The Stokesley Secret

“Isn’t it too small to pray about?” said Elizabeth.

“Nothing is too small to pray about, my dear.  Do you think this little midge is too small for God to have made it, and given it life, and spread that mother-of-pearl light on its wings?  Do you think yourself too small to pray? or your fault too small to pray about?”

Elizabeth cast down her eyes.  She did not quite think it was a fault, but she did not say so.

“Bessie, what was the great sin of the Israelites in the wilderness?”

The colour on her cheek showed that she knew.

“They tempted God by murmurs,” said Christabel.  “They tried His patience by grumbling, when His care and blessings were all round them, and by crying out because all was not just as they liked.  Now, dear Bessie, God has shown you what a real sorrow might be; will it not be tempting Him to go back to complaints over what He has ordained for you?”

“I shall net complain now; I shall not care,” said Elizabeth.  But she took the little bit of paper, and Christabel trusted that she would make use of it, knowing that in this lay her hope of cure; for whatever she might think in this first joy of relief, her little troubles were sure to seem quite as unbearable while they were upon her as if she had never feared a great one.

However, nothing remarkable happened; everyone was bright and happy; but still the influence of their past alarm subdued them enough to make them quiet and well-behaved, both on Saturday and Sunday; and Miss Fosbrook had never had so little trouble with them.

In consideration of this, and of the agitation and unsettled state that had put the last week out of all common rules, she announced on Monday morning that she would excuse all the fines, and that all the children should have their allowance unbroken.  Maybe she was moved to this by the suspicion that these four sixpences and three threepennies would make up the fund to the price of a “reasonable pig;” and she thought it time that David’s perseverance should be rewarded, and room made in his mind for something beyond swine and halfpence.

Her announcement was greeted by the girls with eager thanks, by the boys with a tremendous “Three times three for Miss Fosbrook!” and Bessie was so joyous, that instead of crying out against the noise, she joined in with Susan and Annie; but they made such a ridiculous little squeaking, that Sam laughed at them, and took to mocking their queer thin hurrahs.  Yet even this Elizabeth could bear!

David was meanwhile standing by the locker, his fingers at work as if he were playing a tune, his lips counting away, “Ninety-two, ninety-three, ninety-four—that’s me; ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven—that’s Jack,” and so on; till having plodded up diligently, he turned round with a little scream, “One hundred and twenty!  That’s the pig!”

“What?” cried Annie.

“One hundred and twenty pence.  Sukey said one hundred and twenty pence were ten shillings.  That will do it!  That’s the pig!  Oh, we’ve done it!  May I take it to Purday?”

“It was to be let alone till fair-day, you little bother!” said Hal.

“No, no, no,” cried many voices; “only till we had enough.”

“And I am sure nobody knows if we have,” added Hal hotly.  “A lot of halfpence, indeed!”

“But I know, Hal,” insisted David.  “There are eighty-nine pence and one farthing in Toby Fillpot, and this makes one hundred and twenty-two pence and one farthing.”

“You’d no business to peep,” said Sam.

“I didn’t peep,” said David indignantly.  “There were forty-eight pence at first, and then Susie had three, that was fifty-one—”  And he would have gone on like a little calculating machine, with the entire reckoning in his head, if the others had had patience to hear; but Annie and Johnnie were urgent to have the sum counted out before their eyes.  Hal roughly declared it was against the rules, and little inquisitives must not have their way.  But others were also inquisitive; and Sam said it would be best to know how much they had, that Purday might be told to look out for a pig at the price; besides, he wanted to have it over; it was such a bore not to have any money.

“It’s not fair!” cried Henry passionately.  “You don’t keep the rules!  You sha’n’t have my sixpence, I can tell you; and I won’t—I won’t stay and see it.”

“Nobody wants you,” said Sam.

“I didn’t know there were any rules,” said the girls; but Hal was already off.

“Hal has only put in fivepence-halfpenny,” said David, “so no wonder he is ashamed.  Such a big boy, with sixpence a week!  But if he won’t let us have his sixpence now—”

“Never mind, we will make it up next week,” said Susan.

“Now, then, who will take Toby down?” said Miss Fosbrook, unbuttoning one glass door, and undoing the two bolts of the second, behind which the cup of money stood.

“Susie ought, because she is the eldest.”

“Davie ought, because he is the youngest.”

David stood on a chair to take Toby off his shelf.  Solemn was the face with which the little boy lifted the mug by the handle, putting his other hand to steady the expected weight of coppers; but there was at once a frown, a little cry of horror.  Toby came up so light in his hand, that all his great effort was thrown away, and only made him stagger back in dismay, falling backward from the chair, and poor Toby crashing to pieces on the floor as he fell, while out rolled—one solitary farthing!

Nobody spoke for some moments; but all stood perfectly still, staring as hard as if they hoped the pence would be brought out by force of looking for them.

Then David’s knuckles went up into his eyes, and he burst forth in a loud bellow.  It was the first time Miss Fosbrook had heard him cry, and she feared that he had been hurt by the fall, or cut by the broken crockery; but he struck out with foot and fist, as if his tears were as much anger as grief, and roared out, “I want the halfpence for my pig.”

“Sam, Sam,” cried Susan, “if you have hid them for a trick, let him have them.”

“I—I play tricks now?” exclaimed Sam in indignation.  “No, indeed!”

“Then perhaps Hal has,” said Elizabeth.

“For shame, Bessie!” cried Sam.

“I only know,” said Elizabeth, half in self-defence, half in fright, “that one of you must have been at the baby-house, for I found the doors open, and shut them up.”

“And why should it be one of us?” demanded Sam; while David stopped crying, and listened.

“Because none of the younger ones can reach to undo the doors,” said Elizabeth.  “It was as much as I could do to reach the upper bolt, though I stood upon a chair.”

This was evident; for the baby-house was really an old-fashioned bureau, and below the glass doors there was a projecting slope of polished walnut, upon which only a fly could stand, and which was always locked.  No one whose years were less than half a score was tall enough to get a good hold of the button, even from the highest chair, far less to jerk down the rather stiff upper bolt.

“It cannot have been a little one, certainly,” said Miss Fosbrook; “but you should not be so ready to accuse your brothers, Bessie.”

David, however, had laid hold of a hope, and getting up from the floor, hastened out of the room, followed by John; and they were presently heard shouting “Hal!” all over the house.

“What day was it that you found the door open, Bessie?” asked Miss Fosbrook.

“It was just after dinner,” said Elizabeth, recollecting herself.

“It was on Friday.  Yes, I remember it was Friday, because I went into the school-room to get my pencil, and I was afraid Hal would jump out upon me, and looked in first to see whether he was going to be tiresome; but he was gone.”

“Yes,” said Susan; “it was the day we found poor Jack stuck up on the gate, when he and Hal were in disgrace.  Oh, he never would have played tricks then.”

“Did you go up before me, Bessie?” asked Miss Fosbrook; “for I went up directly after dinner to speak to Henry.”

“Yes, I did,” said she.  “I thought if you got in first, you would be scolding him ever so long, and would let nobody in, so I would get my pencil first; and I slipped up before you had left the table.”

Just then the two boys were heard stumping up the stairs, and ran in, panting with haste and excitement, David with a fiery red ear.

“No, no; Hal didn’t hide it!”

“But he boxed Davie’s ear for thinking he did,” added John; “and said he’d do the same for spiteful Bet!”

“Then he never played tricks,” said Susan.