurriedly into the library, she called Pippa, put on her cloak and hat, and equipping herself also, hurried home across the fields. The rain had stopped, but there was a high wind, and Pippa much enjoyed losing her hat, and having a chase over a muddy ditch after it.

Only Mrs. Preston dined with them. It was market day, and both Jock and the farmer were away in the neighbouring town.

After dinner, Orris found that some of Pippa's clothes required mending, so she and Pippa spent a quiet hour or two up in the bedroom. Then Orris thought she might make up for her interrupted morning by putting in another hour or so of work, so she asked Mrs. Preston to have Pippa with her, and give her her tea, as she might be late. Mrs. Preston was always glad to have the child with her in the afternoon, but the morning was too busy a time to look after her.

Orris started away across the field path as usual, but as she came within sight of Pinestones she saw, to her horror, a huge column of smoke rising from behind the trees.

She quickened her steps, thinking at first it must be a chimney on fire, but she soon found it was more than that, and when she saw that both smoke and flames were pouring out of the windows of the west wing, she gave a horrified cry.

"The library! The precious library!"

She tore along in a frantic breathless way, and found when she got there that the gardener and the postman and a few odd men were hard at work with a hose and buckets. The fire-engine had been sent for, but had not yet arrived.

"Oh, save the books! Save the books!" Orris cried.

And as the hose was playing on one of the French windows, without a thought of herself, she dashed in, and in spite of smoke and heat, actually got hold of a few priceless volumes that were nearest the window.

"Hold hard, miss; you can't do it. You'll be burnt!" the gardener called out.

But Orris seemed blind and deaf to everything but the precious books. Again she dashed in, but this time she enveloped herself in a blanket that had been brought from the house. The gardener arrayed himself in another, and followed her, but they could save but very few books. The fire was raging hotly, and the smoke caused by the hose playing into the room was suffocating.

It seemed a hideous nightmare to Orris! Three times she ventured in, and reclaimed some of her treasures; she was in too much excitement to notice whether she was burnt or not. For the fourth time she was going in, but there was a sudden clatter, and the fire-engine was upon the scene.

In the usual country way, a tremendous lot of talking took place before they got to work. Orris felt every minute was precious, and was about to dash into the room again, in spite of the protests around her, when she suddenly felt some one put his hands upon her shoulders from behind, and hold her in an iron grip.

"No, you don't! The firemen themselves can't enter that room now!"

Orris struggled frantically. She knew it was Jock who held her. He had come up on the fire-engine from the town.

"I must go!" she cried. "I must try to save some! Oh, think of it! The library! The books are priceless! Let me go!"

Jock tightened his hold, put his arm round her, and drew her away from the scene.

"If you promise to behave yourself, I'll go and help, but if you won't, I shall continue to hold you."

Inadvertently, he caught hold of one of her hands. She uttered a slight cry, and drew it away. Jock saw at once that both her hands were badly burned. Without a word, he caught her up in his arms, as if she were a baby, and carried her into the house.

Lady Violet and Reyne were watching with anxious eyes the awful conflagration in the west wing. But now the engine had arrived, they had hopes of saving the rest of the house.

Jock carried Orris into the drawing-room, which was in the east wing, and laid her upon one of the couches there. Then he saw that she had fainted. The shock and the burns she had received had been too much for her. Happily the telephone was in the house. Jock at once 'phoned for the doctor, and asked Reyne to stay with her.

"I must go back. We may save something. You're quite safe; the wind happily is not in this direction and is blowing away from us. Get some oil. Have you any lint? Cover her hands up as soon as you can. She may be burned elsewhere. I'll come back as soon as I can."

It seemed as if Jock took command of the whole situation.

"Water, and plenty of it, is the only chance," he said. "Come! Every one work away with a will!"

And before an hour had passed, the fire had been got under. Not, however, before the library had been completely gutted. But through the smoking debris Jock went in and out, still rescuing a few of the books which had escaped the flames. Alas! There were very few to save. The fire had been so fiercely fanned by the high wind, and the wooden shelves were so brittle and old, that only the charred and blackened fragments of the once famous library remained.

When Jock felt that he could do no more, he strode into the house to see how Orris was faring. The doctor had been and dressed her wounds. Both hands and one arm were severely burned, also her left leg and ankle. A great burnt hole in her dress showed where the fire had caught her.

He found her still lying on the couch, pale and exhausted. But the misery in her eyes was not due to her hurts.

Reyne was sitting by her.

"Oh, Mr. Muir, come and add your persuasions to mine. We want her to sleep here. She must; she isn't fit to be moved."

"It can't be thought of," said Orris, a hot flush coming to her cheeks. "It's very kind of you, but I must get back to Pippa and to my own bed." She finished her sentence with a wry smile. Then she looked up at Jock with eager eyes. "Have you saved any more of them? They can't—they can't be all destroyed."

"Yes, I've saved some more," he said soothingly. Then he turned to Reyne. "If you could let her be lifted into your car, I don't think she will hurt. Mrs. Preston is a born nurse. She'll only worry here. The sooner she's moved the better."

Reyne acquiesced reluctantly, but she felt she would have to be in attendance on her mother, as Lady Violet was much upset by the shock of it all, and she knew that Orris would be in good hands at the farm.

The car was brought round, and Jock again carried Orris down the broad steps and put her comfortably inside; then he got in beside her. For one moment his eyes turned to the blackened west wing, but he said nothing.

Orris, keenly sensitive to all around her, said quickly:

"It can't mean as much to you as it does to me. It seems like some evil dream. What a horrible dream it would be; and yet it is true—it's the awful fact!"

"It's a mercy you've escaped as you have," said Jock, looking at her bandaged limbs. "Didn't you realize what was happening to you?"

"No, oh no; it was the books that mattered. I did put out the flames when my skirt caught alight. I think I did it with the thick table-cloth. Oh, what can I do? How can I tell Mrs. Calthrop?"

"You talk as if you'd been the author of the fire," said Jock. "Don't worry so. You're agitating yourself unnecessarily."

"But how could it have caught fire? I can't understand it. There was no fire in the room. It's not a question of a defective chimney." She was getting flushed and excited.

Jock bent towards her.

"Look here," he said, "I'm not going to let you say another word. Lie still, or I shall take you in my arms again and make you."

Orris was dumb. The pain in her limbs was increasing. She was thankful when the farm was reached. In a very few moments, she was upon her own bed.

Jock delivered to Mrs. Preston a sleeping-draught, left by the doctor, and then went back to the scene of the fire. He was still anxious to pick out of the debris some of the treasures that had been in the library.

Mrs. Snow and the servants were so thankful to be untouched by the fire in their quarters that they did not seem to take any interest in the ruined library. Mrs. Snow spent her time in conjectures as to the origin of the fire, but could get no light upon it.

"Well, at any rate," she said, with a sniff, "Miss Coventry will have lost her job, and it seemed as if she were never coming to the end of it. I dare say she may have been careless with the matches. I've seen her using sealing-wax in there, and there's no telling. The room was all right before she went into it that morning, for I went in myself to see if the girl had dusted properly. It's a mystery which will have to be cleared up by some one."