The Wonderful Visit

  "Hawkins?" said the Angel softly,.... "_Hawkins?_ The name is strange tome.... He did not die then.... It is plain enough,--Joined the AngelicHosts, May 17, 1863. He must have felt as much out of place as I do downhere. But I wonder why they put that little pot thing on the top of thismonument. Curious! There are several others about--little stone potswith a rag of stiff stone drapery over them."

  Just then the boys came pouring out of the National School, and firstone and then several stopped agape at the Angel's crooked black figureamong the white tombs. "Ent 'e gart a baeaek on en!" remarked one critic.

  "'E's got 'air like a girl!" said another.

  The Angel turned towards them. He was struck by the queer little headssticking up over the lichenous wall. He smiled faintly at their staringfaces, and then turned to marvel at the iron railings that enclosed theFitz-Jarvis tomb. "A queer air of uncertainty," he said. "Slabs, pilesof stone, these railings.... Are they afraid?... Do these Dead ever tryand get up again? There's an air of repression--fortification----"

  "Get yer _'air_ cut, Get yer _'air_ cut," sang three little boystogether.

  "Curious these Human Beings are!" said the Angel. "That man yesterdaywanted to cut off my wings, now these little creatures want me to cutoff my hair! And the man on the bridge offered to take the 'paint' offme. They will leave nothing of me soon."

  "Where did you get that _'at_?" sang another little boy. "Where did youget them clo'es?"

  "They ask questions that they evidently do not want answered," said theAngel. "I can tell from the tone." He looked thoughtfully at the littleboys. "I don't understand the methods of Human intercourse. These areprobably friendly advances, a kind of ritual. But I don't know theresponses. I think I will go back to the little fat man in black, withthe gold chain across his stomach, and ask him to explain. It isdifficult."

  He turned towards the lych gate. "_Oh!_" said one of the little boys, ina shrill falsetto, and threw a beech-nut husk. It came bounding acrossthe churchyard path. The Angel stopped in surprise.

  This made all the little boys laugh. A second imitating the first, said"_Oh!_" and hit the Angel. His astonishment was really delicious. Theyall began crying "_Oh!_" and throwing beechnut husks. One hit theAngel's hand, another stung him smartly by the ear. The Angel madeungainly movements towards them. He spluttered some expostulation andmade for the roadway. The little boys were amazed and shocked at hisdiscomfiture and cowardice. Such sawney behaviour could not beencouraged. The pelting grew vigorously. You may perhaps be able toimagine those vivid moments, daring small boys running in close anddelivering shots, milder small boys rushing round behind with flyingdischarges. Milton Screever's mongrel dog was roused to yelping ecstacyat the sight, and danced (full of wild imaginings) nearer and nearer tothe angelic legs.

  "Hi, hi!" said a vigorous voice. "I never did! Where's Mr Jarvis?Manners, manners! you young rascals."

  The youngsters scattered right and left, some over the wall into theplayground, some down the street.

  "Frightful pest these boys are getting!" said Crump, coming up. "I'msorry they have been annoying you."

  The Angel seemed quite upset. "I don't understand," he said. "TheseHuman ways...."

  "Yes, of course. Unusual to you. How's your excrescence?"

  "My what?" said the Angel.

  "Bifid limb, you know. How is it? Now you're down this way, come in.Come in and let me have a look at it again. You young roughs! Andmeanwhile these little louts of ours will be getting off home. They'reall alike in these villages. _Can't_ understand anything abnormal. Seean odd-looking stranger. Chuck a stone. No imagination beyond theparish.... (I'll give you physic if I catch you annoying strangersagain.) ... I suppose it's what one might expect.... Come along thisway."

  So the Angel, horribly perplexed still, was hurried into the surgery tohave his wound re-dressed.

  LADY HAMMERGALLOW'S VIEW.

  XXVIII.

