Little Peter: A Christmas Morality for Children of any Age

  CHAPTER V.

  WHICH IS BOTH SOCIAL AND RELIGIOUS.

  Now, undoubtedly, it is extremely easy to most persons not to believea thing if they do not wish to believe it. And very soon our friends,wending their way along the soft moist forest path, in the languidDecember sunshine, began to forget about John Paqualin and his alarmingwarning.

  'It was all spite,' said Eliza, tossing her head, white muslin cap andall, with a great show of dignity. 'He hates me because I won't receivehis advances and always keep him at a proper distance. It was just atrick to deprive a poor, hard-working, young woman of a well-earnedholiday.'

  'I think he was wrong about the weather,' remarked Paul quietly. 'It'sgenerally colder before snow.'

  'He ought to be shut up in the madhouse, as my father suggested,' saidAntony, who was still smarting from the reproof his mother had givenhim. 'I'd have all those sort of fellows kept under lock and key. Thereought to be a law about it. They've no right to be about loose.'

  'You are young, my son,' said Susan Lepage, 'and the young, too often,are thoughtless and cruel. Perhaps life will teach you, among otherlessons, to be merciful if you would obtain mercy.'

  Antony's handsome face grew very sulky. 'You're always scolding me forsomething or other,' he said crossly.

  Meanwhile our little Peter was very happy. He had been sorry for thecharcoal-burner, it is true; but he would have been very much moresorry not to go to Nullepart. A light breeze ruffled the dark branchesof the pine-trees; here and there a scarlet or yellow leaf still hungon the brambles that grew on the skirts of the wood; the little birdslooked at him merrily with their round, bright eyes, as they flewchirping to and fro among the trees and bushes. As to the snow, Peterdid not give it a thought, as he ran, just like a little dog, first along way on in front of the rest of the party, and then dawdled everso far behind them--looking at the quaint little huts, and houses, andcastles that the pine needles make where they fall and gather on thesmall twigs and branches at the base of the younger trees; and then,seeing that his mother and brothers had got on a long way ahead of him,scuttled up to them again in a great fuss and hurry, with very redcheeks, and a curious bumping at his heart, what with excitement andexercise, and just a trifle of fright, too, lest the old dwarf whomJohn Paqualin had told him about should suddenly nod and grin at himfrom under the pine boughs, saying:--

  'Hey, my fine fellow, so we've met at last!' But I suppose the blackdwarf was plotting mischief at home within the recesses of hismysterious cavern on that particular Sunday morning; for though hekept a very sharp look-out, little Peter saw no trace of his naughty,mocking face, even where the path was narrowest and the pine-treesthickest.

  Now the town of Nullepart is an exceedingly ancient place, as you willgather from its name if you are anything of a scholar. It lies down ina remote valley along the banks of a river, with hills on either handclothed below with oak, and beech, chestnut, and walnut, and, at theirsummits, crowned with pine-trees, that make a dark, ragged, saw-likeedge against the sky. Some of the houses in the main street are builtof stone, and roofed with fine, red, fluted tiles; but the major partof them are of wood, like the farm-house in the forest, with deepeaves, and quaint gables and stairways, and galleries. And I am sorryto say that the good people of Nullepart are somewhat old-fashioned intheir habits, and do not pay quite as strict a regard to cleanlinessas might be desired; and permit their ducks, and chickens, and pigsto walk about the crooked streets along with the foot-passengers, inrather too friendly and confidential a manner.

  GOING TO CHURCH. _Page 72_]

  But little Peter, never having seen any other town, thought Nulleparta very fine place indeed; and quite believed that nowhere else in theworld were there such grand houses, or such inviting shops, or so manypeople, or half so much chatter and bustle. You see the justice of ouropinions is very much dependent upon the extent of our experience--afact which few persons always manage to bear in mind, at least wheretheir own opinions are concerned--with the opinions of their neighboursit is, of course, different.

  Little Peter clung rather tight to his mother's hand on one side, andto his brother Paul's on the other, for he was somewhat afraid of beinglost in the crowd and never found again. Antony did not offer to holdthe little boy's hand. He walked on the other side of his mother, withhis cap set jauntily over one ear and his handsome face all smilesagain. He nodded and said good-day to all his acquaintances, and staredhard at all the pretty girls when he passed them, as a young man shouldwho has a good opinion of himself and who intends some day to be asoldier.

