CHAPTER XXVIII. A FAST DAY
The Good-Conduct Club had a special session the next morning beforeschool. After various suggestions, it was decided that a fast day wouldbe an appropriate punishment.
"We won't eat a single thing for a whole day," said Jerry. "I'm kind ofcurious to see what fasting is like, anyhow. This will be a good chanceto find out."
"What day will we choose for it?" asked Una, who thought it would bequite an easy punishment and rather wondered that Jerry and Faith hadnot devised something harder.
"Let's pick Monday," said Faith. "We mostly have a pretty FILLING dinneron Sundays, and Mondays meals never amount to much anyhow."
"But that's just the point," exclaimed Jerry. "We mustn't take theeasiest day to fast, but the hardest--and that's Sunday, because, asyou say, we mostly have roast beef that day instead of cold ditto. Itwouldn't be much punishment to fast from ditto. Let's take next Sunday.It will be a good day, for father is going to exchange for the morningservice with the Upper Lowbridge minister. Father will be away tillevening. If Aunt Martha wonders what's got into us, we'll tell her rightup that we're fasting for the good of our souls, and it is in the Bibleand she is not to interfere, and I guess she won't."
Aunt Martha did not. She merely said in her fretful mumbling way, "Whatfoolishness are you young rips up to now?" and thought no more about it.Mr. Meredith had gone away early in the morning before any one was up.He went without his breakfast, too, but that was, of course, of commonoccurrence. Half of the time he forgot it and there was no one to remindhim of it. Breakfast--Aunt Martha's breakfast--was not a hard meal tomiss. Even the hungry "young rips" did not feel it any great deprivationto abstain from the "lumpy porridge and blue milk" which had arousedthe scorn of Mary Vance. But it was different at dinner time. They werefuriously hungry then, and the odor of roast beef which pervaded themanse, and which was wholly delightful in spite of the fact that theroast beef was badly underdone, was almost more than they could stand.In desperation they rushed to the graveyard where they couldn't smellit. But Una could not keep her eyes from the dining room window, throughwhich the Upper Lowbridge minister could be seen, placidly eating.
"If I could only have just a weeny, teeny piece," she sighed.
"Now, you stop that," commanded Jerry. "Of course it's hard--but that'sthe punishment of it. I could eat a graven image this very minute, butam I complaining? Let's think of something else. We've just got to riseabove our stomachs."
At supper time they did not feel the pangs of hunger which they hadsuffered earlier in the day.
"I suppose we're getting used to it," said Faith. "I feel an awfullyqueer all-gone sort of feeling, but I can't say I'm hungry."
"My head is funny," said Una. "It goes round and round sometimes."
But she went gamely to church with the others. If Mr. Meredith had notbeen so wholly wrapped up in and carried away with his subject he mighthave noticed the pale little face and hollow eyes in the manse pewbeneath. But he noticed nothing and his sermon was something longerthan usual. Then, just before he gave out the final hymn, Una Meredithtumbled off the seat of the manse pew and lay in a dead faint on thefloor.
Mrs. Elder Clow was the first to reach her. She caught the thin littlebody from the arms of white-faced, terrified Faith and carried it intothe vestry. Mr. Meredith forgot the hymn and everything else and rushedmadly after her. The congregation dismissed itself as best it could.
"Oh, Mrs. Clow," gasped Faith, "is Una dead? Have we killed her?"
"What is the matter with my child?" demanded the pale father.
"She has just fainted, I think," said Mrs. Clow. "Oh, here's the doctor,thank goodness."
Gilbert did not find it a very easy thing to bring Una back toconsciousness. He worked over her for a long time before her eyesopened. Then he carried her over to the manse, followed by Faith,sobbing hysterically in her relief.
"She is just hungry, you know--she didn't eat a thing to-day--none of usdid--we were all fasting."
"Fasting!" said Mr. Meredith, and "Fasting?" said the doctor.
"Yes--to punish ourselves for singing _Polly Wolly_ in the graveyard,"said Faith.
"My child, I don't want you to punish yourselves for that," said Mr.Meredith in distress. "I gave you your little scolding--and you were allpenitent--and I forgave you."
"Yes, but we had to be punished," explained Faith. "It's our rule--inour Good-Conduct Club, you know--if we do anything wrong, or anythingthat is likely to hurt father in the congregation, we HAVE to punishourselves. We are bringing ourselves up, you know, because there isnobody to do it."
Mr. Meredith groaned, but the doctor got up from Una's side with an airof relief.
"Then this child simply fainted from lack of food and all she needs isa good square meal," he said. "Mrs. Clow, will you be kind enough to seeshe gets it? And I think from Faith's story that they all would be thebetter for something to eat, or we shall have more faintings."
"I suppose we shouldn't have made Una fast," said Faith remorsefully."When I think of it, only Jerry and I should have been punished. WE gotup the concert and we were the oldest."
"I sang _Polly Wolly_ just the same as the rest of you," said Una's weaklittle voice, "so I had to be punished, too."
Mrs. Clow came with a glass of milk, Faith and Jerry and Carl sneakedoff to the pantry, and John Meredith went into his study, where he satin the darkness for a long time, alone with his bitter thoughts. So hischildren were bringing themselves up because there was "nobody to doit"--struggling along amid their little perplexities without a hand toguide or a voice to counsel. Faith's innocently uttered phrase rankledin her father's mind like a barbed shaft. There was "nobody" to lookafter them--to comfort their little souls and care for their littlebodies. How frail Una had looked, lying there on the vestry sofa in thatlong faint! How thin were her tiny hands, how pallid her little face!She looked as if she might slip away from him in a breath--sweet littleUna, of whom Cecilia had begged him to take such special care. Since hiswife's death he had not felt such an agony of dread as when he had hungover his little girl in her unconsciousness. He must do something--butwhat? Should he ask Elizabeth Kirk to marry him? She was a goodwoman--she would be kind to his children. He might bring himself todo it if it were not for his love for Rosemary West. But until he hadcrushed that out he could not seek another woman in marriage. And hecould not crush it out--he had tried and he could not. Rosemary hadbeen in church that evening, for the first time since her return fromKingsport. He had caught a glimpse of her face in the back of thecrowded church, just as he had finished his sermon. His heart had givena fierce throb. He sat while the choir sang the "collection piece," withhis bent head and tingling pulses. He had not seen her since the eveningupon which he had asked her to marry him. When he had risen to give outthe hymn his hands were trembling and his pale face was flushed. ThenUna's fainting spell had banished everything from his mind for a time.Now, in the darkness and solitude of the study it rushed back. Rosemarywas the only woman in the world for him. It was of no use for him tothink of marrying any other. He could not commit such a sacrilege evenfor his children's sake. He must take up his burden alone--he must tryto be a better, a more watchful father--he must tell his children not tobe afraid to come to him with all their little problems. Then he lightedhis lamp and took up a bulky new book which was setting the theologicalworld by the ears. He would read just one chapter to compose his mind.Five minutes later he was lost to the world and the troubles of theworld.