Part 9 (1/2)

He turned and fled. The vicar was waiting for him, and eyed him rather curiously as he came back. Mr. Juxon was standing in the middle of the road, making Stamboul jump over his stick, backwards and forwards.

”Good-night,” he said, pausing in his occupation. The vicar and John turned away and walked homewards. Before they turned the corner towards the village John instinctively looked back. Mr. Juxon was still making Stamboul jump the stick before the cottage, but as far as he could see in the dusk, Mrs. G.o.ddard and Nellie had disappeared within. John felt that he was very unhappy.

”Mr. Ambrose,” he began. Then he stopped and hesitated. ”Mr. Ambrose,” he continued at last, ”you never told me half the news of Billingsfield in your letters.”

”You mean about Mrs. G.o.ddard? Well--no--I did not think it would interest you very much.”

”She is a very interesting person,” said John. He could have added that if he had known she was in Billingsfield he would have made a great sacrifice in order to come down for a day to make her acquaintance. But he did not say it.

”She is a great addition,” said the vicar.

”Oh--very great, I should think.”

Christmas eve was pa.s.sed at the vicarage in preparation for the morrow.

Mrs. Ambrose was very active in binding holly wherever it was possible to put it. The mince-pies were tasted and p.r.o.nounced a success, and old Reynolds was despatched to the cottage with a small basket containing a certain number of them as a present to Mrs. G.o.ddard. An emissary appeared from the Hall with a variety of articles which the squire begged to contribute towards the vicar's Christmas dinner; among others a haunch of venison which Mrs. Ambrose p.r.o.nounced to be in the best condition. The vicar retorted by sending to the Hall a magnificent Cottenham cheese which, as a former Fellow of Trinity, he had succeeded in obtaining.

Moreover Mr. Ambrose himself descended to the cellar and brought up several bottles of Audit ale which he declared must be allowed to stand some time in the pantry in order to bring out the flavour and to be thoroughly settled. John gave his a.s.sistance wherever it was needed and enjoyed vastly the old-fas.h.i.+oned preparations for Christmas day. It was long since the season had brought him such rejoicing and he intended to rejoice with a good will towards men and especially towards the Ambroses.

After dinner the whole party, consisting of three highly efficient persons and old Reynolds, adjourned to the church to complete the decorations for the morrow.

The church of Billingsfield, known as St. Mary's, was quite large enough to contain twice the entire population of the parish. It was built upon a part of the foundations of an ancient abbey, and the vicar was very proud of the monument of a crusading Earl of Oxford which he had caused to be placed in the chancel, it having been discovered in the old chancel of the abbey in the park, far beyond the present limits of the church. The tower was the highest in the neighbourhood. The whole building was of gray rubble, irregular stones set together with a crumbling cement, and presented an appearance which, if not architecturally imposing, was at least sufficiently venerable. At the present time the aisles were full of heaped-up holly and wreaths; a few lamps and a considerable number of tallow candles shed a rather feeble light amongst the pillars; a crowd of school children, not yet washed for the morrow, were busy under the directions of the schoolmistress in decorating the chancel; Mr. Thomas Reid the conservative s.e.xton was at the top of a tall ladder, presumably using doubtful language to himself as every third nail he tried to drive into the crevices of the stone ”crooked hisself and larfed at him,” as he expressed it; the organ was playing and a dozen small boys with three or four men were industriously practising the anthem ”Arise, s.h.i.+ne,”

producing strains which if not calculated altogether to elevate the heart by their harmony, would certainly have caused the hair of a sensitive musician to rise on end; three or four of the oldest inhabitants were leaning on their sticks in the neighbourhood of the great stove in the middle aisle, warming themselves and grumbling that ”times warn't as they used to be;” Mr. Abraham Boosey was noisily declaring that he had ”cartlods more o' thim greens” to come, and Muggins, who had had some beer, was stumbling cheerfully against the pews in his efforts to bring a huge load of fir branches to the foot of Mr. Thomas Reid's long ladder.

It was a thorough Christmas scene and John Short's heart warmed as he came back suddenly to the things which for three years had been so familiar to him and which he had so much missed in his solitude at Cambridge. Mr. and Mrs. Ambrose set to work and John followed their example. Even the p.r.i.c.kly holly leaves were pleasant to touch and there was a homely joy in the fir branches dripping with half melted snow.

Before they had been at work very long, John was aware of a little figure, m.u.f.fled in furs and standing beside him. He looked up and saw little Nellie's lovely face and long brown curls.

”Can't I help you, Mr. Short?” she asked timidly. ”I like to help, and they won't let me.”

”Who are 'they'?” asked John kindly, but looking about for the figure of Nellie's mother.

”The schoolmistress and Mrs. Ambrose. They said I should dirty my frock.”

”Well,” said John, doubtfully, ”I don't know. Perhaps you would. But you might hold the string for me--that won't hurt your clothes, you know.”

”There are more greens this year,” remarked Nellie, sitting down upon the end of the choir bench where John was at work and taking the ball of string in her hand. ”Mr. Juxon has sent a lot from the park.”

”He seems to be always sending things,” said John, who had no reason whatever for saying so, except that the squire had sent a hamper to the vicarage. ”Did he stay long before dinner?” he added, in the tone people adopt when they hope to make children talk.

”Stay long where?” asked Nellie innocently.

”Oh, I thought he went into your house after we left you,” answered John.

”Oh no--he did not come in,” said Nellie. John continued to work in silence. At some distance from where he was, Mrs. G.o.ddard was talking to Mrs. Ambrose. He could see her graceful figure, but he could hardly distinguish her features in the gloom of the dimly-lighted church. He longed to leave Nellie and to go and speak to her, but an undefined feeling of hurt pride prevented him. He would not forgive her for having taken the vicar's arm in coming home through the park; so he stayed where he was, p.r.i.c.king his fingers with the holly and rather impatiently pulling the string off the ball which Nellie held. If Mrs. G.o.ddard wanted to speak to him, she might come of her own accord, he thought, for he felt that he had behaved foolishly in asking if she wished to see his odes. Somehow, when he thought about it, the odes did not seem so good now as they had seemed that afternoon.

Mrs. G.o.ddard had not seen him at first, and for some time she remained in consultation with Mrs. Ambrose. At last she turned and looking for Nellie saw that she was seated beside John; to his great delight she came towards him. She looked more lovely than ever, he thought; the dark fur about her throat set off her delicate, sad face like a frame.

”Oh--are you here, too, Mr. Short?” she said.

”Hard at work, as you see,” answered John. ”Are you going to help, Mrs.

G.o.ddard? Won't you help me?”

”I wanted to,” said Nellie, appealing to her mother, ”but they would not let me, so I can only hold the string.”