II
THE COOK AND THE CATECHISM
Sophy Grouch had gone to lay a bunch of flowers on her father's grave.From the first Mrs. Brownlow had taught her this pious rite, and Mrs.Brownlow's deputy, the gardener's wife (in whose cottage Sophy lived),had seen to its punctual performance every week. Things went by law andrule at the Hall, for the Squire was a man of active mind and ampleleisure. His household code was a marvel of intricacy and minuteness.Sophy's coming and staying had developed a multitude of new clauses,under whose benevolent yet strict operation her youthful mind had beentrained in the way in which Mr. Brownlow was of opinion that it shouldgo.
Sophy's face, then, wore a grave and responsible air as she returnedwith steps of decorous slowness from the sacred precincts. Yet the outermanner was automatic--the result of seven years' practice. Within, hermind was busy: the day was one of mark in her life; she had been toldher destined future, and was wondering how she would like it.
Her approach was perceived by a tall and pretty girl who lay in themeadow-grass (and munched a blade of it) which bordered the path underthe elm-trees.
"What a demure little witch she looks!" laughed Julia Robins, who wasmuch in the mood for laughter that day, greeting with responsive gleamof the eyes the sunlight which fell in speckles of radiance through theleaves above. It was a summer day, and summer was in her heart, too; yetnot for the common cause with young maidens; it was no nonsense aboutlove-making--lofty ambition was in the case to-day.
"Sophy Grouch! Sophy Grouch!" she cried, in a high, merry voice.
Sophy raised her eyes, but her steps did not quicken. With the samemeasured paces of her lanky, lean, little legs, she came up to whereJulia lay.
"Why don't you say just 'Sophy'?" she asked. "I'm the only Sophy in thevillage."
"Sophy Grouch! Sophy Grouch!" Julia repeated, teasingly.
The mark on Sophy's left cheek grew redder. Julia laughed mockingly.Sophy looked down on her, still very grave.
"You do look pretty to-day," she observed--"and happy."
"Yes, yes! So I tease you, don't I? But I like to see you hang out yourdanger-signal."
She held out her arms to the little girl. Sophy came and kissed her,then sat down beside her.
"Forgive?"
"Yes," said Sophy. "Do you think it's a very awful name?"
"Oh, you'll change it some day," smiled Julia, speaking more truth thanshe knew. "Listen! Mother's consented, consented, consented! I'm to goand live with Uncle Edward in London--London, Sophy!--and learnelocution--"
"Learn what?"
"E-lo-cu-tion--which means how to talk so that people can hear you everso far off--"
"To shout?"
"No. Don't be stupid. To--to be heard plainly without shouting. To beheard in a theatre! Did you ever see a theatre?"
"No. Only a circus. I haven't seen much."
"And then--the stage! I'm to be an actress! Fancy mother consenting atlast! An actress instead of a governess! Isn't it glorious?" She pauseda moment, then added, with a self-conscious laugh: "Basil's awfullyangry, though."
"Why should he be angry?" asked Sophy. Her own anger was gone; she wasplucking daisies and sticking them here and there in her friend's goldenhair. They were great friends, this pair, and Sophy was very proud ofthe friendship. Julia was grown up, the beauty of the village, and--alady! Now Sophy was by no means any one of these things.
"Oh, you wouldn't understand," laughed Julia, with a blush.
"Does he want to keep company with you--and won't you do it?"
"Only servants keep company, Sophy."
"Oh!" said Sophy, obviously making a mental note of the information.
"But he's very silly about it. I've just said 'Good-bye,' to him--youknow he goes up to Cambridge to-morrow?--and he did say a lot of sillythings." She suddenly caught hold of Sophy and kissed her half a dozentimes. "It's a wonderful thing that's happened. I'm so tremendouslyhappy!" She set her little friend free with a last kiss and a playfulpinch.
Neither caress nor pinch disturbed Sophy's composure. She sat down onthe grass.
"Something's happened to me, too, to-day," she announced.