  But if little Peter thought Nullepart street dangerously full ofpeople, what did he think when passing under the carved porch, andpushing aside the heavy, leathern curtain that hung across the doorway,he entered the church itself, still clinging tightly to his mother'shand?

  He could see nothing but trousers and petticoats, the broad backs ofmen, and the comfortable backs of women--it would be uncivil to callthem broad, too, you know; you should select your adjectives carefullyin speaking of ladies--and the straight backs of lads, and the slim,neat backs of young girls all around him; while the close, heavy airof the church was full of the hum of many voices, and the shuffling ofmany feet over the stone pavement.

  'Ouf, how hot!' said Eliza, in a loud whisper, unpinning her blueshawl. 'Heaven forgive me, but it's like being in a saucepan withthe lid on. Why, there's my cousin Ursula Jacqueline Lambert. Ah, mydear cousin! how have you been this long while? Yes, it is seldom wemeet. And time passes and leaves its mark behind it. Not that I changemuch--no, the saints be praised, I keep my looks. But I see you havealtered. Well, it cannot be helped. Your husband is a good, faithfulsoul, and I daresay he doesn't observe it. There's the advantage ofhaving married an old man. His eyes grow dim just in time--now withme....'

  But Peter did not hear any more of Eliza's conversation, for hismother moved forward into the middle of the nave of the church, fromwhence it was possible to see the high altar, with its lights andflowers, and the great picture behind it, of which the people ofNullepart are very proud, for it was painted by a famous artist and isworth a great deal of money, and is, moreover, so dark with age, and,perhaps, with a proportion of dirt as well, that it affords an immenseamount of interesting conversation, as nobody has ever yet discoveredwhat subject it represents.

  Priests in rich vestments stood before the altar, their backs lookinglike those of great gold and silver beetles; and there were boys withtall candles, and boys chanting; and the plaintive sound of the organ;and many persons kneeling on low chairs or on the rough pavementsaying their prayers. Susan Lepage knelt down too; and little Peterstood bare-headed close beside her. The church, somehow, seemed verydifferent to what he had expected. It was very large and high, and thepainted windows up in the roof let in but scanty light. It seemed toPeter a very mysterious place; and he felt a wee bit frightened.

  At last Susan rose again from her knees.

  'Now for thy pleasure, little one,' she said, looking lovingly at thechild. 'Where is the stable, Antony?'

  'It is there,' he answered, pointing to the southern aisle of thechurch. 'I've just been to see; but the crowd is so thick about it wemust wait awhile--we can't get through yet.'

  Susan Lepage sat down on one of the low, rush-bottomed chairs, and tookPeter on her lap.

  'All in good time,' she said. 'Antony will let us know when to bemoving. Meanwhile, we will rest. Your poor, little legs must be tired.'

  Presently a stout, genial-looking, old gentleman, in a black cassockand funny, little, black cape, came up to them. He wore a blackskull-cap, too, for the church was draughty, and his head was bald,save just at the back, where his short, bristly, white hair stood outlike a neat trimming round the edge of his cap.

  'Well, well, Susan Lepage, it isn't often that we see you here, now,'he said. 'Don't move, don't move, my good woman. Ah, yes! I know thewalk is long and fatiguing; you would come oftener if you could. Thespirit is willing, as it is written, but the fle
sh is weak. Yet youdo well to come to-day, and bring these fine lads, your sons, withyou. The good God remembers those who remember Him. But where is thehusband?'

  Peter looked at his mother as the priest asked this question, and itseemed to him that for some reason she seemed troubled and sad.

  'Ah, my father, he has remained at home to keep house. We live, as youknow, in a lonely place.'

  The priest smiled and shook his head.

  'Exactly,' he said, 'I understand. Politics have a word to say in thematter, though, haven't they?'

  But Susan Lepage did not smile in return.

  'Alas, my father!' she said.

  Peter stared at both speakers wonderingly. He did not understand whatthey meant. But then it must be admitted there are a good many thingswe do not quite understand at five years old.

  'Do not vex yourself,' answered the priest kindly. 'It is written thatthe faithful wife may save her husband. All times are in the hands ofGod. That which He has ordained cannot fail to be accomplished.'

