Part 22 (1/2)

It was not alone little Johnny's misconduct, however, that made Polly break silence. An incident occurred that touched her still more nearly.

Husband and wife sat snug and quiet as in the early days of their marriage. Autumn had come round and a fire burnt in the stove, before which Pompey snorted in his dreams. But, for all the cosy tranquillity, Polly was not happy; and time and again she moistened and bit at the tip of her thread, before pointing it through her needle. For the book open before Richard, in which he was making notes as he read, was--the Bible. Bending over him to drop a kiss on the top of his head, Polly had been staggered by what she saw. Opposite the third verse of the first chapter of Genesis: ”And G.o.d said, Let there be light: and there was light,” he had written: ”Three days before the sun!” Her heart seemed to shrivel, to grow small in her breast, at the thought of her husband being guilty of such impiety. Ceasing her pretence at sewing, she walked out of the house into the yard. Standing there under the stars she said aloud, as if some one, THE One, could hear her: ”He doesn't mean to do wrong.... I KNOW he doesn't!” But when she re-entered the room he was still at it. His beautiful writing, reduced to its tiniest, wound round the narrow margins.

Deeply red, Polly took her courage in both hands, and struck a blow for the soul whose salvation was more to her than her own. ”Richard, do you think that ... is ... is right?” she asked in a low voice.

Mahony raised his head. ”Eh?--what, Pollykin?”

”I mean, do you think you ought ... that it is right to do what you are doing?”

The smile, half-tender, half-quizzical that she loved, broke over her husband's face. He held out his hand. ”Is my little wife troubled?”

”Richard, I only mean...”

”Polly, my dear, don't worry your little head over what you don't understand. And have confidence in me. You know I wouldn't do anything I believed to be wrong?”

”Yes, indeed. And you are really far more religious than I am.”

”One can be religious and yet not shut one's eyes to the truth. It's Saint Paul, you know, who says: we can do nothing against the Truth but for the Truth. And you may depend on it, Polly, the All-Wise would never have given us the brains He has, if He had not intended us to use them. Now I have long felt sure that the Bible is not wholly what it claims to be--direct inspiration.”

”Oh, Richard!” said Polly, and threw an anxious glance over her shoulder. ”If anyone should hear you!”

”We can't afford to let our lives be governed by what other people think, Polly. Nor will I give any man the right to decide for me what my share of the Truth shall be.”

On seeing the Bible closed Polly breathed again, at the same time promising herself to take the traitorous volume into safe-keeping, that no third person's eye should rest on it. Perhaps, too, if it were put away Richard would forget to go on writing in it. He had probably begun in the first place only because he had nothing else to do. In the store he sat and smoked and twirled his thumbs--not half a dozen customers came in, in the course of the day. If he were once properly occupied again, with work that he liked, he would not be tempted to put his gifts to such a profane use. Thus she primed herself for speaking. For now was the time. Richard was declaring that trade had gone to the dogs, his takings dropped to a quarter of what they had formerly been.

This headed just where she wished. But Polly would not have been Polly, had she not glanced aside for a moment, to cheer and console.

”It's the same everywhere, Richard. Everybody's complaining. And that reminds me, I forgot to tell you about the Beamishes. They're in great trouble. You see, a bog has formed in front of the Hotel, and the traffic goes round another way, so they've lost most of their custom.

Mr. Beamish never opens his mouth at all now, and mother is fearfully worried. That's what was the matter when she was here--only she was too kind to say so.”

”Hard lines!”

”Indeed it is. But about us; I'm not surprised to hear trade is dull.

Since I was over in the western towns.h.i.+p last, no less than six new General Stores have gone up--I scarcely knew the place. They've all got big plate-gla.s.s windows; and were crowded with people.”

”Yes, there's a regular exodus up west. But that doesn't alter the fact, wife, that I've made a very poor job of storekeeping. I shall leave here with hardly a penny to my name.”

”Yes, but then, Richard,” said Polly, and bent over her strip of needlework, ”you were never cut out to be a storekeeper, were you?”

”I was not. And I verily believe, if it hadn't been for that old sober-sides of a Hempel, I should have come a cropper long ago.”

”Yes, and Hempel,” said Polly softly; ”Hempel's been wanting to leave for ever so long.”

”The d.i.c.kens he has!” cried Mahony in astonishment. ”And me humming and hawing about giving him notice! What's the matter with him? What's he had to complain of?”

”Oh, nothing like that. He wants to enter the ministry. A helper's needed at the Baptist Chapel, and he means to apply for the post. You see, he's saved a good deal, and thinks he can study to be a minister at the same time.”

”Study for his grave, the fool! So that's it, is it? Well, well! it saves trouble in the end. I don't need to bother my head now over what's to become of him ... him or anyone else. My chief desire is to say good-bye to this hole for ever. There's no sense, Polly, in my dawdling on. Indeed, I haven't the money to do it. So I've arranged, my dear, with our friend Oc.o.c.k to come in and sell us off, as soon as you can get our personal belongings put together.”

Here Polly raised her head as if to interrupt; but Mahony, full of what he had to say, ignored the movement, and went on speaking. He did not wish to cause his wife uneasiness, by dwelling on his difficulties; but some explanation was necessary to pave the way for his proposal that she should remain behind, when he left the colony. He spent all his eloquence in making this sound natural and attractive. But it was hard, when Polly's big, astonished eyes hung on his face. ”Do you think, for my sake, you could be brave enough?” he wound up, rather unsurely. ”It wouldn't be for long, love, I'm certain of that. Just let me set foot in England once more!”

”Why ... why, yes, dear Richard, I ... I think I could, if you really wished it,” said Polly in a small voice. She tried to seem reasonable; though black night descended on her at the thought of parting, and though her woman's eyes saw a hundred objections to the plan, which his had overlooked. (For one thing, John had just installed Sara as housekeeper, and Sara would take it very unkindly to be shown the door.) ”I THINK I could,” she repeated. ”But before you go on, dear, I should like to ask YOU something.”