More Bywords

‘Only one-and-twenty,’ returned Mrs. Arthuret triumphantly; ‘but then she has had such advantages, and made such use of them.  Everything seems to come at once, though, perhaps, it is unthankful to say so.  Of course, it is no object now, but I could not help thinking what it would have been to us to have discovered this talent of hers at the time when we could hardly make both ends meet.’

‘She will find plenty of use for it,’ said Mrs. Merrifield, who, as the wife of a country squire and the mother of nine children, did not find it too easy to make her ends meet upon a larger income.

‘Oh yes! indeed she will, the generous child.  She is full of plans for the regeneration of the village.’

Poor Mrs. Merrifield! this was quite too much for her.  She thought it irreverent to apply the word in any save an ecclesiastical sense; nor did she at all desire to have the parish, which was considered to be admirably worked by the constituted authorities, ‘regenerated,’ whatever that might mean, by a young lady of one-and-twenty.  She rose up and observed to her daughter that she saw papa out upon the lawn, and she thought it was time to go home.

Mrs. Arthuret came out with them, and found what Bessie could only regard as a scene of desolation.  Though gentlemen, as a rule, have no mercy on trees, and ladies are equally inclined to cry, ‘Woodman, spare that tree,’ the rule was reversed, for Miss Arthuret was cutting, and ordering cutting all round her ruthlessly with something of the pleasure of a child in breaking a new toy to prove that it is his own, scarcely listening when the Admiral told her what the trees were, and how beautiful in their season; while even as to the evergreens, she did not know a yew from a cedar, and declared that she must get rid of this horrid old laurustinus, while she lopped away at a Portugal laurel.  Her one idea seemed to be that it was very unwholesome to live in a house surrounded with trees; and the united influence of the Merrifields, working on her mother by representing what would be the absence of shade in a few months’ time, barely availed to save the life of the big cedar; while the great rhododendron, wont to present a mountain of shining leaves and pale purple blossoms every summer, was hewn down without remorse as an awful old laurel, and left a desolate brown patch in its stead.

‘Is it an emblem,’ thought Bessie, ‘of what she would like to do to all of us poor old obstructions?’

After all, Mrs. Merrifield could not help liking the gentle mother, by force of sympathy; and the Admiral was somewhat fascinated by the freshness and impetuosity of the damsel, as elderly men are wont to be with young girls who amuse them with what they are apt to view as an original form of the silliness common to the whole female world except their own wives, and perhaps their daughters; and Bessie was extremely amused, and held her peace, as she had been used to do in London.  Susan was perhaps the most annoyed and indignant.  She was presiding over seams and button-holes the next afternoon at school, when the mother and daughter walked in; and the whole troop started to their feet and curtsied.

‘Don’t make them stand!  I hate adulation.  Sit down, please.  Where’s the master?’

‘In the boys’ school, ma’am,’ said the mistress, uncomfortably indicating the presence of Miss Merrifield, who felt herself obliged to come forward and shake hands.

‘Oh! so you have separate schools.  Is not that a needless expense?’

‘It has always been so,’ returned Susan quietly.

‘Board?  No?  Well, no doubt you are right; but I suppose it is at a sacrifice of efficiency.  Have you cookery classes?’

‘We have not apparatus, and the girls go out too early for it to be of much use.’

‘Ah, that’s a mistake.  Drawing?’

‘The boys draw.’

‘I shall go and see them.  Not the girls?  They look orderly enough; but are they intelligent?  Well, I shall look in and examine them on their special subjects, if they have any.  I suppose not.’

‘Only class.  Grammar and needlework.’

‘I see, the old routine.  Quite the village school.’

‘It is very nice work,’ put in Mrs. Arthuret, who had been looking at it.

‘Oh yes, it always is when everything is sacrificed to it.  Good-morning, I shall see more of you, Mrs.—ahem.’

‘Please, ma’am, should I tell her that she is not a school manager?’ inquired the mistress, somewhat indignantly, when the two ladies had departed.

‘You had better ask the Vicar what to do,’ responded Susan.

The schoolmaster, on his side, seemed to have had so much advice and offers of assistance in lessons on history, geography, and physical science, that he had been obliged to refer her to the managers, and explain that till the next inspection he was bound to abide by the time-table.

‘Ah, well, I will be one of the managers another year.’

So she told the Vicar, who smiled, and said, ‘We must elect you.’

‘I am sure much ought to be done.  It is mere waste to have two separate schools, when a master can bring the children on so much better in the higher subjects.’

‘Mrs. Merrifield and the rest of us are inclined to think that what stands highest of all with us is endangered by mixed schools,’ said Mr. Doyle.

‘Oh!’ Arthurine opened her eyes; ‘but education does all that!’

‘Education does, but knowledge is not wisdom.  Susan Merrifield’s influence has done more for our young women than the best class teaching could do.’

‘Oh, but the Merrifields are all so bornés and homely; they stand in the way of all culture.’

‘Indeed,’ said the Vicar, who had in his pocket a very favourable review of MESA’s new historical essay.

‘Surely an old-fashioned squire and Lady Bountiful and their very narrow daughters should not be allowed to prevent improvement, pauperise the place, and keep it in its old grooves.’

‘Well, we shall see what you think by the time you have lived here long enough to be eligible for—what?’

‘School manager, guardian of the poor!’ cried Arthurine.

‘We shall see,’ repeated the Vicar.  ‘Good-morning.’

He asked Bessie’s leave to disclose who MESA was.

‘Oh, don’t!’ she cried, ‘it would spoil the fun!  Besides, mamma would not like it, which is a better reason.’

There were plenty of books, old and new, in Bessie’s room, magazines and reviews, but they did not come about the house much, unless any of the Rockstone cousins or the younger generation were staying there, or her brother David had come for a rest of mind and body.  Between housekeeping, gardening, parish work, and pottering, Mrs. Merrifield and Susan never had time for reading, except that Susan thought it her duty to keep something improving in hand, which generally lasted her six weeks on a moderate average.  The Admiral found quite reading enough in the newspapers, pamphlets, and business publications; and their neighbours, the Greville family, were chiefly devoted to hunting and lawn tennis, so that there was some reason in Mrs. Arthuret’s lamentation to the Vicar that dear Arthurine did so miss intellectual society, such as she had been used to with the High School mistresses—two of whom had actually been at Girton!

‘Does she not get on with Bessie Merrifield?’ he asked.

‘Miss Bessie has a very sweet face; Arthurine did say she seemed well informed and more intelligent than her sister.  Perhaps Arthurine might take her up.  It would be such an advantage to the poor girl.’

‘Which?’ was on Mr. Doyle’s tongue, but he restrained it, and only observed that Bessie had lived for a good many years in London.

‘So I understood,’ said Arthurine, ‘but with an old grandmother, and that is quite as bad as if it was in the country; but I will see about it.  I might get up a debating society, or one for studying German.’

In the meantime Arthurine decided on improving and embellishing the parish with a drinking fountain, and meeting Bessie one afternoon in the village, she started the idea.

‘But,’ said Bessie, ‘there is a very good supply.  Papa saw that good water was accessible to all the houses in the village street ten years ago, and the outlying ones have wells, and there’s the brook for the cattle.’

‘I am sure every village should have a fountain and a trough, and I shall have it here instead of this dirty corner.’

‘Can you get the ground?’

‘Oh, any one would give ground for such a purpose!  Whose is it?’

‘Mr. Grice’s, at Butter End.’

The next time Susan and Bessie encountered Arthurine, she began—

‘Can you or Admiral Merrifield do nothing with that horrid old Grice!  Never was any one so pigheaded and stupid.’