Part 20 (1/2)

”Come on then, Toady Lion,” whispered Prissy, giving him a hand and deciding to trust to luck for the preservation of her precious print.

Toady Lion was often much better than his word, and she knew from experience that by Sat.u.r.day his financial embarra.s.sments would certainly be such that no reasonable offer was likely to be refused.

Toady Lion rose, and taking his sister's hand they went into her room, carefully shutting the door after them. Here Prissy proceeded to equip Toady Lion in one of her own ”nighties,” very much against that chorister's will.

”You see, pink flannel pyjams are not proper to sing in church in,”

she whispered: ”now--you must hold your hymn-book so, and look up at the roof when you sing--like the 'Child Samuel' on the nursery wall.”

”Mine eyes don't goggle like his,” said Toady Lion, who felt that Nature had not designed him for the part, and who was sleepy and cross anyway. Birthdays were no good--except his own.

It happened that Janet Sheepshanks was going downstairs early to set the maids to their morning work, and this is what she saw. At the closed door of Hugh John's chamber stood two quaint little figures, clad in lawny white, one tall and slim, the other short and chubby as a painted cherub on a ceiling. They had each white hymn-books reverently placed between their hands. Their eyes were raised heavenwards and their lips were red and parted with excitement.

The stern Scotswoman felt something suddenly strike her heart.

”Eh, sir,” she said, telling the tale afterwards, ”the la.s.sie Priscilla was sae like her mither, my puir bairn that is noo singing psalms wi' the angels o' G.o.d, that I declare, my verra heart stood still, for I thocht that she had come back for yin o' the bairns. And, oh! I couldna pairt wi' ony o' them noo. It wad fairly break my heart.

And there the twa young things stood at the door, but when they began to sing, I declare I juist slippit awa' doon to the closet and grat on the tap o' a cask o' paraffeen!”

And this is what Janet Sheepshanks heard them sing. It was not perhaps very appropriate, but it was one of the only two hymns of which Toady Lion knew the words; and I think even Mr. Charles Wesley, who wrote it, would not have objected if he had seen the angelic devotion on Prissy's face or the fraudulent cherub innocence s.h.i.+ning from that of Sir Toady Lion.

”Now, mind, your eyes on the crack of the door above,” whispered Prissy; ”and when I count three under my breath--sing out for your very life.”

Toady Lion nodded.

”One--two--three!” counted Prissy.

”_Hark! the herald angels sing, Glory to the new-born King, Peace on earth and mercy mild, G.o.d and sinners reconciled._”

”What is 'weconciled'?” asked Toady Lion, who must always ask something on principle.

”Oh, never mind now,” whispered Prissy hastily; ”keep your eyes on the top crack of the door and open your mouth wide.”

”Don't know no more!” said Toady Lion obstinately.

”Oh yes, you do,” said Prissy, almost in tears; ”go on. Sing _La-La_, if you don't, and we'll soon be at the chorus, and you know that anyway!”

Then the voice of Prissy escaped, soaring aloft in the early gloom, and if any human music can, reaching the Seventh Sphere itself, where, amid the harmonies of the universe, the Eternal Ear hearkens for the note of sinful human praise.

The sweet shrill pipe of Toady Lion accompanied her like a heavenly lute of infinite sweetness. It was at this point that Janet made off in the direction of the paraffin barrel.

”_Joyful all ye nations rise, Join the triumph of the skies: Universal nature, say, 'Christ the Lord is risen to-day!'_”

The door opened, and the head of Hugh John appeared, his hair all on end and his pyjama jacket open at the neck. He was. .h.i.tching up the other division of the suit with one hand.

”'Tain't Christmas, what's the horrid row? Shut it!” growled he sleepily. Prissy made him the impatient sign of silence so well understood of children, and which means that the proceedings are not to be interrupted.

”Your birthday, silly!” she said; ”chorus now!” And Hugh John himself, who knew the value of discipline, lined up and opened his mouth in the loud rejoicing refrain:--

”_Hark! the herald angels sing, Glory to the newborn King!_”