CHAPTER III.
THE VILLAGE DORCAS.
The big room at King's Warren Parsonage was already fairly well filled.Old Mrs. Wurzel and the buxom but not too well-favoured heiress of thehouse of Grains were at the head of the table. Old Mrs. Wurzel was apersonage in her way; she it was who made the annual contract with thelocal linen-draper; she it was who, as an adept learned in the art,officiated at the awful ceremony of "cutting-out"; she it was who, withinfinite trouble, obtained for the school children those antiquatedstraw bonnets of a forgotten type, which were the despair of thejuvenile village beauties. She herself had worn them in her youth, andthey were the proper bonnets for "growing girls." But, alas! Nemesis hadarrived; the head coverings worn in country places thirty years ago hadbecome once more the fashion, and the little maids from school had beenvoted by Spunyarn "quite smart people." It was Mrs. Wurzel who with herown fair but energetic hands had, with her famous cutting-out scissors,shorn away the luxuriant but obnoxious fringe which Jemima Ann Blogg,the poacher's daughter, had appeared in at the Confirmation. Jemima Annhad violently resisted, but her struggles were in vain; in this case thesheep had not been dumb when in the hands of the shearer: the daughterof the village Radical had returned to her father's roof weeping, butshorn. It is true that old Mrs. Wurzel had reluctantly paid to Blogg thesum of five pounds, under the threat of a summons for assault, but thehonest fellow had honourably kept her secret as he had promised, andMrs. Wurzel's reputation, as the champion of virtue and respectability,had in no way suffered, though she had paid her five pounds for it.
The vicar's wife, whose principal characteristics were her interest inmissionary work and the saliency of her angles, was a mere priestess inthe little circle of which old Mrs. Wurzel was the permanentarchdruidess. Vicars' wives had come and gone, but all had submitted,some after a brief struggle, to old Mrs. Wurzel's sway. But Mrs.Dodd, the present vicar's wife, retained the precious prerogative ofchoosing the book to be read at the monthly Dorcas. Mrs. Dodd's choicewas invariably the biography of some missionary; and she did herbest to carry out the idea that a Dorcas meeting should provideself-mortification for the ladies present, in the shape of coarse workfor the fingers and repellent reading for the mind.
The village Dorcas was that happy neutral ground where the various ranksof society met on an equality. Here might be seen the three good-lookingand well-educated daughters of the local draper. Nice girls these, butunder the baleful shadow, the bitter blight of trade. For countryplaces are very conservative: the squire looks down on the yeoman, thedoctor and the lawyer, all three of whom consider themselvesconsiderably taller in social stature than the tenant farmer, who in histurn will eat no bread and drink no water in the houses of thoseRechabites, the tradesmen. All these people, however, join in despisingthe rich stockbroker who has recently purchased the pretentious placewhich he calls "The Park;" the gates of which are almost celestial,being of bright gilded iron work. The unfortunate inhabitant of "ThePark," notwithstanding his well-appointed barouche and his men inlivery, is but a pariah. For not a year ago, till the big corneroccurred in Mex. Rails in which he made his pile, little Sleek, of Sleekand Dabbler, of Throgmorton Street, had "been to business" everymorning. Sleek now passes his time in good works, he takes a greatinterest in local affairs, and, unless he flings the whole matter up ina rage, he may yet become a justice of the peace. Sleek finds it farharder work than fortune-making; but he pursues his Will-o'-the-Wispwith untiring energy. So do we all. It is for this, that Sleekcontributes so liberally to the local charities. It is for this, thatthe two Misses Sleek, clad in shining raiment of needlework, are seatedat the big table, pursuing the unromantic occupation of hemminghuckaback towels of a more than Spartan coarseness. But something hasbeen already gained by the monthly martyrdom; Mrs. Dodd and hersister-in-law the ethereal Anastatia address them as "dear," and theyhave a bowing acquaintance, which they energetically attempt toincrease, with, the Misses Warrender.
Within this charmed circle the veterinary surgeon's womankind and thegrocer's daughters also dare to tread, but they are there merely onsufferance. The line must be drawn somewhere, and the vicar's wife, asdid her predecessor, drew it at that man of blood, the harmless Kubble,the local butcher. He and the rest of those shut out from Paradisesought their enjoyment, and a perhaps more congenial society, at thosebuttery banquets, the tea meetings of the local Little Bethel. Thus, asin most country places, Dissent was at a premium among the humblerclasses, and possibly the continued assertion of their position by theclergy of the State has had a good deal to do with the spread of Dissentin other villages than King's Warren.
