Among the tuneful choir2,
With flying fingers touched the lyre.”
Dryden.
On the first of October the new beginning was to be made. The new curate, Mr Harford, arrived, and spent his first few days at Greenhow, while looking out for a lodging3 at Downhill, for he was to be shared between the two parishes as before, and Mr Atkins still undertook to assist on Sundays. Mr Harford looked very young, almost a boy, and was small and thin, but not in the least delicate. He had only worked off his superfluous4 flesh in study and parish cares at Oxford5, and he was likely to do the same in his new home. He looked on it as likely to be his residence for a long time, for, as the President had already told Mrs Carbonel, he was engaged to a young lady, whose father would not consent to her marriage till he had a living worth 500 pounds a year, and there were a good many fellows senior to him.
He seemed to have no fears of any amount of work, and the first thing he thought of was how to arrange for Uphill to have two services on Sunday, as he thought could be contrived6 by giving the Downhill people, who mostly lived near the church, their second service in the evening instead of the morning; and, as Mr Atkins would thus have more to do, he gave up to that gentleman the addition to his stipend7, which the President had offered to himself. The boon8 was great to the Greenhow family, who had often been hindered by weather from getting to Downhill. Moreover, he had plans for one service and sermon in the week, and for a cottage lecture at a distant hamlet.
Also, in the first fortnight of his stay, he had called at every house, alike in Downhill and Uphill, to the great surprise of some of the families, who had not in the memory of man seen a parson cross their threshold. Some did not like it, such as old Dame9 Verdon, who, though she could hardly get out of bed, was very sore about the new school; and when her friends came to see her, told them wonderful stories which she had picked up—or Lizzie had from some hawker—that the gentlefolks thought there were too many children for the rates and taxes, and they were going to get them all into the school, and make an end of them. Sometimes she said it was by “giving of them all the cowpox,” as Dame Spurrell called vaccination10 as the fashion was in those parts, sometimes it was by sending them all out to Botany Bay.
And as Mrs Carbonel had prevailed on the new gardener’s wife to have her baby vaccinated11, and George Hewlett’s and Mrs Mole’s children had been thence treated by her own hands, this was believed the more, although none of the children were visibly the worse for it after the first few days; but some of the women, and almost all the children believed the story, and many of the little ones were in fits of terror about the school, so that there was a falling off even with the Sunday School. The new school was only an additional room to a good-sized cottage, with a couple of windows and a brick floor, fitted with forms without backs, but which had at least good firm legs to stand upon, pegs12 for the cloaks and head-gear round the walls, and a single desk, likely to be quite sufficient for the superior few who were to learn writing and summing. The stock, obtained from the Society for Promoting Christian13 Knowledge, consisted of a dozen copies of Mrs Trimmer’s Abridgment14 of the Old Testament15, the same number of the lady’s work on the New Testament, a packet of little paper books of the Sermon on the Mount, the Parables16 and the Miracles, and another packet of little books, where the alphabet led the way upwards17 from ba, bo, etcetera, to “Our cat can kill a rat; can she not?” Also the broken Catechism, and Sellon’s Abridgment of instruction on the Catechism. There were a housewife full of needles, some brass18 thimbles, and a roll of calico provided, and this was the apparatus19 with which most village schools would commence.
Mrs Thorpe arrived with her two little girls, the neatest of creatures, still wearing her weeds, as indeed widows engaged in any business used to do for life as a sort of protection. Under her crape borders showed the smoothest of hair, and her apron20 was spotlessly white. The two little girls were patterns, with short cut hair, spotted21 blue frocks and checkered22 pinafores in the week, lilac frocks on Sundays; white capes23 on that same day, and bonnets25 of coarse straw, tied down with green ribbon, over little bonnet24 caps with plain net frilling, the only attempt at luxury apparent in their dress. Their names were Jane and Mary, and they looked very pretty and demure26, though there was a little mischief27 in Mary’s eyes. Nothing could look nicer or more promising28 in the eyes of the sisters when they took her to her cottage, nor could any one be better pleased than she to work under her own young ladies, and to have so peaceful a home for her little daughters. She was introduced to her future scholars on Sunday in the wash-house, and very shy and awkward did they look, nor were the numbers as large as usual.
Mr Harford came to open the school on Monday morning, and the ladies met him there. The room was in beautiful order, and presently the younger Moles29, the George Hewletts, the Seddons, the Pucklechurch grandchildren, and about half-a-dozen more dropped in; but no one else appeared, and these stood handling their pennies and looking sheepish.
Mr Harford, after looking out to see whether any one else was coming, addressed them in words a little too fine for their comprehension, and then read a few prayers, after which he and Mrs Carbonel went away, taking the unwilling30 Sophy to her lessons, but leaving Dora to follow when she had heard the names called over, and inaugurated the work; and their journey was enlivened by meeting a child with flying hair and ragged31 garments rushing headlong, so as to have only just time to turn off short over a gap in a field where some men who were ploughing called out, “Run, little one, run; she’ll catch thee!” with a great shouting laugh, and at the same moment appeared, with a big stick in her hand, Nancy Morris in full chase, her cap on the back of her head, and looking not much less wild than her offspring.
