Books: The Pillars of the House, V1

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'So you do now,' said Felix; 'there's the pound all the same as
usual.'

That pound was always being spent in imagination; and the voices
broke out again.

'Oh, then Papa can have the respirator!'

'Felix, the rocking-horse!'

'Felix, do get us three little cannon to make a jolly row every
birthday!'

'Felix, do you know that Charlie Froggatt says he would sell that big
Newfoundland for a pound? and that would be among us all.'

'Nonsense, Fulbert! a big dog is always eating; but there is a
concertina at Lake's.'

'Tina--tina--concertina! But, I say, Fee, there's Whiteheart been
wishing her heart out all the time for a real good paint-box.'

'Oh, never mind that, Ed; no one would care for one but you and me,
and the little ones would spoil all the paints.'

'Yes, resumed Wilmet, from her throne,--'it would be the worry of
one's life to keep the little ones off them; and baby would be
poisoned to a dead certainty. Now the respirator--'

'Now the concertina--'

'Now Punch--'

'Now the dog--'

'Now the rocking-horse--'

'Now the cannon--'

'I'll tell you what,' said Felix, 'I've settled how it is to be.
We'll get John Harper's van, and all go out to the Castle, with a
jolly cold dinner--yes, you, Cherry, and all; Ed and I will carry
you--and dine on the grass, and--'

A chorus of shouts interrupted him, all ecstatic, and rendered more
emphatic by the stamping of feet.

'And Angela will go!' added. Wilmet.

'And Papa,' entreated Cherry.

'And Mamma too, if she will,' said Felix.

'And Mr. Audley,' pronounced Robina, echoed by Clement and Angela.
'Mr. Audley must go!'

'Mr. Audley!' grunted Felix. 'I want nobody but ourselves.'

'Yes, and if he went we could not stay jolly late. My Lady would make
no end of a row if both curates cut the evening prayers.'

'For shame, Edgar!' cried the three elder girls.

While Wilmet added, 'We could not stay late, because of Papa and the
little ones. But I don't want Mr. Audley, either.'

'No, no! Papa and he will talk to each other, and be of no use,' said
Geraldine. 'Oh, how delicious! Will the wild-roses be out? When shall
it be, Felix?'

'Well, the first fine day after school breaks up, I should say.'

'Hurrah! hurrah!'

And there was another dance, in the midst of which Mr. Underwood
opened the door, to ask what honourable member was receiving such
deafening cheers.

'Here! here he is, Papa!' cried Alda. 'He is going to take us all out
to a picnic in the Castle woods; and won't you come, Papa?'

'O Papa, you will come!' said Felix. And the whole staircase bawled
in accordance.

'Come! to be sure I will!' said his father; 'and only too glad to be
asked! I trust we shall prove to have found the way to get the
maximum of pleasure out of Admiral Chester's gift.'

'If Mamma will go,' said Felix. 'I wonder what the van will cost, and
what will be left for the dinner.'

'Oh, let us two cook the whole dinner,' entreated the twins.

'Wait now,' said Felix. 'I didn't know it was so late, Father.' And
he carefully helped his father on with his coat; and as a church bell
made itself heard, set forth with him.

When the service was musical, Felix and his two next brothers both
formed part of the choir; and though this was not the case on this
evening, Felix knew that his mother was easier when he or Wilmet
could watch over Papa's wraps.

And Mamma herself, with one at least of the twins, was busy enough in
giving the lesser ones their supper, and disposing of them in bed, so
that the discreet alone might remain to the later tea-drinking.

And 'Sibby' must be made a sharer of the good news in her lower
region, though she was sure to disbelieve in Alda and Wilmet's
amateur cookery.

Sibby was Wilmet's foster-mother. Poor thing! Mr. Underwood had found
her in dire need in the workhouse, a child herself of seventeen with
a new-born babe, fresh from the discovery that the soldier-husband,
as she thought, and who had at least gone before the praste with
her,' and brought her from her Kilkenny home, was previously husband
to another woman. She was tenderly cared for by Mr. Underwood's
mother, who was then alive, and keeping house for the whole party at
the Rectory; and having come into the Vale Leston nursery, she never
left it. Her own child died in teething, and she clung so
passionately to her nursling, that Mrs. Underwood had no heart to
separate them, Roman Catholic though she was, and difficult to
dispose of. She was not the usual talking merry Irishwoman; if ever
she had been such, her heart was broken; and she was always meek,
quiet, subdued, and attentive; forgetful sometimes, but tender and
trustworthy to the last degree with the children.