  In Siddermorton Park is Siddermorton House, where old Lady Hammergallowlives, chiefly upon Burgundy and the little scandals of the village, adear old lady with a ropy neck, a ruddled countenance and spasmodicgusts of odd temper, whose three remedies for all human trouble amongher dependents are, a bottle of gin, a pair of charity blankets, or anew crown piece. The House is a mile-and-a-half out of Siddermorton.Almost all the village is hers, saving a fringe to the south whichbelongs to Sir John Gotch, and she rules it with an autocratic rule,refreshing in these days of divided government. She orders and forbidsmarriages, drives objectionable people out of the village by the simpleexpedient of raising their rent, dismisses labourers, obliges hereticsto go to church, and made Susan Dangett, who wanted to call her littlegirl 'Euphemia,' have the infant christened 'Mary-Anne.' She is a sturdyBroad Protestant and disapproves of the Vicar's going bald like atonsure. She is on the Village Council, which obsequiously trudges upthe hill and over the moor to her, and (as she is a trifle deaf) speaksall its speeches into her speaking trumpet instead of a rostrum. Shetakes no interest now in politics, but until last year she was an activeenemy of "that Gladstone." She has parlour maids instead of footmen todo her waiting, because of Hockley, the American stockbroker, and hisfour Titans in plush.

  She exercises what is almost a fascination upon the village. If in thebar-parlour of the Cat and Cornucopia you swear by God no one would beshocked, but if you swore by Lady Hammergallow they would probably beshocked enough to turn you out of the room. When she drives throughSiddermorton she always calls upon Bessy Flump, the post-mistress, tohear all that has happened, and then upon Miss Finch, the dressmaker, tocheck back Bessy Flump. Sometimes she calls upon the Vicar, sometimesupon Mrs Mendham whom she snubs, and even sometimes on Crump. Hersparkling pair of greys almost ran over the Angel as he was walking downto the village.

  "So _that's_ the genius!" said Lady Hammergallow, and turned and lookedat him through the gilt glasses on a stick that she always carried inher shrivelled and shaky hand. "Lunatic indeed! The poor creature hasrather a pretty face. I'm sorry I've missed him."

  But she went on to the vicarage nevertheless, and demanded news of itall. The conflicting accounts of Miss Flump, Miss Finch, Mrs Mendham,Crump, and Mrs Jehoram had puzzled her immensely. The Vicar, hardpressed, did all he could to say into her speaking trumpet what hadreally happened. He toned down the wings and the saffron robe. But hefelt the case was hopeless. He spoke of his protege as "Mr" Angel. Headdressed pathetic asides to the kingfisher. The old lady noticed hisconfusion. Her queer old head went jerking backwards and forwards, nowthe speaking trumpet in his face when he had nothing to say, then theshrunken eyes peering at him, oblivious of the explanation that wascoming from his lips. A great many Ohs! and Ahs! She caught somefragments certainly.

  "You have asked him to stop with you--indefinitely?" said LadyHammergallow with a Great Idea taking shape rapidly in her mind.

  "I did--perhaps inadvertently--make such--"

  "And you don't know where he comes from?"

  "Not at all."

  "Nor who his father is, I suppose?" said Lady Hammergallow mysteriously.

  "No," said the Vicar.

  "_Now!_" said Lady Hammergallow archly, and keeping her glasses to hereye, she suddenly dug at his ribs with her trumpet.

  "My _dear_ Lady Hammergallow!"

  "I thought so. Don't think _I_ would blame you, Mr Hilyer." She gave acorrupt laugh that she delighted in. "The world is the world, and menare men. And the poor boy's a cripple, eh? A kind of judgment. Inmourning, I noticed. It reminds me of the _Scarlet Letter_. The mother'sdead, I suppose. It's just as well. Really--I'm not a _narrow_ woman--I_respect_ you for having him. Really I do."

  "But, _Lady_ Hammergallow!"

  "Don't spoil everything by denying it. It is so very, very plain, to awoman of the world. That Mrs Mendham! She amuses me with her suspicions.Such odd ideas! In a Curate's wife. But I hope it didn't happen when youwere in orders."

  "Lady Hammergallow, I protest. Upon my word."

  "Mr Hilyer, I protest. I _k
now_. Not anything you can say will alter myopinion one jot. Don't try. I never suspected you were nearly such aninteresting man."

  "But this suspicion is unendurable!"

  "We will help him together, Mr Hilyer. You may rely upon me. It is mostromantic." She beamed benevolence.

  "But, Lady Hammergallow, I _must_ speak!"

  She gripped her ear-trumpet resolutely, and held it before her and shookher head.

