A Little World

“You’ve been there all the evening then?” said Mrs Jared.

“Ah! that we have, mum – ’leven of us, practising for Chrismus. We pulled grand-sire caters, ’sire tribbles, and s’perlative s’prise major. Never had a finer night, nor more beer up in my time.”

“But could you have heard the organ up in the belfry?” said Patty, who had been escorted home by Monsieur Canau quite late in the evening from the shadowed house in Decadia.

“Heard it! bless your ’art, yes, Miss, a rooring away sometimes loud enough to put yer out, and drown the one that leads and cries ‘go,’ when we makes the change, you know. That there organ ain’t blowed a note, nor there ain’t been no light in the church this side o’ eight o’clock. And besides, I seed the pleece a kickin’ and a cuffin’ of young Leathers for shyin’ snowballs at the busties.”

“Who?” exclaimed Mrs Jared and Patty in a breath.

“Young Charity, mum, young Ikey Gunnis. Howsomever, if it’s a coming to who’ll go, I’ll go, you know; but I’m afeard most of our chaps is about tight – just a little sunny, you know,” he added by way of explanation, “for the beer did run free to-night, and no mistake – and I hardly know who else to get, without it’s a pleeceman, and they’re so precious ’ficious. You see, people’s abed now; and I should ha’ been there myself if the young missus hadn’t come and roused me out. I was asleep aside the kitchen-fire when she come, for there was a sight o’ beer up the belfry to-night sewerly.”

“I still think that he must have gone to the vicar’s,” said Patty to her mother. “I knocked as loudly as I could at the church-door, and there seemed to be no one there.”

“Perhaps, after all, we had better wait another half-hour,” said Mrs Jared.

“Let me go with Mr Chawner,” said Patty, eagerly. “The Purkises may have come back now, and they would not mind giving us the keys. I dare say Mr Purkis would go with us, late as it is. He would have gone with me before, I am sure, had he been at home.”

“I don’t like disturbing people so late; but it makes me very uneasy. Do you think the little ones would be quiet while we both went?”

The suggestion now offered by Beaky Jem, that the governor might be “a bit on,” was, when interpreted, scouted with indignation; and it was at last determined that Patty should stay, while Mrs Jared and Beaky Jem went to Purkis’s for the keys, and then searched the church, with or without the beadle’s aid.

“Which he won’t turn out of his warm bed, bless you,” said Mr Chawner; “he’s too – ”

He did not finish his sentence, for as Mrs Jared, bonneted and shawled, stood with the others in the passage, there came a buzz of voices at the front door, and, directly after, a gentle double knock.

“There’s something wrong, Patty,” gasped Mrs Jared, holding her hand to her side, while the one apostrophised admitted Mr Timson, the vicar, and Purkis the beadle, all very muffled and snowy.

“Something struck me that you wouldn’t be in bed,” began Mr Timson; but he was stopped by the vicar, who brushed by him just in time to catch Mrs Jared as she was staggering to fall.

“Is – is he dead?” she gasped, recovering herself by a strong effort.

“Who? who?” exclaimed the vicar.

“My husband,” panted Mrs Jared.

“God forbid!” ejaculated the vicar, piously; “no, where is he?”

“He went out before six to the church, and he has not been back,” cried Patty, in agitated tones. “They were going now to search for him. Here – here he is!” she cried, as Jared made his appearance, pale and scared-looking, while Patty flung her arms round his neck.

“There, there, there! shut the door,” cried Timson, hastily; “it’s all right, it’s all right! And now, what do you want here, you sir? You’re one of the bell-ringers, ain’t you?”

“Right you are, sir,” said Beaky Jem, staring with all his eyes.

“Just so – just so. And now you’re not wanted, are you? No one wants you – eh? There then, take that, and be off.”

Mr Chawner took “that,” and went off – “that” wearing very much the appearance of a warm half-crown from Mr Timson’s pocket.

But before Mr Chawner was outside the door, he was muttering, “I knowed he was a bit on; but there was a sight o’ beer up our way to-night, sewerly.”

“We should have been here hours ago,” said the vicar, “but the train was stopped by the snow.”

“And he wouldn’t have come on till the morning, if it hadn’t been for me,” broke in Mr Timson.

“Let me speak, Timson – let me speak,” exclaimed the vicar.

