CHAPTER XXIII. A MISSIONARY HEROINE
Accordingly, that afternoon we bearded the lion in his den. The road wetook was a beautiful one, for we went "cross lots," and we enjoyedit, in spite of the fact that we did not expect the interview with Mr.Campbell to be a very pleasant one. To be sure, he had been quite civilon the occasion of our last call upon him, but the Story Girl had beenwith us then and had beguiled him into good-humour and generosity bythe magic of her voice and personality. We had no such ally now, and Mr.Campbell was known to be virulently opposed to missions in any shape orform.
"I don't know whether it would have been any better if I could haveput on my good clothes," said Cecily, with a rueful glance at her printdress, which, though neat and clean, was undeniably faded and RATHERshort and tight. "The Story Girl said it would, and I wanted to, butmother wouldn't let me. She said it was all nonsense, and Mr. Campbellwould never notice what I had on."
"It's my opinion that Mr. Campbell notices a good deal more than you'dthink for," I said sagely.
"Well, I wish our call was over," sighed Cecily. "I can't tell you how Idread it."
"Now, see here, Sis," I said cheerfully, "let's not think about ittill we get there. It'll only spoil our walk and do no good. Let's justforget it and enjoy ourselves."
"I'll try," agreed Cecily, "but it's ever so much easier to preach thanto practise."
Our way lay first over a hill top, gallantly plumed with golden rod,where cloud shadows drifted over us like a gypsying crew. Carlisle, inall its ripely tinted length and breadth, lay below us, basking in theAugust sunshine, that spilled over the brim of the valley to the far-offMarkdale Harbour, cupped in its harvest-golden hills.
Then came a little valley overgrown with the pale purple bloom ofthistles and elusively haunted with their perfume. You say that thistleshave no perfume? Go you to a brook hollow where they grow some latesummer twilight at dewfall; and on the still air that rises suddenly tomeet you will come a waft of faint, aromatic fragrance, wondrously sweetand evasive, the distillation of that despised thistle bloom.
Beyond this the path wound through a forest of fir, where a wood windwove its murmurous spell and a wood brook dimpled pellucidly among theshadows--the dear, companionable, elfin shadows--that lurked under thelow growing boughs. Along the edges of that winding path grew banksof velvet green moss, starred with clusters of pigeon berries. Pigeonberries are not to be eaten. They are woolly, tasteless things. But theyare to be looked at in their glowing scarlet. They are the jewels withwhich the forest of cone-bearers loves to deck its brown breast. Cecilygathered some and pinned them on hers, but they did not become her.I thought how witching the Story Girl's brown curls would have lookedtwined with those brilliant clusters. Perhaps Cecily was thinking of it,too, for she presently said,
"Bev, don't you think the Story Girl is changing somehow?"
"There are times--just times--when she seems to belong more among thegrown-ups than among us," I said, reluctantly, "especially when she putson her bridesmaid dress."
"Well, she's the oldest of us, and when you come to think of it, she'sfifteen,--that's almost grown-up," sighed Cecily. Then she added, withsudden vehemence, "I hate the thought of any of us growing up. Felicitysays she just longs to be grown-up, but I don't, not a bit. I wish Icould just stay a little girl for ever--and have you and Felix andall the others for playmates right along. I don't know how it is--butwhenever I think of being grown-up I seem to feel tired."
Something about Cecily's speech--or the wistful look that had crept intoher sweet brown eyes--made me feel vaguely uncomfortable; I was gladthat we were at the end of our journey, with Mr. Campbell's big housebefore us, and his dog sitting gravely at the veranda steps.
"Oh, dear," said Cecily, with a shiver, "I'd been hoping that dogwouldn't be around."
"He never bites," I assured her.
"Perhaps he doesn't, but he always looks as if he was going to,"rejoined Cecily.
The dog continued to look, and, as we edged gingerly past him and upthe veranda steps, he turned his head and kept on looking. What withMr. Campbell before us and the dog behind, Cecily was trembling withnervousness; but perhaps it was as well that the dour brute was there,else I verily believe she would have turned and fled shamelessly when weheard steps in the hall.
It was Mr. Campbell's housekeeper who came to the door, however; sheushered us pleasantly into the sitting-room where Mr. Campbell wasreading. He laid down his book with a slight frown and said nothing atall in response to our timid "good afternoon." But after we had sat fora few minutes in wretched silence, wishing ourselves a thousand milesaway, he said, with a chuckle,
"Well, is it the school library again?"
Cecily had remarked as we were coming that what she dreaded most of allwas introducing the subject; but Mr. Campbell had given her a splendidopening, and she plunged wildly in at once, rattling her explanation offnervously with trembling voice and flushed cheeks.
"No, it's our Mission Band autograph quilt, Mr. Campbell. There are tobe as many squares in it as there are members in the Band. Each one hasa square and is collecting names for it. If you want to have your nameon the quilt you pay five cents, and if you want to have it right in theround spot in the middle of the square you must pay ten cents. Then whenwe have got all the names we can we will embroider them on the squares.The money is to go to the little girl our Band is supporting in Korea. Iheard that nobody had asked you, so I thought perhaps you would give meyour name for my square."
Mr. Campbell drew his black brows together in a scowl.
"Stuff and nonsense!" he exclaimed angrily. "I don't believe in ForeignMissions--don't believe in them at all. I never give a cent to them."
"Five cents isn't a very large sum," said Cecily earnestly.
Mr. Campbell's scowl disappeared and he laughed.
"It wouldn't break me," he admitted, "but it's the principle of thething. And as for that Mission Band of yours, if it wasn't for the funyou get out of it, catch one of you belonging. You don't really care arap more for the heathen than I do."