There were at least a dozen ladies seated round the big table at theParsonage. Our friends Lucy and Georgina were among the number, theirsimple muslins strikingly contrasting with the more elaborate garmentsof the Misses Sleek. Anastatia Dodd fluttered (it is the only word)round the workers, as they plied their busy needles; she "gave out" thevarious garments, or portions thereof, of mysterious shape; and as shedid so whispered her little word of welcome, her little chirrup ofharmless gossip to each. Mrs. Dodd who sat at the bottom of the table asvice-chairmaness, now opened a thick black book in which various markersof coloured paper had been inserted. "I think we are all here," shesaid, as she put on her spectacles in a determined manner, and ominouslycleared her throat. Nobody disputed this proposition; the hum ofconversation ceased.
"I think we left off at the second appendix, which contained lettersfrom the wife of the lamented subject of the biography. I will nowcontinue.
"'Quashi-Bungo, "'July 21st, 18--.
"'DEAREST MARY,
"'I received your welcome letter and the boxes of stores. You were quite right when you said that I seemed to be launching out in the matter of outfit. But I suddenly find myself (under Providence) a means of civilization to the poor benighted natives. These unfortunate heathen, until our arrival, had no sense of propriety. M'Bongo, the great chief of this neighbourhood, paid a ceremonial visit to my husband. Of course we understood that he would wear the court costume of the Kukulokos. I seized the opportunity to watch what I supposed would be a most interesting interview, from behind a curtain. Oh Mary, what was my indignation when I saw the nasty savage enter our dear little morning room! His great shock head of woolly hair was dyed a bright yellow with quicklime, in his ears were a pair of huge ear-rings of massive gold that made my mouth water. (William told me afterwards that they were worth at least fifty pounds). On his head was the second-hand hat of some _parvenu's_ coachman, gold lace, cockade and all. Fancy my horror, dear Mary, my terror, indignation and astonishment, when I perceived that the rest of his costume merely consisted of a thick layer of palm oil, with which the wretch had covered his disgusting body. I saw no more; I need not say I fainted from the mingled effects of terror, indignation, and astonishment. On coming to, William told me that the courtiers, some twenty in number, wore precisely the same costume, minus the hat and ear-rings.
"'Such, dear Mary, was the degraded condition of M'Bongo and his court on our arrival; but it has been my happy lot (under Providence) to change all this, and my endeavours have not been without even an earthly reward. Only think, Mary, M'Bongo's ear-rings are now my own, my very own. They will reach you by the hands of Mr. Mackenzie, a worldly-minded Scotch merchant, but honest as to earthly things. On no account, dear Mary, in disposing of these priceless treasures, have anything to do with the jewellers, who I am told are extremely dishonest persons. You had better try to sell them to the South Kensington Museum as _curios_, or at some fashionable bazaar; or failing these, to some wealthy but unworldly person, who takes an interest in our working in Africa. Do not forget to mention that they are _royal_ ear-rings.'"
Here one of the Miss Sleeks coughed, but the broad grin on her facesubsided instantly under the severe look which Mrs. Dodd gave her overher specta
cles. After a short pause and a snort of indignation, thevicar's wife continued:
"'I have been the blessed instrument, dear Mary, of a great work in this country. M'Bongo and his whole court are now clothed, I am happy to say, at least to a certain extent. The greater portion of the royal garments have been obtained from me; unfortunately I have been compelled to take payment in cattle and grain. You remember my scarlet rep underskirt, the one I wore so much during our last winter in dear old England; with a little alteration at the waist, to which I have added a green velvet collar, and an additional placket hole (through which the royal arms are thrust), and wearing my galoshes, M'Bongo attended service here yesterday for the first time. Both garment and galoshes were quite useless to me in this hot country. William was unable to persuade him to remove the cockaded hat, which he, in his benighted way, looks upon as a royal crown; but as my husband's is the only other hat in the country, this does not perhaps much matter. William has thus been happily able to report to the society the approaching conversion of M'Bongo and his imminent civilization. The poor king, however, complains much of the heat, and I am sorry to say only wears these robes on ceremonial occasions. Still it has been a great, great comfort to us both.
"'Yours lovingly,
"'AMELIA REES.'