"Has it, Tots? What is it?" asked Julia, smiling indulgently; the greatevents in other lives are thus sufficiently acknowledged.
"I've left school, and I'm going to leave Mrs. James's and go and liveat the Hall, and be taught to help cook; and when I'm grown up I'm goingto be cook." She spoke slowly and weightily, her eyes fixed on Julia'sface.
"Well, I call it a shame!" cried Julia, in generous indignation. "Oh, ofcourse it would be all right if they'd treated you properly--I mean, asif they'd meant that from the beginning. But they haven't. You've livedwith Mrs. James, I know; but you've been in and out of the Hall all thetime, having tea in the drawing-room, and fruit at dessert, and--and soon. And you look like a little lady, and talk like one--almost. I thinkit's a shame not to give you a better chance. Cook!"
"Don't you think it might be rather nice to be a cook--a good cook?"
"No, I don't," answered the budding Mrs. Siddons, decisively.
"People always talk a great deal about the cook," pleaded Sophy. "Mr.and Mrs. Brownlow are always talking about the cook--and the Rectortalks about his cook, too--not always very kindly, though."
"No, it's a shame--and I don't believe it'll happen."
"Yes, it will. Mrs. Brownlow settled it to-day."
"There are other people in the world besides Mrs. Brownlow."
Sophy was not exactly surprised at this dictum, but evidently it gaveher thought. Her long-delayed "Yes" showed that as plainly as her "Oh"had, a little while before, marked her appreciation of the sociallimits of "keeping company." "But she can settle it all the same," shepersisted.
"For the time she can," Julia admitted. "Oh, I wonder what'll be myfirst part, Tots!" She threw her pretty head back on the grass, closingher eyes; a smile of radiant anticipation hovered about her lips. Thelittle girl rose and stood looking at her friend--the friend of whom shewas so proud.
"You'll look very, very pretty," she said, with sober gravity.
Julia's smile broadened, but her lips remained shut. Sophy looked at herfor a moment longer, and, without formal farewell, resumed her progressdown the avenue. It was hard on tea-time, and Mrs. James was a sticklerfor punctuality.
Yet Sophy's march was interrupted once more. A tall young man satswinging his legs on the gate that led from the avenue into the road.The sturdy boy who had run home in terror on the night Enoch Grouch diedhad grown into a tall, good-looking young fellow; he was clad in what isnowadays called a "blazer" and check-trousers, and smoked a largemeerschaum pipe. His expression was gloomy; the gate was shut--and hewas on the top of it. Sophy approached him with some signs ofnervousness. When he saw her, he glared at her moodily.
"You can't come through," he said, firmly.
"Please, Mr. Basil, I must, I shall be late for tea."
"I won't let you through. There!"
Sophy looked despairful. "May I climb over?"
"No," said Basil, firmly; but a smile began to twitch about his lips.
Quick now, as ever, to see the joint in a man's armor, Sophy smiled too.
"If you'd let me through, I'd give you a kiss," she said, offering theonly thing she had to give in all the world.
"You would, would you? But I hate kisses. In fact, I hate girls allround--big and little."
"You don't hate Julia, do you?"
"Yes, worst of all."
"Oh!" said Sophy--once more the recording, registering "Oh!"--becauseJulia had given quite another impression, and Sophy sought to reconcilethese opposites.
The young man jumped down from the gate, with a healthy laugh at himselfand at her, caught her up in his arms, and gave her a smacking kiss.
"That's toll," he said. "Now you can go through, missy."
"Thank you, Mr. Basil. It's not very hard to get through, is it?"
He set her down with a laugh, a laugh with a note of
surprise in it; herlast words had sounded odd from a child. But Sophy's eyes were quitegrave; she was probably recording the practical value of a kiss.
"You shall tell me whether you think the same about that in a few years'time," he said, laughing again.
"When I'm grown up?" she asked, with a slow, puzzled smile.
"Perhaps," said he, assuming gravity anew.
"And cook?" she asked, with a curiously interrogative air--anxiousapparently to see what he, in his turn, would think of her destiny.
