Chapter VI: The Sunday-School Treat

THERE was great excitement in the little village of Sunleigh one day towards the end of June, and many an anxious glance was cast at the sky to see if the weather was likely to remain fair. But not one fleck of cloud was visible in the broad expanse of blue overhead, and the good folks of Sunleigh had every reason to be confident that it would be fine for the Sunday-school treat.

Punctually at two o'clock, the children assembled at the school-house, and marched to the Vicarage grounds, where they spent the afternoon and evening in playing games and running races, with an interval for the all-important tea. Besides the children, many of their parents were present, not to speak of the teachers, who worked hard for the enjoyment of their little pupils.

The vicar, of course, was at the head of everything. He was a grey-haired, elderly man, with a kind, sympathetic heart and manner, and a face that won one's confidence and trust. He had had much care and sorrow, for he had been many years a widower, and out of four children only Marian was left, the rest having died in early youth. Yet the vicar was always bright and cheerful, and never more so than when in the presence of young folks.

It was a perfect day, every one agreed, and not too hot; for though the sun shone in a cloudless sky, there was a fresh, invigorating breeze, and it was delightfully cool under the tall elm trees that flanked the Vicarage lawn. It was in that sheltered spot that the mothers congregated, and discussed the behaviour of their children.

"What a pretty little maid yours is," said one kindly soul to Mrs. Lethbridge, who was present with the baby in her arms. "I never did see such blue eyes before, and such golden curls!"

Mrs. Lethbridge smiled, and turned a pleased look on the speaker, as she answered, "Molly's a good child, and that's better than her pretty looks, I take it. She's so sweet-tempered, too, and always as happy as the day is long."

"And your boys are fine little chaps. How does the elder take to work, Mrs. Lethbridge?"

"Oh, very well indeed; and Mrs. Mugford says he's trustworthy, and she's quite satisfied with him."

"That's a great thing, ain't it? You can't trust some boys out of your sight, hardly. Mrs. Mugford will stand his friend, you'll see, if she's taken to him—she's like that. She and I were girls together, so I know her ways. She's got on in the world. Married a steady, hardworking man, and when he died, he left her well provided for, and without any one to share with!" As though to be alone in the world had its advantages. But Mrs. Lethbridge did not see it in that light.

"I've heard her say she wished she had children," she said; "and she's real good to mine."

At that moment the conversation was interrupted by Jim, who rushed up in great excitement to his mother, and whispered eagerly in her ear—

"Mother, I've won sixpence for coming in second in the last race! The vicar gave it to me! Look here!"

The boy's face was shining with pleasure, and his smile was reflected on the mother's countenance.

"Do you know what I am going to do with it, mother?" Then, as she shook her head, "I'm going to save it towards buying that picture of the Good Shepherd for our Molly. Will you please keep it for me?"

Mrs. Lethbridge willingly consented, and took charge of the bright, new sixpence, tying it up carefully in a corner of her pocket handkerchief. She was deeply touched at the boy's unselfishness and love for his sister, and felt she might be justly proud of her elder son.

Meanwhile, Molly was enjoying the day most thoroughly. She kept close to Miss Morris at first, but after a little while, she ventured to play with some other children about her own age, and soon lost all her shyness and reserve.

But now the summer evening was drawing to a close; the sun was setting in a rosy glow of colour, and the children's happy day was nearly over.

James Lethbridge returned home before his family, and after getting his own tea, stood outside the cottage door, looking disconsolately up and down the deserted street. The silence indoors was oppressive, and he felt quite glad when he saw Mrs. Mugford's portly figure step outside her shop, and he immediately crossed the road to speak to her.

"Good evening, ma'am. So you haven't gone to the school treat, along with every one else."

"No," she replied, with a smiling nod of greeting. "I couldn't leave, you know. I should have shut up my shop if it hadn't been for the post-office. You see I'm a public servant, and not my own mistress. But I've not had a single person inside my doors since two o'clock to-day, and I can tell you it's been the longest afternoon I've spent since—the school treat last year."

"I've had to get my own tea," James Lethbridge remarked, "for the missus has gone with the youngsters. She left everything ready for me, and the door-key under a stone where I should know where to find it. It's quite an event for my wife to go pleasuring!"

"Yes, I know she is a home bird," Mrs. Mugford answered. "This half-day's holiday will do her good, I'm sure. Everyone enjoys the Sunday-school treat—old and young alike!"

"I just stepped across to ask you a favour," James Lethbridge explained.

"Now, I hope it's something I can do!" Mrs. Mugford said pleasantly.

"'Tis only this. I want you to tell Jenny, when she comes home, that I shall be up at the Hall all night. We've a horse took dreadful bad with inflammation—a favourite horse of Mr. Talbot's—and he wants someone to sit up with the poor creature, and attend to it. He asked me if I would stay with old Burt to-night; he's the head groom, you know. Burt's getting up in years, and the master thinks it would be too much for him to be up all night alone."

"Mr. Talbot's very thoughtful for other folk's comfort," Mrs. Mugford remarked. "I hope the poor horse will recover; I can't bear to see an animal suffer. Yes, I'll give Mrs. Lethbridge your message; but, surely you're not going to the Hall yet?"

"No, I shan't be expected till ten. I'm just going down the street for a stroll, and maybe I shan't come back again."

Mrs. Mugford guessed he was going to the "White Hart," but she did not like to offer a word of remonstrance.

At that moment, her companion happened to glance at the shop window, and the first object that met his eyes was the picture of the Good Shepherd, that his little daughter so longed to possess. He drew near, and looked at it with interest.

"'Tis strange what a fancy our Molly's taken to that picture," he said. "I've thought I should like to make her a present of it one of these days!"

"I wish you would!" Mrs. Mugford answered impulsively.

"I can't well afford it—not just now; perhaps on Saturday when I get my wages I'll buy it."

"I don't feel justified in giving it to her. You see if one keeps a shop, it doesn't do to make presents of one's goods," said Mrs. Mugford.

"No, it wouldn't do to begin that sort of thing," James Lethbridge said hastily; "and you've been too generous to my family as it is. I've never thanked you, but—"

"Oh, please don't. Any little thing I can do for your wife, I'm only too glad to do. And I love the children—I never had any of my own. Your Jim's a fine, honest lad. I believe he'll make a good man some day; and Dick's a dear, little fellow; and as for Molly—well there, I can't tell you how fond I am of Molly! I wish you'd manage to give her this picture. Save the money in some way!"

Mrs. Mugford paused abruptly, rather alarmed at the thought of how her companion would take her last remark; but he was not offended, as she half thought he might be. The kindly interest in Mrs. Mugford's sharp, brown eyes disarmed his first feeling of resentment. He knew well enough, if he refrained from going to the "White Hart" for a few evenings that he would save the price of the picture, and he guessed that was what Mrs. Mugford meant.

"Well, I've a notion I know what you mean," he said in rather a shame-faced fashion; "and I don't know that I mayn't do as you say. I must wish you good evening now, Mrs. Mugford," and he turned away, and strolled down the street.

Mrs. Mugford watched his retreating figure out of sight, then she went into her shop, and began making preparations for closing for the night.

Meanwhile James Lethbridge was halting outside the "White Hart," hesitating whether he should enter or not; but for once he allowed his conscience to guide him, and put the temptation aside.