"Many such interesting letters were received from our self-sacrificingcountrywoman up to the death of her husband and fellow-worker. The sadend of the mission to King M'Bongo has been narrated in the body of thiswork. But Mrs. Rees was loth to leave her sphere in Africa, and is nowhappily married to Alonzo P. Jones, an energetic coloured Baptistminister, of Cape Coast Castle."
There was a universal sigh of relief.
"I wonder whether she wears the ear-rings?" remarked the elder MissSleek pertly.
"Perhaps they were the attraction to Alonzo P. Jones," suggested hersister, as she triumphantly folded and smoothed her second completedtowel.
"It's always the way with them," sighed Miss Grains, who suffered from acomplication of romantic tendency and very tight stays. "It's the moneythat attracts them, and possibly Mrs. Rees might have been Mrs. Rees tothe end of the chapter, if it hadn't been for the ear-rings and the saleof her old clothes for countless flocks and herds."
"Doubtless Miss Grains speaks from painful experience, my dears,"retorted Mrs. Dodd, with a severe look at her victim; "but you may bequite certain that the acquisition of the ear-rings and the sale of theclothes were but the blessed means to an end, a mere spoiling of theEgyptians, that _the work_ might progress."
"In fact, a robbing of Peter to pay Paul," suggested Lucy Warrender, butwithout raising her eyes from her work.
The needle of the archdruidress broke, as she shook her head viciouslyat the scoffer. "Ah, my dear, you shouldn't laugh at sacred things,"said the elder lady.
"But I don't look upon Mrs. Rees as a sacred thing," cried Lucy, not tobe intimidated.
"A person no one would wish to know," chimed in Miss Sleek.
"Ah, but think how she loved the blacks, and gave herself up to them,"cooed the vicaress, in a tone intended at the same time to conveyinstruction and reproof.
"Nasty thing," retorted Lucy, with biting sarcasm. "I suppose it wasbecause she loved the blacks and gave herself up to them, that shemarried the energetic negro ranter with the dreadful name."
This proved too much for Mrs. Dodd. "I am surprised and ashamed, LucyWarrender, at your attempt to depreciate the noble self-immolation ofdear Mrs. Jones. Of course it is a great privilege to be married to aclergyman, a very precious privilege, but when he is a negro and aBaptist--hum--I suppose I must say clergyman, then a woman's life mustbe indeed a martyrdom."
"I suppose he beats her?" asked one of the draper's daughters of theexperienced Mrs. Wurzel.
"I sincerely trust he does," broke in the irreverent Lucy.
Just at this moment the door was hurriedly opened, and the Reverend JohnDodd entered the room. He was a stout man, his principal characteristicsbeing an intense pleasure in ladies' society, and an obliviousness ofthe fact that he was no longer the pale slim young curate of earlierdays. A life of almost absolute inactivity, which was forced upon him byhis wife's jealousy of the rest of the sex, had rendered the muscularyoung Dodd of Oriel a perfect Daniel Lambert. Little irreverent boysfrom the village corners were in the habit of shouting "Jumbo" at thepoor vicar. He was accustomed to pursue them, but in vain; a stern chaseis proverbially a long chase, and poor Mr. Dodd's futile efforts tocapture his persecutors had become a bye-word. But the Reverend JohnDodd's weak point, the red rag to the bull, the bee in his bonnet, washis devotion to the fair sex. Handsome Jack Dodd, as he had been oncecalled, in his undergraduate and curate days, had been accustomed tofind his attentions very highly appreciated. The habit grew on him,love-sick maidens sighed, and love-sick maidens wept, but all in vain.Handsome Jack Dodd, a very clerical butterfly, flitted from flower toflower. His admiration was freely, openly, ardently expressed for everyvariety of female beauty. Was Jack Dodd a flirt? Not a bit of it; he wasmerely a fancier, just as there are pigeon fanciers and poultryfanciers; so Handsome Jack Dodd was a fancier, an admirer, a worshipperof the entire female sex: that is to say, the select specimens of it.What he could have seen in Canon Drivel's daughter who can say? though,when he married Cecilia Drivel, she was a well-known light of London.She it was who, in the severity of her classic and rather imperialbeauty, had posed to Mahlstick, R.A., for his well-known picture ofJudith with the head of Holofernes. Alas! for poor Jack Dodd, he hadassisted at the numerous sittings. He it was who had had the honour ofsitting (that is to say lying prone on a bedstead of the period) for theheadless trunk of Holofernes. To lie prone on a bedstead of any period,and have nothing to do for two mortal hours but gaze on the classicproportions of any lady--for Mahlstick was a strict disciplinarian anddiscouraged conversation--is enough to seal the fate of any man, even ifhe were of a less inflammable type than Handsome Jack. Miss Drivel washer father's only daughter, and ambitious; but four seasons, duringwhich she was much admired, but never once received a serious offer, hadwarned the waning beauty not to neglect her opportunities. Miss Drivelwas a lady of no imagination and strong will; the interest of herfather, a notorious pluralist, was very great: Cecilia Drivel wasdetermined to marry Dodd. She did so, and her victim became her obedientslave, and was duly inducted to the fat living of King's Warren. In allthings Jack Dodd, as the weaker vessel, yielded to his wife. He had butone drawback in her eyes, he retained his passion, his innocent passion,for the fair sex. At the shrine of beauty he remained a constant andecstatic worshipper. This was Mrs. Dodd's cross, and she had to bear it.An idle life at King's Warren Parsonage, and frequent dinner parties,for the Reverend John Dodd was a popular man, had caused Handsome Jackto expand into a very Falstaff. Alas, anxiety had had precisely thereverse effect upon the vicar's wife. The once statuesque "Judith" haddisappeared, and Mrs. Dodd's characteristics were now high principle andbone.