  "He has quite a genius for music, Vicar, so I hear?"

  "I can assure you most solemnly--"

  "I thought so. And being a cripple--"

  "You are under a most cruel--"

  "I thought that if his gift is really what that Jehoram woman says."

  "An unjustifiable suspicion that ever a man--"

  ("I don't think much of her judgment, of course.")

  "Consider my position. Have I gained _no_ character?"

  "It might be possible to do something for him as a performer."

  "Have I--(_Bother! It's no good!_)"

  "And so, dear Vicar, I propose to give him an opportunity of showing uswhat he can do. I have been thinking it all over as I drove here. OnTuesday next, I will invite just a few people of taste, and he shallbring his violin. Eigh? And if that goes well, I will see if I can getsome introductions and really _push_ him."

  "But _Lady_, Lady Hammergallow."

  "Not another word!" said Lady Hammergallow, still resolutely holding herspeaking trumpet before her and clutching her eyeglasses. "I reallymust not leave those horses. Cutler is so annoyed if I keep them toolong. He finds waiting tedious, poor man, unless there is a public-housenear." She made for the door.

  "_Damn!_" said the Vicar, under his breath. He had never used the wordsince he had taken orders. It shows you how an Angel's visit maydisorganize a man.

  He stood under the verandah watching the carriage drive away. The worldseemed coming to pieces about him. Had he lived a virtuous celibate lifefor thirty odd years in vain? The things of which these people thoughthim capable! He stood and stared at the green cornfield opposite, anddown at the straggling village. It seemed real enough. And yet for thefirst time in his life there was a queer doubt of its reality. He rubbedhis chin, then turned and went slowly upstairs to his dressing-room, andsat for a long time staring at a garment of some yellow texture. "Knowhis father!" he said. "And he is immortal, and was fluttering about hisheaven when my ancestors were marsupials.... I wish he was there now."

  He got up and began to feel the robe.

  "I wonder how they get such things," said the Vicar. Then he went andstared out of the window. "I suppose everything is wonderful, even therising and setting of the sun. I suppose there is no adamantine groundfor any belief. But one gets into a regular way of taking things. Thisdisturbs it. I seem to be waking up to the Invisible. It is thestrangest of uncertainties. I have not felt so stirred and unsettledsince my adolescence."

  FURTHER ADVENTURES OF THE ANGEL IN THE VILLAGE.

  XXIX.

  "That's all right," said Crump when the bandaging was replaced. "It's atrick of memory, no doubt, but these excrescences of yours don't seemnearly so large as they did yesterday. I suppose they struck me ratherforcibly. Stop and have lunch with me now you're down here. Midday meal,you know. The youngsters will be swallowed up by school again in theafternoon."

  "I never saw anything heal so well in my life," he said, as they walkedinto the dining-room. "Your blood and flesh must be as clean and freefrom bacteria as they make 'em. Whatever stuff there is in your head,"he added _sotto voce_.

  At lunch he watched the Angel narrowly, and talked to draw him out.

  "Journey tire you yesterday?" he said suddenly.

  "Journey!" said the Angel. "Oh! my wings felt a little stiff."

  ("Not to be had,") said Crump to himself. ("Suppose I must enter intoit.")

  "So you flew all the way, eigh? No conveyance?"

  "There wasn't any way," explained the Angel, taking mustard. "I wasflying up a symphony with some Griffins and Fiery Cherubim, and suddenlyeverything went dark and I was in this world of yours."

  "Dear me!" said Crump. "And that's why you haven't any luggage." He drewhis serviette across his mouth, and a smile flickered in his eyes.

  "I suppose you know this world of ours pretty well? Watching us over theadamantine walls and all that kind of thing. Eigh?"

  "Not very well. We dream of it sometimes. In the moonlight, when theNightmares have fanned us to sleep with their wings."

  "Ah, yes--of course," said Crump. "Very poetical way of putting it.Won't you take some Burgundy? It's just beside you."

  "There's a persuasion in this world, you know, that Angels' Visits areby no means infrequent. Perhaps some of your--friends have travelled?They are supposed to come down to deserving persons in prisons, and dorefined Nautches and that kind of thing. Faust business, you know."

  "I've never heard of anything of the kind," said the Angel.

