*CHAPTER III.*
*"I'M MOVED UP!"*
The Rev. Herbert Drury sat in his study chair deep in thought. Hiswriting table was strewn with letters answered, and unanswered, for hehad been trying to make up arrears in his correspondence that morning.At his elbow lay his well-worn Bible, open, for very few of his letterswere written without consulting that; but the case under consideration,just now, needed personal help rather than clerical advice.
His dark hair, already thickly streaked with grey, although he was lessthan forty-five, was crisply cut, and an iron-grey moustache gave him adecidedly military appearance. His keen, dark eyes could, on occasion,flash a scrutinising glance, and delinquents felt he must be readingtheir very thoughts, but their habitual expression was one of kindlysympathy. Mr. Drury had only been Vicar of St. Paul's, Osmington, for acouple of years, but he had won the love and respect of all his clericalbrothers in the neighbourhood, although their doctrinal opinions widelydiffered; his was such a singularly attractive personality. Hischurch-workers felt no work was tedious or uphill, for was not theirvicar interested in every detail, aiding personally every scheme thatwas set on foot for the evangelising of the very poverty-stricken partof the town which comprised his parish. Of money, he had by no means asuperabundance, for the living was a poor one, and he was a younger son;but, like St. Peter of old, he could say with truth: "Such as I have,give I thee."
And if the vicar was beloved, his wife was no less so: she was, in everysense, a true help-meet. He was thinking of her now, as he consideredthe sad case which had just been brought to his notice by a note fromone of the district-visitors, and he decided to ask her advice. Hestrode across the study, and opening the door, called "Nora" in aresonant voice, which was calculated, if necessary, to penetrate to thetopmost story of the roomy vicarage.
"One minute, dear," was the brisk reply, from the dim recesses of astore-cupboard at the extreme end of the hall, and in less than thattime Mrs. Drury appeared upon the scene. She was a plump little woman,with soft brown eyes and hair which waved a trifle, but otherwise wascombed smoothly back from her broad white brow. Her blue serge dresswas enveloped in a large holland apron, for she was on housekeeping workintent that morning; indeed, her hands bore traces of some flourysubstance which she was emptying when the vicar called her. Her brightface, still young enough to possess a dimple in the chin, was flushedwith the exercise of trotting back and forth between store-cupboard andkitchen, and to her husband she made a sweet, homely picture as sheentered his study, ready to help him in whatever way he needed.
"Sit down a minute, Nora," he said, as he pushed an arm-chair forward,"there is a very sad case here." And the vicar unburdened his mind.
For a few minutes they chatted over the sad details of the case inpoint, and as the vicar had expected, Mrs. Drury's woman's wit saw a wayof helping, quicker than he had done.
"Well, I will call there first thing this afternoon," he said, as hiswife returned to her interrupted duties.
As she arranged her stores, she contrasted the sad state of the littleblind girl for whom they had just been planning, with the happy lot ofher own little daughter. "Thank God my precious Amethyst has hereyesight," she murmured; and then, as a deep-toned clock struck thehour, she added: "Why, it is striking one! She will be home directly; Imust hurry."
In a few minutes the stores were all put away, the apron removed, andMrs. Drury was standing in the large bay window of the dining-roomwatching for her little daughter to return from school, while thehousemaid laid the table for dinner. Very soon she descried a trimlittle figure, clad in scarlet, hastening along the pavement, swingingher lesson books by their strap, and waving her hand gaily in responseto her mother's smile, and in a moment more she was in Mrs. Drury'sarms.
"Oh! mumsie darling," she cried, breathlessly, "I'm moved up!"
"Are you, my pet? I'm so glad." And her mother pressed loving kissesupon the upturned face, all quivering with the excitement of telling hernews. "Then you are in the Upper School now?"
"Yes, mumsie, the Fourth Form. And Olive and Elsa Franklyn, and GipsyMonroe and a lot of others have been moved up too. And oh! mumsie,there's a new----"
Here she paused from sheer want of breath, and Mrs. Drury interposedsaying: "You shall tell me your news presently, darling, but now youmust run and make yourself tidy for dinner, for there is the gong."
A winsome little lassie was Amethyst Drury; at least, so her fondparents thought. She looked less than her fourteen years, because shewas so very slight, and the pretty fair hair, simply tied back with ascarlet ribbon, and falling loose about her neck, accentuated theappearance of fragility. Her scarlet frock was almost hidden by thewhite overall pinafore which her mother sensibly insisted upon herwearing indoors, and which really added to the charm of her appearance.Amethyst was not specially good-looking, but her soft complexion andsparkling grey eyes made up for any little defects in her mouth andnose, the former being a trifle too large, and the latter too_retrousse_, to be termed strictly pretty.
"Well, girlie," said her father, as grace having been said he began tocarve the joint of roast beef; "how did you get on the first day ofterm?"
"Pretty well, I think, thank you, father, although the lessons seemharder now than they did with Miss Hemming; I've brought home a lot forto-morrow," and Amethyst looked somewhat ruefully at the lesson bookslying on the table in the window.