She had held fast to the family in their reverses, and no more
thought of not sharing their lot than one of their children. Indeed,
it would not have been much more possible to send her out to shift
for herself in England; and her own people seemed to have vanished in
the famine, for her letters, with her savings, came back from the
dead-letter office. She put her shoulder to the burthen, and, with
one small scrub under her, got through an amazing amount of work: and
though her great deep liquid brown eyes looked as pathetic as ever,
she certainly was in far better spirits than when she sat in the
nursery. To be sure, she was a much better nurse than she was a cook;
but as both could not be had, Mrs. Underwood was content and thankful
to have a servant so entirely one with themselves in interests and
affections; and who had the further perfection of never wanting any
society but the children's; shrinking from English gossips, and never
showing a weakness, save for Irish tramps. Moreover, she was a
prodigious knitter; and it was her boast that not one of the six
young gentlemen had yet worn stocking or sock, but what came from her
needles, and had been re-footed by her to the last extremity of wear.

Meantime, Felix and Clement walked with their father to the church.
There it was, that handsome church; the evening sun in slanting beams
coming through the gorgeous west window to the illuminated walls, and
the rich inlaid marble and alabaster of the chancel mellowed by the
pure evening light. The east window, done before glass-painting had
improved, was tame and ill-executed, and there was, even
aesthetically, a strange unsatisfactory feeling in looking at the
heavy, though handsome, incrustations and arcades of dark marble that
formed the reredos. It was all very correct; but it wanted life.

Mr. Bevan was not there, he had gone out to dinner, and the
congregation consisted of some young ladies, old men, and three
little children. Mr. Audley read all, save the Absolution and the
Lessons; and the responses sounded low and feeble in the great
church, though there was one voice among them glad and hearty in
dedicating and entrusting the new year of his life with its unknown
burthen.

Felix had heard sayings and seen looks which, boldly as his sanguine
spirit resisted them, would hang in a heavy boding cloud over his
mind, and were already casting a grave shadow there.

And if the thought of his fivefold gift swelled the fervour of his
'Amen' to the General Thanksgiving, there was another deep heartfelt
Amen, which breathed forth earnest gratitude for the possession of
such a first-born son.

'That is a very good boy,' the father could not help saying to Mr.
Audley, as, on quitting the churchyard, Felix exclaiming, 'Papa, may
I just get it changed and ask about the van?' darted across the
street, with Clement, into a large grocer's shop nearly opposite,
where a brisk evening traffic was going on in the long daylight of
hot July; and he could not but tell of the birthday-gift, and how it
was to be spent. 'Res angusta domi,' he said, with a smile, 'is a
thing to be thankful for, when it has such effects upon a lad.'

'You must add a small taste of example to the prescription,' said Mr.
Audley. 'Is this all the birthday present Felix has had?'

'Well, I believe Cherry gave him one of her original designs; but
birthdays are too numerous for us to stand presents.'

The other curate half-sighed. He was a great contrast--a much smaller
man than his senior, slight, slim, and pale, but with no look of ill-
health about him, brown eyed and haired, and with the indefinable
look about all his appointments and dress, that showed he had lived
in unconscious luxury and refinement all his days. His thoughts went
back to a home, where the only perplexity was how to deal with an
absolute glut of presents, and to his own actual doubts what to send
that youngest sister, who would feel slighted if Charlie sent
nothing, but really could not want anything; a book she would not
read, a jewel could seldom get a turn of being worn, a trinket would
only be fresh lumber for her room. Then he revolved the possibilities
of making Felix a present, without silencing his father's
confidences, and felt that it could not be done in any direct manner
at present; nay, that it could hardly add to the radiant happiness of
the boy, who rushed across the road, almost under the nose of the
railway-omnibus horses, and exclaimed--

'He will let us have it for nothing, Father! He says it would be
hiring it out, and he can't do that: but he would esteem it a great
favour if we would go in it, and not pay anything, except just a
shilling to Harris for a pint of beer. Won't it be jolly, Father?'

'Spicy would be more appropriate,' said Mr. Underwood, laughing, as
the vehicle in question drew up at the shop door, with Mr. Harper's
name and all his groceries inscribed in gold letters upon the awning.

'I'm so glad I thought of Harper's,' continued Felix. 'I asked him
instead of Buff, because I knew Mamma would want it to be covered.
Now there's lots of room; and we boys will walk up all the hills.'