"Oh, we do," protested Cecily. "We do think of all the poor littlechildren in Korea, and we like to think we are helping them, if it'sever so little. We ARE in earnest, Mr. Campbell--indeed we are."
"Don't believe it--don't believe a word of it," said Mr. Campbellimpolitely. "You'll do things that are nice and interesting. You'll getup concerts, and chase people about for autographs and give money yourparents give you and that doesn't cost you either time or labour. Butyou wouldn't do anything you disliked for the heathen children--youwouldn't make any real sacrifice for them--catch you!"
"Indeed we would," cried Cecily, forgetting her timidity in her zeal. "Ijust wish I had a chance to prove it to you."
"You do, eh? Come, now, I'll take you at your word. I'll test you.Tomorrow is Communion Sunday and the church will be full of folks andthey'll all have their best clothes on. If you go to church tomorrow inthe very costume you have on at present, without telling anyone why youdo so, until it is all over, I'll give you--why, I vow I'll give youfive dollars for that quilt of yours."
Poor Cecily! To go to church in a faded print dress, with a shabbylittle old sun-hat and worn shoes! It was very cruel of Mr. Campbell.
"I--I don't think mother would let me," she faltered.
Her tormentor smiled grimly.
"It's not hard to find some excuse," he said sarcastically.
Cecily crimsoned and sat up facing Mr. Campbell spunkily.
"It's NOT an excuse," she said. "If mother will let me go to church likethis I'll go. But I'll have to tell HER why, Mr. Campbell, because I'mcertain she'd never let me if I didn't."
"Oh, you can tell all your own family," said Mr. Campbell, "butremember, none of them must tell it outside until Sunday is over. Ifthey do, I'll be sure to find it out and then our bargain is off. IfI see you in church tomorrow, dressed as you are now, I'll give you myname and five dollars. But I won't see you. You'll shrink when you'vehad tim
e to think it over."
"I sha'n't," said Cecily resolutely.
"Well, we'll see. And now come out to the barn with me. I've got theprettiest little drove of calves out there you ever saw. I want you tosee them."
Mr. Campbell took us all over his barns and was very affable. He hadbeautiful horses, cows and sheep, and I enjoyed seeing them. I don'tthink Cecily did, however. She was very quiet and even Mr. Campbell'shandsome new span of dappled grays failed to arouse any enthusiasm inher. She was already in bitter anticipation living over the martyrdomof the morrow. On the way home she asked me seriously if I thought Mr.Campbell would go to heaven when he died.
"Of course he will," I said. "Isn't he a member of the church?"
"Oh, yes, but I can't imagine him fitting into heaven. You know he isn'treally fond of anything but live stock."
"He's fond of teasing people, I guess," I responded. "Are you reallygoing to church to-morrow in that dress, Sis?"
"If mother'll let me I'll have to," said poor Cecily. "I won't let Mr.Campbell triumph over me. And I DO want to have as many names as Kittyhas. And I DO want to help the poor little Korean children. But it willbe simply dreadful. I don't know whether I hope mother will or not."
I did not believe she would, but Aunt Janet sometimes could be dependedon for the unexpected. She laughed and told Cecily she could pleaseherself. Felicity was in a rage over it, and declared SHE wouldn't go tochurch if Cecily went in such a rig. Dan sarcastically inquired if allshe went to church for was to show off her fine clothes and look atother people's; then they quarrelled and didn't speak to each other fortwo days, much to Cecily's distress.
I suspect poor Sis wished devoutly that it might rain the next day; butit was gloriously fine. We were all waiting in the orchard for the StoryGirl who had not begun to dress for church until Cecily and Felicitywere ready. Felicity was her prettiest in flower-trimmed hat, crispmuslin, floating ribbons and trim black slippers. Poor Cecily stoodbeside her mute and pale, in her faded school garb and heavy copper-toedboots. But her face, if pale, was very determined. Cecily, having puther hand to the plough, was not of those who turn back.
"You do look just awful," said Felicity. "I don't care--I'm going tosit in Uncle James' pew. I WON'T sit with you. There will be so manystrangers there, and all the Markdale people, and what will they thinkof you? Some of them will never know the reason, either."
"I wish the Story Girl would hurry," was all poor Cecily said. "We'regoing to be late. It wouldn't have been quite so hard if I could havegot there before anyone and slipped quietly into our pew."
"Here she comes at last," said Dan. "Why--what's she got on?"
The Story Girl joined us with a quizzical smile on her face. Danwhistled. Cecily's pale cheeks flushed with understanding and gratitude.The Story Girl wore her school print dress and hat also, and wasgloveless and heavy shod.
"You're not going to have to go through this all alone, Cecily," shesaid.
"Oh, it won't be half so hard now," said Cecily, with a long breath ofrelief.
I fancy it was hard enough even then. The Story Girl did not care awhit, but Cecily rather squirmed under the curious glances that werecast at her. She afterwards told me that she really did not think shecould have endured it if she had been alone.
Mr. Campbell met us under the elms in the churchyard, with a twinkle inhis eye.
"Well, you did it, Miss," he said to Cecily, "but you should have beenalone. That was what I meant. I suppose you think you've cheated menicely."
"No, she doesn't," spoke up the Story Girl undauntedly. "She was alldressed and ready to come before she knew I was going to dress the sameway. So she kept her bargain faithfully, Mr. Campbell, and I think youwere cruel to make her do it."
"You do, eh? Well, well, I hope you'll forgive me. I didn't think she'ddo it--I was sure feminine vanity would win the day over missionaryzeal. It seems it didn't--though how much was pure missionary zeal andhow much just plain King spunk I'm doubtful. I'll keep my promise, Miss.You shall have your five dollars, and mind you put my name in the roundspace. No five-cent corners for me."