"You must expect to pay the penalty of honour," remarked the vicar, whohad, of course, been immediately informed of the change of class. "Youcannot hope to be so high in this form as you were in the other,Amethyst, because many of these girls will be older than you, Ipresume."
"Yes, father, some of them are, but they can't be very sharp or theywould not have been left behind. I am going to try hard to get near thetop of this class by the time the reports come out," said Amethyst, aring of determination in her young voice, as she began to attack herdinner with a school-girl's appetite.
Her parents exchanged glances. "My girlie mustn't be too confident ofher own powers," said Mrs. Drury gently, but firmly; "father and I wantyou to do your very best to learn well, and grow up to be a cleverwoman, but you must not expect to take all the honours, Amethyst."
"Oh! of course, mumsie, I only meant I was going to do my lessons aswell as I possibly could," and the clear grey eyes met her mother'sunfalteringly. "There are several girls who are really clever, in myform now, who find it quite easy to learn difficult things. I wish Idid," she added with a little sigh.
"You must remember the hare and the tortoise, girlie," said the vicar,with a smile. "If you have more trouble to learn than they do, you maydepend upon it you will remember better. Are there any new girls?"
"Only one in our form, father, and she comes from Mydenham. Her name isMonica Beauchamp. I don't think I like her very much," added Amethystmeditatively.
"Don't judge hastily, darling," said her mother; "she may be a very nicegirl, when you know her."
"I am sure you wouldn't like her, mumsie," said her little daughter,positively, "she seems so off-hand; and once or twice she was quite rudeto Miss Churchill. Why, she actually said----"
"Hush! dear, no tale-telling. You know, girlie, I only want to hearnice things about your school companions. Perhaps it would be wiser notto make a close friend of this Monica, just at present, but always bekind and courteous. I daresay she feels strange among you all,especially if she is not accustomed to school. How old is she?"
"Fifteen; but she is such a big girl, mumsie, quite as tall as some ofthe girls in the Fifth. She went in the school door as I did thismorning, and some elderly person was with her. I thought perhaps it washer mother or aunt, although she didn't look a very kind one; but Monicasaid: 'That will do, Barnes, you need not come any farther,' in such acommanding tone, so I suppose she was a servant."
"I expect the young lady in question is a granddaughter of Mrs.Beauchamp, of Carson
Rise," remarked Mr. Drury. "I have heard she hasone living with her."
"Yes, she is, father," said Amethyst, eager to show off her knowledge."Olive and Elsa knew her by sight. They said she had had _four_ dailygovernesses, and she wouldn't obey one of them. That's why hergrandmother has sent her to school." Amethyst's face wore an awe-struckexpression; such a terrible state of affairs seemed incredible to her.
"I am surprised at the Franklyns for repeating such a thing. At anyrate _we_ will not discuss this Monica's misdeeds, Amethyst, we haveplenty of faults of our own." Mrs. Drury spoke sternly, and then shechanged the subject.
Her little daughter looked very abashed, and was quite quiet for a fewminutes; her mother seldom spoke in so severe a tone, her rule wasrather one of love. But she had a great aversion to tittle-tattling,and endeavoured to check every indication of it in Amethyst'sschool-girl talk.
The cheerful midday meal concluded, the vicar prepared for anafternoon's parochial visiting. Mrs. Drury got out her work-basket inorder to finish a garment she was making for a poor old woman, who usedto attend her mothers' meeting. Amethyst amused herself withalternately talking to the canary, whose cage hung in one of the sunnywindows, and playing with a beautiful black and white cat, who stretchedhimself lazily on the hearthrug, and blinked his eyes and purred inappreciation of his little mistress's fondling.
"Shall I get out my lessons now, mumsie; they will take me a good longtime to-day?" she asked, when she was tired of amusing herself.
"No, dear, I think you shall leave them until after tea," said Mrs.Drury, as she sewed on the last button, and folded up her work. "I amgoing to take this to old Mrs. Robbins, and you may go with me."
"Oh, lovely!" cried Amethyst excitedly, as she jumped up with alacrity."I like going to see your dear little old women, mumsie. I don't thinkI know Mrs. Robbins."
"I hardly think you do, dear. But come, let us get ready, and go atonce."
Although St. Paul's Vicarage was situated in a by no means grandlocality, a very few minutes brisk walking brought Mrs. Drury andAmethyst into widely different surroundings. Long rows of tenementhouses looking on to the ugly brick buildings which comprised the ironfoundry where most of the husbands and sons earned their daily bread,were traversed before they paused at an almost paintless door, bearingthe number 75, but guiltless of a knocker.
Applying the handle of her umbrella briskly, Mrs. Drury waited for someone to admit her. But instead of the door being opened, a feeble voicewas heard saying: "Please come in." And bidding Amethyst follow her,she turned the rickety handle and entered the squalid-looking house.For a moment it was so dark after the bright sunlight outside, that shecould scarcely see her way, but she soon descried another door on herleft, and pushing that open, a certain amount of light illumined thedark passage.