'I hope there is room for me, Felix,' suggested Mr. Audley.

'Or,' suggested Mr. Underwood, 'you might, like John Gilpin, "ride on
horseback after we."'

'Felix looks non-content,' said Mr. Audley. 'I am afraid I was not in
his programme. Speak out--let us have it.'

'Why,' said Felix, looking down, 'our little ones all wanted to have
you; but then we thought we should all be obliged to come home too
soon, unless you took the service for Papa.'

'He certainly ought not to go to church after it,' said Mr. Audley;
'but I can settle that by riding home in good time. What's the day?'

'The day after the girls' break-up, if you please,' said Felix, still
not perfectly happy, but unable to help himself; and manifesting
quite enough reluctance to make his father ask, as soon as they had
parted, what made him so ungracious.

'Only, Papa,' said Felix frankly, 'that we know that you and he will
get into some Church talk, and then you'll be of no use; and we
wanted to have it all to ourselves.'

'Take care, Felix,' said Mr. Underwood; 'large families are apt to
get into a state of savage exclusiveness.'

Felix had to bear the drawback, and the groans it caused from Wilmet,
Edgar, and Fulbert: the rest decidedly rejoiced. And Mr. Underwood
privately confided the objection to his friend, observing merrily
that they would bind themselves by a promise not to talk shop
throughout the expedition.

It was a brilliantly, happy week. Pretty hats, bound with dark blue
velvet, and fresh black silk jackets, were squeezed out of the four
pounds, with the help of a few shillings out of the intended hire of
the van, and were the glory of the whole family, both of those who
were to wear them and those who were not.

On Saturday evening, just as the four elder young people were about
to sally forth to do the marketing for their picnic, a great hamper
made its appearance in the passage, addressed to F. C. Underwood,
Esq., and with nothing to pay. Only there was a note fastened to the
side, saying, 'Dear Felix, pray let the spicy van find room for my
contribution to your picnic. I told my mother to send me what was
proper from home.--C. S. A.'

Mrs. Underwood was dragged out to superintend the unpacking, which
she greatly advised should be merely a surface investigation. That
was quite enough, however, to assure her that for Felix to lay in any
provision, except the tea and the bread she had already promised,
would be entirely superfluous. The girls were disappointed of their
cookery; but derived consolation from the long walk with the
brothers, in which a cake of good carmine and a lump of gamboge were
purchased for Cherry, and two penny dolls for Robina and Angela. What
would become of the rest of the pound?

On Sunday, the offertory was, as usual on ordinary occasions, rather
scanty; but there was one half-sovereign; and Mr. Underwood was
convinced that it had come from under the one white surplice that had
still remained on the choir boys' bench.

He stayed in the vestry after the others to count and take care of
the offerings, and as he took up the gold, he could not but look at
his son, who was waiting for him, and who flushed all over as he met
his eye. 'Yes, Papa, I wanted to tell you--I did grudge it at first,'
he said hoarsely. 'I knew it was the tithe; but it seemed so much
away from them all. I settled that two shillings was the tenth of my
own share, and I would give that to-day; and then came Mr. Harper's
kindness about the van; and next, when I was thinking how I could
save the tenth part without stinting everybody, came all Mr. Audley's
hamper. It is very strange and happy, Papa, and I have still
something left.'

'I believe,' said Mr. Underwood, 'that you will find the considering
the tithe as not your own, is the safest way of keeping poverty from
grinding you, or wealth from spoiling you.'

And very affectionately he leant on his son's shoulder all the way
home; while Mr. Audley was at luncheon at the Rectory with my Lady,
and her twelve years old daughter.

'Mamma,' said Miss Price, 'did you see the Underwoods in new hats?'

'Of course I did, my dear. They were quite conspicuous enough; but
when people make a great deal of their poverty, they always do break
out in the most unexpected ways.'

'They are pretty girls' said the Rector, rather dreamily, 'and I
suppose they must have new clothes sometimes.'

'You will always find,' proceeded Lady Price without regard, 'that
people of that sort have a wonderful eye to the becoming--nothing
economical for them! I am sorry for Mr. Underwood, his wife is
bringing up a set of fine ladies, who will trust to their pretty
looks, and be quite above doing anything for themselves.'

'Do you think Wilmet and Alda Underwood so very pretty, Mr. Audley?'
inquired Miss Price, turning her precocious eyes upon him.

'Remarkably so,' Mr. Audley replied, with a courteous setting-down
tone that was the only thing that ever approached to subduing Miss
Price, and which set her pouting without an answer.

