Chapter VI: Easter Sunday at Haughton

MOUSEY never forgot the first Sunday she spent at Haughton. It was Easter Day, and whilst the churches were ringing out their invitation to all to come and worship the risen Lord, Mousey was standing by her open window sorrowfully comparing this Sunday with others during her mother's lifetime, which had been so full of joy and happiness that her heart swelled at the remembrance, and regretful tears rose to her soft, brown eyes. Downstairs, in the parlour, Mr. Harding was seated in front of an old oak secretaire, which occupied a corner of the room, engaged in casting up accounts, and looking over business papers. To see him thus occupied this morning had been a shock to Mousey, who had been taught to remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy; and so she had quietly slipped out of the parlour unobserved, and in the safe retreat of her own room had read St. Matthew's account of Christ's resurrection from the dead.

Presently the bells ceased their ringing, and a calm settled over the town. The air was so still that the little girl could hear the sheep bleating and the cattle lowing in the distant fields.

"Mousey!"

She started at the sound of Mr. Harding's voice calling to her. He was evidently at the foot of the stairs, and she hastened to open the door and respond to his summons.

"Yes, Cousin Robert," she answered, wondering what he could want, for he had not taken much notice of her during the few days since her arrival.

"Put on your hat and jacket, child; I am going to take you for a walk before dinner."

She quickly did his bidding, and joined him clown-stairs with a glow of pleasurable anticipation on her face. He had changed the drab coat he usually wore for the equally shabby black one in which Mousey had first seen him, and in his hand he held the high hat which John Monday had declared no one else in the town would wear. It had certainly seen its best days long before, and was now rough and rusty with age.

The old man glanced kindly at Mousey as she came running downstairs, and asked if she was pleased at the idea of going out with him. He appeared gratified when she assured him that she was.

They sallied forth together, a rather odd-looking couple Maria thought, as she watched them out of sight. Very soon they had reached one of the main thoroughfares of the town, and were crossing a broad stone bridge under which the river flowed.

"Is it the same river that runs under your house, Cousin Robert?" Mousey inquired.

"The same," he responded. "It looks quiet enough to-day, but often in the winter it's a raging torrent."

The sunshine was dancing on the gently rippling water, whilst every now and again there was the flutter of white wings as one seagull, then another, swooped down and rested on the surface of the river.

"How pretty they are!" Mousey cried, her voice full of delight. "Oh, how pretty they are!"

"There are always a lot of them about here," Mr. Harding told her. "Haughton is only six miles from the coast, and the river flows straight to the sea. In stormy weather the gulls go much further inland than this."

They turned their backs on the river, and a few steps further on were passing a church when Mousey caught hold of Mr. Harding's hand, begging him to pause and listen for a moment. He complied, though somewhat unwillingly. The congregation was singing a hymn, and the refrain was a familiar one to the child.

"Christ is risen! Christ is risen!
He hath burst His bonds in twain:
Christ is risen! Christ is risen!
Alleluia! swell the strain!"

Mousey's countenance was lit up with a bright smile. She softly hummed the tune under her breath, and glanced longingly, towards the church door; but she raised no objection when her companion gruffly bade her, "Come along!"

"Am I to go to church with Maria to-night, Cousin Robert?" she inquired, with a wistful tone in her voice.

"Yes, if you wish it. I suppose you're accustomed to church on Sundays, eh?"

"Yes. Sometimes, if mother had lodgers and could not go in the mornings, she used to send me alone, and then in the evenings we generally went together. Mother used to say that Easter Sunday was the brightest, happiest day of all the year."

"Why?" he asked curiously.

"Because on Easter Sunday we think of Christ's rising from the dead, and it comes in the spring when—"

Mousey paused abruptly, overcome with a sudden shyness, and mindful of Maria's warning not to speak of religion to her companion; but the old man bade her go on and tell him what she had been about to say.

"Easter comes when everything is springing into life after the winter," Mousey proceeded in a low voice. "Mother said the sight of the trees budding and the flowers blooming ought to remind us that there is no such thing as death."

"No such thing as death!" he echoed in amazement. "Why, child, it was only a month ago that your mother died, and yet you say there is no such thing as death!"

"I'm afraid I can't quite explain what I mean," the little girl answered in slightly troubled tones; "but I know, I know! When Jesus died they put a great stone in front of His grave, but on the third day He rose from the dead; and we shall all rise from the dead, too, Mother told me that death is only the gate of life."

"And you believe that?"

"Why, of course I do, Cousin Robert."

They had now come to a park tastefully laid out, with winding paths passing between flower-beds gay with spring blossoms. They sat down on a seat, for it was warm and pleasant in the sunshine, and they had walked a good way.

"How lovely it is here!" Mousey exclaimed. "And, oh, Cousin Robert, is everyone allowed to walk in this beautiful place?"

"Yes, child; it is a public park. You may look at the shrubs and flowers, but you must not touch them."

"Oh, no, I should not think of doing such a thing!"

After they had rested awhile they strolled around the park and then turned homewards, arriving at their destination in good time for dinner.

During the meal it transpired that John Monday had been for a walk too. He confessed that he had robbed some birds' nests of their eggs, of which he was making a collection, and looked scornful when Mousey, who owned a tender heart, expressed her sympathy for the bereaved mother-birds.

Mr. Harding slept through the afternoon, and John Monday disappeared again, whilst Mousey spent the time with Maria in the kitchen, giving her an account of the morning's walk.

In the evening Mousey and Maria went to church together. It was a small, iron church, the first of its kind that the little girl had ever seen: Maria called it a mission chapel. The congregation seemed to be mostly poor people, but the edifice was full, and the worshippers were reverent and well-behaved, joining in the glad Easter hymns with evident appreciation. The sermon was preached by a young man, whose voice, though not loud, was powerful and distinct. Mousey listened with great attention whilst he recounted the story of Christ's resurrection, and was pleased to find that she understood every word he said. Afterwards, she told Maria how much she had liked the sermon.

"Yes," Maria responded, "Mr. Bradley preaches so simply that everyone can follow him. He's very popular in the parish, and no wonder! For he's always ready to give a helping hand to anyone in trouble. He's been a curate here for the last two years; and he generally preaches at the mission chapel on Sunday evenings."

"What a funny little church it is, Maria! Do you always go there?"

"Yes. You see the seats are all free, and one can sit where one likes, and follow the service without difficulty, and join in the hymns—they have such easy tunes."

"May I go with you again next Sunday?" Mousey asked eagerly.

"Certainly, if Mr. Harding agrees to let you."

"I suppose he doesn't know the clergyman who preached to-night?"

"Oh, yes, I believe he's one of master's customers. I heard he'd been in with his watch to be mended the other day; and I know he wanted John Monday to join his Bible class for boys; but no, that wouldn't suit John at all! He prefers to spend his evenings idling about the streets, or in reading some trash or other, and master doesn't care what the lad does in his spare hours."

By that time they had arrived at home, and Mousey, after taking off her hat and jacket, joined Mr. Harding in the parlour. A little later John Monday appeared, and Maria brought in the supper, after partaking of which Mousey said good-night, and went upstairs to bed.

So ended her first Sunday at Haughton. As the little girl laid her head upon the pillow she reflected that the day had ended better than it had commenced; and she fell asleep with the refrain of the Easter hymn ringing in her ears—

"Christ is risen! Christ is risen!"