"Come in, ma'am, do 'ee come in," cried a quavering old voice from theinterior of the room, and Mrs. Drury led Amethyst, who was somewhat shyof strangers, into the tidy but comfortless apartment, and shut thedoor.
"Well, Mrs. Robbins, how are you to-day?" she enquired sympathetically,as she gently shook the poor old hand, badly crippled with rheumatism.
"Only very middlin', ma'am, very middlin'," said the poor old soul, asshe begged her visitors to be seated. Mrs. Drury drew the onlyavailable chair up to the side of the poor miserable bed, and Amethystfound a little wooden footstool, upon which she perched herself as bestshe could. The old woman's dim eyes lit up as she saw the bright faceand hair of her little visitor.
"La, bless me, ma'am, she's just for all the world like a fairy," shesaid, and she struggled to raise her poor old body the better to feasther eyes on the pretty picture, but a low moan of pain escaped her lips."'Tis these screwmatics," she explained, as Mrs. Drury bent over hertenderly, "my back and legs is awful to-day."
"Have you had any medicine lately, and who looks after you, Mrs.Robbins?" said the lady, sympathetically.
"My darter-in-law looks in most days, and her little gal runs of arrantsfor me; they live at No. 68, just below. No, ma'am, I haven't had anymedicine for a good bit now, it don't seem much use like. But there,ma'am, the Almighty is wonderful good to me. I have never been withouta bite or a sup yet, and there's a many can't say as much as that, poorthings of 'em."
"Perhaps they don't look to Him for succour as you do," was Mrs. Drury'sgentle reply, as she stroked the poor knotted fingers.
"Ah, ma'am, that's true, more's the pity of it. I mind when I was young,like little missy there, my father used to say to me: 'Now, Jemima, mygal, never you do nothing as'll make you shamed for God Almighty to see,and you may depend upon it, He'll look to it that you never want.'Sometimes, when I was young and foolish, I used ter think as there was amany things I wanted, and never got, but now I'm growing old, and theGolden City is very near, I seem quite content-like."
"Shall I just read a few words to you?" said Mrs. Drury, as she openedher little pocket Bible at the book of the Revelation.
"Aye, please do, ma'am," and the dear old soul lay placidly listening tothe beautiful description given by St. John of the New Jerusalem, wherethere shall be no more pain, hunger, or tears, for those who have beenwashed in the blood of the Lamb.
"Beautiful, beautiful words," murmured old Mrs. Robbins, as she drank inthe comforting promises; "we'll not remember the trials and troubles ofthis life when we are up yonder."
"Now, Amethyst, dear, before we go, just sing a nice hymn for Mrs.Robbins," said Mrs. Drury, to her little daughter, who had been a silentspectator so far.
"What might little missy's name be, ma'am?" enquired the old woman, withsome curiosity.
"Amethyst," replied Mrs. Drury, with a smile. "An unusual one, isn't it?but her father and I chose it for a special reason."
"'Tis one of the precious stones in the Bible, surely," said Mrs.Robbins; "one of all they long-named things as is going to be in thewalls of the golden city."
"Yes, it is a Bible name, and has a special meaning, signifying anabhorrence of the drink which is such a curse to our land. We want ourlittle daughter to grow up to be a true Amethyst. Now, dearie, singyour hymn."
"Shall it be 'There is a city bright,' mumsie? Would Mrs. Robbins likethat?"
"Yes, dear, I am sure she would. Come and stand close by me, and singvery clearly, girlie," and Mrs. Drury took one of the white-gloved handsin her own, and held it lovingly while her little daughter's clear,childish treble filled the bare room.
"There is a city bright Closed are its gates to sin, Naught that defileth, Naught that defileth, Can ever enter in.
"Saviour, I come to Thee! Oh, Lamb of God, I pray,-- Cleanse me and save me, Cleanse me and save me, Wash all my sins away.
"Lord, make me, from this hour, Thy loving child to be, Kept by Thy power, Kept by Thy power, From all that grieveth Thee.
"Till in the snowy dress Of Thy redeemed I stand; Faultless and stainless, Faultless and stainless, Safe in that happy land."
"Thank you, my dearie, thank you," said the old woman gratefully, as thelast word died away. "And thank you kindly, ma'am, for coming to cheeran old body up."
"I will come again when I can, Mrs. Robbins; meanwhile here is acomfortable loose gown for you to use, either when you sit up again, orin bed, just as you like, and a trifle to buy a few little extras with."
The poor old cripple's dim eyes filled with tears as she saw the nicegrey woollen wrapper, and felt the half-crown pressed into her wrinkledpalm.
"God bless you, dear lady! God Almighty bless and reward you!" was allshe could say.
And, quite understanding, Mrs. Drury gently bade Amethyst open the door,and in a moment more their footsteps resounded along the unevenpavement.