However, she drew up at the sight of the clergyman and the lady, pulled her cap forward and her apron to the middle, curtsied low, and in a voice of conscious merit, though out of breath, explained that she was “arter Elizabeth,” who was that terrifying and contrary that she would not go to school.
Mr Harford, not quite accustomed to the popular use of the verb to terrify, began to ask what the child had done to alarm her mother so much and Nancy, understanding him as little, said, “’Tis all along of Dame Verdon, ma’am. She be for to say that the new governess will beat them and send them off to Minsterham, as sure as they’re alive; and I told Bet not to believe no such stuff, but her won’t listen to I—”
Mr Harford was the more mystified. Why should she send them to Minsterham? And what was the child afraid of? Mrs Carbonel had more notion. Minsterham was the assize town, and going thither32 was a polite form of mentioning the being before a court of justice.
“Elizabeth need have no fears of a prison,” she said. “She is a silly child to be frightened; but when she sees that the other children like school, and that nothing happens to them, she will know better. Don’t beat her, it will only frighten her more.”
“If it is your will, ma’am, I’ll let her off; but I’ll give her the stick another time, as sure as she is alive, the little toad33.”
“Hopeful,” said the lady and gentleman to each other, as soon as she was out of sight, and they could laugh.
It was indeed uphill work in every sense that was before Mrs Thorpe, but the effect was visible in much improvement in the general demeanour of the children. A chair was found for her where she sat among them at church, and prevented the outrageous34 misconduct that the ladies had been unable effectively to check; and the superior readers were gradually acquiring a very cheap form of Prayer-book, with only Matins and Evensong and the Collects, besides the Psalms35.
But that the children sat on the chancel steps, and that kneeling in church was unknown to them, never occurred as an irreverence36 to any of the party, though as Mr Harford read the ante-Communion service from the altar instead of disrobing himself of his surplice in the pulpit just before the sermon, he had to walk through the whole school, making those in his way stand up to let him pass.
The singers, on the establishment of a double service, began to absent themselves at least once on a Sunday, so Mr Harford and the ladies tried to arrange for the singing of the children instead. He had no knowledge of music, which was then thought a rather doubtful accomplishment37 for a young man, and Mrs Thorpe had, if possible, less, so all that could be done was for Dora to train the children by ear; and she found that their thin, shrill38 notes were held as painful by all save a few doting39 mothers, her sisters, and herself. The captain laughed at her, and finally promised her a grinding organ. It came; it could play four tunes40, and all the singers were naturally offended. But on the first Sunday there was a great catastrophe41, for when once set on it would not stop, but went on playing its four tunes long after the Old Hundredth was finished. Mr Harford waited to begin the Prayer for King George till it had finished, hoping that it would stop, if not at the end of the second tune1 at least at the fourth; but, behold42, it started off with the Old Hundredth again, upon which Captain Carbonel emerged from his pew, and, with the help of Master Pucklechurch, bore it out into the churchyard, where it continued to play till after the service, when there was time to check its pertinacity43 by adjustment of the machinery44. At its best, the singers—even George Hewlett—were much hurt, and the compromise was made that it never should uplift its voice when they were present in full force with bass45, flute46, and viol, but should only draw forth47 its four tunes when there were only the children to need the accompaniment.
Even then, Dan Hewlett, who unluckily had the best voice of all, swore that he would never come to church again while “they had that there horgin to buzz away like a big bumbledore;” and he kept his word.
“You see, ma’am, he has his feelings,” said Molly.
He would fain have made all his family join in the secession; but Johnnie would not be kept away from Sunday School; and Molly had heard rumours48 of penny clubs and of prizes at Christmas so, though the other children were very irregular, she kept them on after a fashion.
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1
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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3
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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4
superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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6
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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7
stipend
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| n.薪贴；奖学金；养老金 | |
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8
boon
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| n.恩赐，恩物，恩惠 | |
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9
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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10
vaccination
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| n.接种疫苗，种痘 | |
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vaccinated
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| [医]已接种的，种痘的，接种过疫菌的 | |
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12
pegs
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| n.衣夹( peg的名词复数 )；挂钉；系帐篷的桩；弦钮v.用夹子或钉子固定( peg的第三人称单数 )；使固定在某水平 | |
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13
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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abridgment
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| n.删节，节本 | |
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testament
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| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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16
parables
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| n.（圣经中的）寓言故事( parable的名词复数 ) | |
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17
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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18
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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19
apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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20
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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checkered
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| adj.有方格图案的 | |
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23
capes
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| 碎谷； 斗篷( cape的名词复数 )； 披肩； 海角； 岬 | |
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24
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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bonnets
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| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
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26
demure
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| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
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27
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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28
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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moles
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| 防波堤( mole的名词复数 )； 鼹鼠； 痣； 间谍 | |
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30
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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31
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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32
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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toad
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| n.蟾蜍，癞蛤蟆 | |
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outrageous
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| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
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psalms
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| n.赞美诗( psalm的名词复数 )；圣诗；圣歌；(中的) | |
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36
irreverence
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| n.不尊敬 | |
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37
accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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doting
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| adj.溺爱的，宠爱的 | |
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40
tunes
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| n.曲调，曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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41
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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42
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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43
pertinacity
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| n.执拗，顽固 | |
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44
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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45
bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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46
flute
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| n.长笛；v.吹笛 | |
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47
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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48
rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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