"Busy as usual, my dear," said the vicar to his wife, as he proceededto welcome each member of the female bevy in turn, devoting perhaps alittle more time than was necessary to handsome Miss Warrender and hercousin.
Mrs. Dodd closed the thick black book with a slap. "I suppose work isover now for the day; you really should not intrude on our Dorcas,John," she said in a severe tone.
"My dear, it is my duty to encourage my parishioners in good works, nay,it is my pleasure," replied the parson.
"No one doubts it, Mr. Dodd," said the vicaress in an icy manner.
But Mrs. Dodd was evidently in a minority. The ladies crowded roundtheir popular vicar. It is easy to spoil a man, and the Reverend JohnDodd had been much spoilt by his parishioners, and seemed to like theprocess.
And now a whispered conference took place between the Misses Sleek.With smiles and conscious blushes, the elder sister addressed thevicar. "Oh, dear Mr. Dodd, we do so want you to do us a favour," shefalter
ed.
"Granted, my dear young lady, granted before it is asked."
Mrs. Dodd vainly sought to fix her husband with a freezing look, andgazed appealingly at old Mrs. Wurzel, but that experienced matron hadbeen present at many similar scenes, and was rather amused thanotherwise, to watch the discomfiture of the vicar's imperious wife. Mrs.Wurzel's eagle eye detected the little parcel which the younger MissSleek hesitatingly attempted to hold towards the vicar. "It is our ownwork, dear Mr. Dodd," she said, "and we hope, we do hope, we do _so_hope that you will accept them."
"And wear them too," chimed in her sister.
In an elaborate box, from which Miss Sleek rapidly tore the paper inwhich it was wrapped, and hurriedly opened, lay a dozen bands of thelatest ecclesiastical fashion.
"Oh ladies, dear ladies, so you equip your faithful knight for the fray;accept my grateful thanks, my very grateful thanks," sighed the vicar.
"So pleased you like them, dear Mr. Dodd," chorused the stockbroker'sdaughters.
The triumphs of decorative millinery were passed from hand to hand.
"They never made these," muttered old Mrs. Wurzel to herself, as shecritically held one up to the light. "The minxes," she inwardly added.Mrs. Wurzel was quite right; they had been supplied, regardless of cost,from Messrs. Rochet and Stole's well-known establishment.
"Ah," purred Lucy Warrender, "the ladies used to arm their knights withtheir own fair hands in the days of chivalry."
The parson laughed. "And have the days of chivalry departed, ladies?"he said, protruding his head, much as the unconscious aldermanic turtleis said to protrude his, when awaiting the fatal stroke.
Conny Sleek, the younger and bolder of the two, looked at her sister;the elder girl nodded maliciously.
Conny stepped smilingly forward, and proceeded to affix the band aroundthe vicar's massive throat.
Fat Jack Dodd was in his glory; "Jumbo" was in the seventh heaven ofbliss. A smile of beatitude spread over his enormous countenance duringthe process. But it suddenly disappeared, as a sharp slam of the doorannounced the sudden departure of his indignant wife, the outragedCecilia. Will it ever dawn on Mrs. Dodd's mind, that parsons, evenmarried parsons, are but men?