  "Only the other day a lady whose baby was my patient for the timebeing--indigestion--assured me that certain facial contortions thelittle creature made indicated that it was Dreaming of Angels. In thenovels of Mrs Henry Wood that is spoken of as an infallible symptom ofan early departure. I suppose you can't throw any light on that obscurepathological manifestation?"

  "I don't understand it at all," said the Angel, puzzled, and not clearlyapprehending the Doctor's drift.

  ("Getting huffy,") said Crump to himself. ("Sees I'm poking fun athim.") "There's one thing I'm curious about. Do the new arrivalscomplain much about their medical attendants? I've always fancied theremust be a good deal of hydropathic talk just at first. I was looking atthat picture in the Academy only this June...."

  "New Arrivals!" said the Angel. "I really don't follow you."

  The Doctor stared. "Don't they come?"

  "Come!" said the Angel. "Who?"

  "The people who die here."

  "After they've gone to pieces here?"

  "That's the general belief, you know."

  "People, like the woman who screamed out of the door, and the blackfacedman and his volutations and the horrible little things that threwhusks!--certainly not. _I_ never saw such creatures before I fell intothis world."

  "Oh! but come!" said the Doctor. "You'll tell me next your officialrobes are not white and that you can't play the harp."

  "There's no such thing as white in the Angelic Land," said the Angel."It's that queer blank colour you get by mixing up all the others."

  "Why, my dear Sir!" said the doctor, suddenly altering his tone, "youpositively know nothing about the Land you come from. White's the veryessence of it."

  The Angel stared at him. Was the man jesting? He looked perfectlyserious.

  "Look here," said Crump, and getting up, he went to the sideboard onwhich a copy of the Parish Magazine was lying. He brought it round tothe Angel and opened it at the coloured supplement. "Here's some _real_angels," he said. "You see it's not simply the wings make the Angel.White you see, with a curly whisp of robe, sailing up into the sky withtheir wings furled. Those are angels on the best authority. Hydroxylkind of hair. One has a bit of a harp, you see, and the other is helpingthis wingless lady--kind of larval Angel, you know--upward."

  "Oh! but really!" said the Angel, "those are not angels at all."

  "But they _are_," said Crump, putting the magazine back on the sideboardand resuming his seat with an air of intense satisfaction. "I can assureyou I have the _best_ authority...."

  "I can assure you...."

  Crump tucked in the corners of his mouth and shook his head from side toside even as he had done to the Vicar. "No good," he said, "can't alterour ideas just because an irresponsible visitor...."

  "If these are angels," said the Angel, "then I have never been in theAngelic Land."

  "Precisely," said Crump, ineffably self-satisfied; "that was just what Iwas getting at."

  The Angel stared at him for a minute round-eyed, and then was seized forthe second time by the human
disorder of laughter.

  "Ha, ha, ha!" said Crump, joining in. "I _thought_ you were not quite somad as you seemed. Ha, ha, ha!"

  And for the rest of the lunch they were both very merry, for entirelydifferent reasons, and Crump insisted upon treating the Angel as a"dorg" of the highest degree.

  XXX.

  After the Angel had left Crump's house he went up the hill again towardsthe Vicarage. But--possibly moved by the desire to avoid Mrs Gustick--heturned aside at the stile and made a detour by the Lark's Field andBradley's Farm.

  He came upon the Respectable Tramp slumbering peacefully among thewild-flowers. He stopped to look, struck by the celestial tranquillityof that individual's face. And even as he did so the Respectable Trampawoke with a start and sat up. He was a pallid creature, dressed inrusty black, with a broken-spirited crush hat cocked over one eye. "Goodafternoon," he said affably. "How are you?"

  "Very well, thank you," said the Angel, who had mastered the phrase.

  The Respectable Tramp eyed the Angel critically. "Padding the Hoof,matey?" he said. "Like me."

  The Angel was puzzled by him. "Why," asked the Angel, "do you sleeplike this instead of sleeping up in the air on a Bed?"

  "Well I'm blowed!" said the Respectable Tramp. "Why don't I sleep in abed? Well, it's like this. Sandringham's got the painters in, there'sthe drains up in Windsor Castle, and I 'aven't no other 'ouse to go to.You 'aven't the price of a arf pint in your pocket, 'ave yer?"