  Then he laid his hand gently on little Peter's round, black head,saying:--

  'And this is your youngest, the autumn child, who brings the blessingto the house?'

  'Yes,' she said. 'He has come for the first time to burn a candlebefore the Infant Jesus. But the worshippers are so many that as yetwe have been unable to get a sight of the stable.'

  Just then Eliza bustled up.

  'Ah,' she exclaimed, 'one thing is certain, my poor cousin's temperis sadly soured with age. I made myself agreeable to her, in theassurance that she would at least ask me in to dinner.--Forgive me,your reverence, I did not observe that you were conversing with mymistress'--Eliza curtsied to the priest.--'But not a bit of it. Shehas treated me with marked coldness, and not so much as hinted at aninvitation. It seems to me--'

  'My daughter,' said the priest, 'lower your voice. We do not discussthese things so shrilly in this sacred place. Turn your thoughts toreligion. Think here of your own sins, not of the shortcomings ofothers.'

  Eliza got very red in the face.

  'Believe me, I was not thinking of myself, your reverence,' sheanswered, quickly, 'but of my mistress. I wished to save her theexpense of my dinner at the inn, by dining with my relations.--Weought to be going to the Red Horse soon, ma'am,' she added, 'or therewill be no room for us.'

  'Oh! but I haven't seen the stable yet,' cried little Peter, quite outloud, forgetting that he was in church. 'I don't want any dinner. But Ican't go home till I have seen the stable, please.'

  The little boy had jumped down off his mother's lap and stood therewith the big tears in his eyes, and with the corners of his mouthquivering. It seemed to him a terrible thing to have come this long wayfull of expectation and hope, and then to be disappointed after all.

  But the priest took his hand kindly, and led him towards the southernaisle of the church, where the crowd was, while Susan Lepage and Pauland Antony followed behind them.

  'Room, my friends; have the amiability to make room,' said the priest,'for a little lad who comes from a considerable distance to see thispious and instructive representation for the first time.'

  Then little Peter felt quite proud and distinguished, for the people,at the request of the priest, moved aside to the right hand and theleft, making a narrow lane for him to pass along to the gilded railingsin front of the chapel, where the stable was dressed. Once there, hestood quite still, staring with very round eyes, for the sight seemedto him very beautiful and strange, and his heart was filled with wonderand awe.

  In a rough, rocky cave, on the straw in a wooden manger, lay the imageof the Infant Jesus, wrapped in swaddling clothes, with a golden circleabove his baby head. On one side knelt the Virgin Mother, in a whiterobe and blue mantle, with her hands clasped meekly on her heart; and,as she bent towards her Babe, she seemed to little Peter to look athim with mild and loving eyes. On the other side stood St. Joseph, ina brown habit, leaning upon his staff. And in the dusky background theboy could just make out the form of an ass and some cows. While abovethe entrance of the cave shone a bright star.

  'Ah, how beautiful!' said Susan Lepage softly.

  'It should have been finer had we had more money,' answered the priestwith a sigh. 'Not that I complain. The parish has been generous, andthe good sisters have done their best. Still, I myself greatly desiredto have the Three Kings offering treasures. It would have been aneffective incident--but our means are limited. They would have been tooexpensive for us.'

  And little Peter was puzzled and could not quite comprehend what thepriest meant; for he had often heard his father say that kings wereold-fashioned rubbish, worth nothing at all, and that a republic wasworth ten thousand of them any day in the week.

  'Kneel down, my son,' said the priest to Peter presently:--'and prayto be kept pure, and innocent, and devout, so that, when your earthlywarfare is accomplished--be it late or soon--you may behold the face ofthe Saviour in Heaven as you now behold this poor, unworthy image ofHim on earth.'

  Then he turned and left them.

  Each of the boys bought a candle from the old woman who sat on thechapel steps, and stuck them in the round iron frame standing just bythe gilded rails, and lighted them with the long taper she gave them.And Eliza bought one, too, though she was a little disposed to hagglewith the old woman and accuse her of overcharging. But Susan Lepagebought three candles, and set them in the frame and lighted them.'For,' she said, 'we must remember those who are absent--whether bychoice or by misfortune--when we are in the house of God.'