'It is a great misfortune to girls in that station of life to have
that painted-doll sort of beauty,' added my Lady; 'and what was it I
heard about a picnic party?'

'No party, my dear,' replied the Rector, 'only a little fresh air for
the family--a day in Centry Park. Felix spends his birthday present
from his godfather in taking them.'

Ah! I always was sure they had rich friends, though they keep it so
close. Never let me hear of their poverty after this.'

Answers only rendered it worse, so my Lady had it her own way, and
not being known to the public in St. Oswald's Buildings, did not
trouble them much. Yet there was a certain deference to public
opinion there, when Alda was heard pouting, 'Felix, why did you go to
that horrid Harper? Just fancy Miss Price seeing us!'

'Who cares for a stuck-up thing like Miss Price!' growled Felix.

'I don't care for her,' said Edgar; 'but it is just as well to have
some notion of things, and Felix hasn't a grain. Why, all the fellows
will be asking which of us is pepper, and which Souchong! I wouldn't
have Froggatt or Bruce see me in it at no price.'

'Very well, stay at home, then,' said Felix.

'You could have had the waggonet from the Fortinbras Arms,' said
Alda.

'Ay--for all my money, and not for love.'

'For shame, Alda,' said her twin sister; 'how can you be so
ridiculous!'

'You know yourself, Wilmet, it is quite true; if any of the girls see
us, we shall be labelled "The Groceries."'

'Get inside far enough, and they will not see you.'

'Ay, but there'll be that disgusting little Bobbie and Lance sitting
in the front, making no end of row,' said Edgar; 'and the whole place
will know that Mr. Underwood and his family are going out for a spree
in old Harper's van! Pah! I shall walk.'

'So shall I,' said Alda, 'at least till we are out of the town; but
that won't do any good if those children will make themselves so
horridly conspicuous. Could not we have the thing to meet us
somewhere out of town, Felix?'

'And how would you get Cherry there, or Mamma! Or Baby!--No, no, if
you are too genteel for the van, you may walk.'

CHAPTER II

THE PICNIC

'There, on a slope of orchard, Francis laid
A damask napkin, wrought with horse and hound;
Brought out a dusky loaf that smelt of home,
And, half-cut down, a pasty costly made,
Where quail and pigeon, lark and leveret lay,
Like fossils of the rock, with golden yolks
Imbedded and injellied; last, with these
A flask of cider from his father's vats,
Prime which I knew;--and so we sat and ate.'
TENNYSON.

No. 8 St. Oswald's Buildings was a roomy house, which owed its
cheapness to its situation, this being neither in the genteel nor the
busy part of Bexley. It was tall and red, and possessed a good many
rooms, and it looked out into a narrow street, the opposite side of
which consisted of the long wall of a brewery, which was joined
farther on to that of the stable-yard of the Fortinbras Arms, the
principal hotel, which had been much frequented in old posting days,
and therefore had offices on a large scale. Only their side, however,
was presented to St. Oswald's Buildings, the front, with its arched
'porte cochere,' being in the High Street, as it was still called,
though it was a good deal outshone by the newer part of the town.

The next-door neighbours of No. 8 were on the one hand a carpenter's
yard, the view of which was charming to the children, and the noises
not too obnoxious to their parents, and on the other the rectory
garden, which separated them from the churchyard, now of course
disused. It had no entrance towards their lane, and to reach the
church, it was necessary to turn the corner of the wall, and go in
through the south porch, which opened close upon the High Street.

In this old street lay the two buildings that chiefly concerned the
young Underwoods, i.e. the two schools. That for boys was an old
foundation, which had fallen into decay, and had been reformed and
revivified in nineteenth-century fashion, to suit the requirements of
the town. The place, though in the south of England, had become noted
as a pottery, owing partly to the possession of large fields of a
peculiar clay, which was so bad for vegetable growth as to proclaim
its destiny to become pots and pans, partly to its convenient
neighbourhood to the rising seaport of Dearport, which was only an
hour from it by railway. The old St. Oswald's school had been moulded
under the influence of newcomers, who had upset the rules of the
founder, and arranged the terms on the broadest principles of
liberality, bringing, instead of the drowsy old clerical master, a
very brisk and lively young layman, who had a knack of conveying
instruction of multifarious kinds such as had never occurred to his
predecessor.