"Cook? You're going to be a cook?"
"The cook," she amended. "The cook at the Hall."
"I'll come and eat your dinners." He laughed, yet looked a triflecompassionate. Sophy's quick eyes tracked his feelings.
"You don't think it's nice to be a cook, either?" she asked.
"Oh yes, splendid! The cook's a sort of queen," said he.
"The cook a sort of queen? Is she?" Sophy's eyes were profoundlythoughtful.
"And I should be very proud to kiss a queen--a sort of queen. Because Ishall be only a poor sawbones."
"Sawbones?"
"A surgeon--a doctor, you know--with a red lamp, like Dr. Seaton atBrentwood."
She looked at him for a moment. "Are you really going away?" she asked,abruptly.
"Yes, for a bit--to-morrow."
Sophy's manner expanded into a calm graciousness. "I'm very sorry," shesaid.
"Thank you."
"You amuse me."
"The deuce I do!" laughed Basil Williamson.
She raised her eyes slowly to his. "You'll be friends, anyhow, won'tyou?"
"To cook or queen," he said--and heartiness shone through his raillery.
Sophy nodded her head gravely, sealing the bargain. A bargain it was.
"Now I must go and have tea, and then say my catechism," said she.
The young fellow--his thoughts were sad--wanted the child to linger.
"Learning your catechism? Where have you got to?"
"I've got to say my 'Duty towards my Neighbor' to Mrs. James after tea."
"Your 'Duty towards your Neighbor'--that's rather difficult, isn't it?"
"It's very long," said Sophy, resignedly.
"Do you know it?"
"I think so. Oh, Mr. Basil, would you mind hearing me? Because if I cansay it to you, I can say it to her, you know."
"All right, fire away."
A sudden doubt smote Sophy. "But do you know it yourself?" she asked.
"Yes, rather, I know it."
She would not take his word. "Then you say the first half, and I'll saythe second."
He humored her--it was hard not to--she looked so small and seemed socapable. He began--and tripped for a moment over "'To love, honor, andsuccor my father and mother.'" The child had no chance there. ButSophy's eyes were calm. He ended, "'teachers, spiritual pastors, andmasters.' Now go on," he said.
"'To order myself lowly and reverently to all my betters; to hurt nobodyby word nor deed; to be true and just in all my dealing; to bear nomalice nor hatred in my heart; to keep my hands from picking andstealing, and my tongue from evil-speaking, lying, and slandering; tokeep my body in temperance, soberness, and chastity [the young mansmiled for an instant--that sounded pathetic]; not to covet nor desireother men's goods, but to learn and labor truly to get mine own livingand to do my duty in that state of life unto which it has pleased God tocall me.'"
"Wrong!" said Basil. "Go down two!"
"Wrong?" she cried, indignantly disbelieving.
"Wrong!"
"It's not! That's what Mrs. James taught me."
"Perhaps--it's not in the prayer-book. Go and look."
"You tell me first!"
"'And to do my duty in that state of life unto which it shall please Godto call me.'" His eyes were set on her with an amused interest.
She stood silent for a moment. "Sure?" she asked then.
"Positive," said he.
"Oh!" said Sophy, for the third time. She stood there a moment longer.Then she smiled at him. "I shall go and look. Good-bye."
Basil broke into a laugh. "Good-bye, missy," he said. "You'll find I'mright."
"If I do, I'll tell you," she answered him, generously, as she turnedaway.
His smile lasted while he watched her. When she was gone his grievancerevived, his gloom returned. He trudged home with never a glance back atthe avenue where Julia was. Yet even now the thought of the childcrossed his mind; that funny mark of hers had turned redder when hecorrected her rendering of the catechism.
Sophy walked into Mrs. James's kitchen. "Please may I read through my'Duty' before I say it?" she asked.
Permission accorded with some surprise--for hitherto the teaching hadbeen by word of mouth--she got the prayer-book down from its shelf andconned her lesson. After tea she repeated it correctly. Mrs. Jamesnoticed no difference.