“I won’t, I’m – blessed if I do,” exclaimed Timson, excitedly, altering the run of his sentence. “It was my doing, and Purkis’s here; and you know I made you come on to-night.”

The temperature was bitter, but upon Mr Purkis being referred to, he grunted as he stood behind the door busily wiping the perspiration from his head and neck.

“I won’t give up to nobody,” exclaimed Timson, pushing past one and then another into the little parlour, so that he might get to Jared.

“There, sir, – there, Mr Pellet! It’s all right, sir! – it’s all jolly, sir; and there’s my hand, – there it is. There’s both of them, sir, and hang the grammar. Shake hands, sir, – shake hands! There’s four honest hands together, and God bless you, sir!” and old Timson shook the tears into Jared’s eyes, while his own brimmed over from a different cause. “Now you may talk to him, sir,” said Timson, who, to further relieve his feelings, caught Patty in his arms and kissed her three times, – once on each cheek, and once upon her lips.

“I only meant one, my dear, but they were so good,” cried Timson, who seemed half mad, for he now shouted, “Hooray!” and tossed up his hat, kicking it, as it fell, right into the window, to the total destruction of the cracked pane of glass, with the dab of putty in the centre.

“I say, ‘Amen!’ to my eccentric friend Timson’s remark, Mr Pellet,” exclaimed the vicar, seizing the disengaged hands, and shaking them warmly. “Mr Pellet, sir, you have been an ill-used man, and I beg your pardon. The sinner is found. God bless you, Mr Pellet! I hope you forgive me.”

“O Mr Gray, sir! how could you suspect me?” cried Jared.

“Weakness, sir, weakness. I am but an erring man. We all err; and but for my faithful old friend Purkis, I should have gone on erring.”

Mr Purkis grunted again, and continued dabbing himself.

“He set me right,” continued the vicar, still shaking at the organist’s hands.

“And me,” broke in Timson. “I helped, to put him right. But there’s my hand, Mr Pellet – there it is, sir, and I’m glad to shake hands with you once more. I always wanted to; but I kept my hands to myself on principle, sir. But I always said it wasn’t you – I told him so, sir, scores of times, but he wouldn’t believe me.”

“O Timson, Timson!” said the vicar, reprovingly; “you know that you were one of the first to suspect him.”

“Well, how could I help it, when it looked so suspicious?” cried the churchwarden, fiercely. “Don’t get putting it all on my shoulders, John Gray – don’t, please.”

“Shake hands, Timson – shake hands; and let’s say fervently, ‘Thank God, it is all found out at last.’”

“So we will,” said Timson, “so we will; but really, you know,” he said, “if I had given my honest opinion – honest opinion you know,” and his eyes twinkled, – “I should have declared that it was that old rogue of a beadle of ours in the corner.”

Mr Purkis ceased his dabbing, and stared.

“But we could not afford to lose so great an ornament to our church, eh? Mr Gray, sir, eh?” he chuckled; and, by that time, Mr Purkis saw through the joke, and chuckled too, though he had at first thought it rather a serious matter.

Jared was too agitated and too unnerved with the proceedings of the past few hours to do more than shake hands again and again with his visitors. He wanted to tell them of his adventure at the church, but he could not speak; and besides, there were Mrs Jared and Patty looking perfectly astounded as they tried to interpret the meaning of the scene.

“There, there, there!” exclaimed the vicar, kindly, “It is late, and they want to be alone, Timson. Let us go, for you are such a boisterous youth. Let them be, Timson, and come away. But tell me first that you forgive me for my injustice, Mr Pellet.”

“Forgive you, sir!” said Jared, in a choking voice.

“There, there!” said the vicar, shaking hands again. “What does it all mean, Mrs Pellet? What! don’t you know? More reason for us to go. Come away, Timson, come away. There! you’ll wake the children,” he exclaimed, as a wail came from up-stairs. “Come away, and let Mr Pellet set the heart of his wife at rest. That’s right, Purkis, go first. We should not have been so late; but I was in the country when these two came down after me; and then the snow stopped us.”

“And he said it was too late to come on to-night,” cried Timson, again; “but I would have my way. There’s my hand, Mr Pellet, sir. There it is, and – there, I never felt happier in my life.” And to prove it, Timson made a charge at Patty, who escaped him, however, by running up to quiet the children, who were like skittles, and upsetting one another till there was quite a chorus.