Mr. Underwood had a certain liking for the man, and when tolerably
well, enjoyed the breaking a lance with him over his many crude
heterodoxies; but he did not love the school, and as long as he was
able had taught his boys himself, and likewise taken a few day-pupils
of the upper ranks, who were preparing for public schools. But when
his failure of health rendered this impracticable, the positive evil
of idleness was, he felt greater than any possible ones that might
arise from either the teaching or the associations of the town
school, and he trusted to home influence to counteract any such
dangers. Or perhaps more truly he dreaded lest his own reluctance
might partly come from prejudice in favour of gentlemen and public
schools: and that where a course seemed of absolute necessity,
Providence became a guard in its seeming perils. Indeed, that which
he disapproved in Mr. Ryder's school was more of omission than
commission. It was that secularity was the system, rather than the
substance of that secularity.

So Felix and Edgar went to school, and were in due time followed by
Clement and Fulbert; and their bright wits, and the educated
atmosphere of their home, made their career brilliant and successful.
Mr. Ryder was greatly pleased to have got the sons of a man whom he
could not but admire and respect, and was anxious that the boys
should be the means of conquering the antiquated prejudices in favour
of exclusiveness at school.

Felix and Edgar were neck and neck, carrying off all the prizes of
the highest form but one--Felix, those that depended on industry and
accuracy; Edgar, those that could be gained by readiness and
dexterity. Both were to be promoted to the upper form; and Mr. Ryder
called upon their father in great enjoyment of their triumph, and
likewise to communicate his confident certainty that they would do
him and Bexley credit by obtaining the most notable scholarships of
the University. Mr. Underwood was not a little delighted, grateful
for the cordial sympathy, and he fully agreed that his own lads had
benefited by the clear vigorous teaching they had received; but
though he smiled and allowed that they had taken no harm, he said
good-humouredly that 'Of course, he must consider that as the proof
of his own powers of counteraction.'

'Exactly so,' said the schoolmaster. 'All we wish is, that each home
should exercise its powers of counteraction. We do the teaching, you
form the opinions.'

'Oh! are we parents still to be allowed to form the opinions?'

'If you _will_. Your house is your castle, and the dungeons there may
be what you will.'

'Well, I cannot have a quarrel with you to-day, Ryder! As long as I
can show up my boys as tokens of God's blessing on their home, you
are welcome to them as instances of wits well sharpened by thorough
good instruction.'

Mrs. Underwood had likewise had a congratulatory visit that was very
gratifying. The girls' school, a big old red house, standing back
from the road at the quietest end of the town, was kept by two
daughters of a former clergyman, well educated and conscientious
women, whom she esteemed highly, and who gave a real good grounding
to all who came under their hands, going on the opposite principle to
Mr. Ryder's and trying to supply that which the homes lacked.

And they did often succeed in supplying it, though their scholars
came from a class where there was much to subdue, and just at present
their difficulties had been much increased by their having been
honoured by the education of Miss Price. Seven governesses in
succession had proved incapable of bearing with Lady Price; and the
young lady had in consequence been sent to Miss Pearson's, not
without an endeavour on her mother's part to obtain an abatement in
terms in honour of the eclat of her rank.

There her airs proved so infectious, that, as Miss Pearson said, the
only assistance she had in lessening their evil influence was the
perfect lady-likeness of the Underwood twins, and the warm affection
that Wilmet inspired. Alda headed a sort of counter party against
Caroline Price, which went on the principle of requiting scorn with
scorn, but Wilmet's motherly nature made her the centre of attraction
to all the weak and young, and her uprightness bore many besides
herself through the temptation to little arts. Both sisters had
prizes, Alda's the first and best, and Miss Pearson further offered
to let Wilmet pay for her own studies and those of a sister, by
becoming teacher to the youngest class, and supervisor during the
mid-day recreation, herself and her sister dining at school.

It was a handsome offer for such a young beginner, and the mother's
eyes filled with tears of pleasure; and yet there was a but--

'Not come home to dinner!' cried the children. 'Can't it be Alda
instead of Wilmet? We do always want Wilmet so, and Alda would do
just as well at school.'

Alda too was surprised; for was not she more regular and more forward
than her twin sister, who was always the one to be kept at home when
any little emergency made Mamma want the aid of an elder daughter?
And the mother would almost have asked that Alda might be the chosen
governess pupil, if Mr. Underwood had not said, 'No, my dear, Miss
Pearson must have her own choice. It is a great kindness, and must be
accepted as such. I suppose Robina must be the new scholar. My little
pupil will not leave me.'