Chapter 6

A VOTE OF CONFIDENCE.

"It must take it out of one dreadfully to be so terribly in earnest," said May Webster, softly stroking the pug dog that lay curled up in her lap.

"As who?" asked her mother, looking up from her writing.

"As Mr. Curzon; you might think his life depended on this school business. I really could not follow all he said this afternoon; but, apparently, he and Mr. Lessing have come to grief already about it. There's another earnest one--with this difference between them: that Mr. Curzon is earnest and agreeable, and Mr. Lessing earnest and disagreeable."

"He's more tiresome than disagreeable, May. I call it tiresome to live in a cottage instead of a house, and to keep his sister from church--I suppose that that is his doing,--and to upset us all when we are quiet and happy. He's paying such high wages, they say, to the men he has set at work over the drainage of some of his cottages, that I expect all our men will be asking us to raise theirs."

"I wonder which of them is right?" said May, returning to the subject of the schools.

"Mr. Curzon, of course; he's a clergyman, my dear!"

"Then you will go to the meeting to-night."

"You must be crazed, May, to think of such a thing. I go to a school meeting! If there is one type of woman I dislike more than another, it's the one to be found on platforms."

"I had not thought of you on a platform exactly. It only occurred to me that you would give Mr. Curzon your moral support, as your sympathies go with him. You carry weight, you see," which was true in more senses than one.

Mrs. Webster put the most favourable interpretation upon the phrase.

"Of course, if you really think it my duty, May," she said, softening visibly, "and would come with me----"

"Oh, I intend going anyhow," interposed May, carelessly.

"It's such a new departure for you to take a prominent part in parish things," exclaimed Mrs. Webster.

"Oh, parish has nothing to do with it! I'm going as a disinterested spectator to see the two earnest ones fight it out."

"My dear!" remonstrated her mother in a shocked tone.

"If I have a bias it's in favour of the rector. I don't pretend to understand the merits of voluntary versus board schools; but, as you say, a clergyman is always right--most probably Mr. Curzon's is the better cause, and most certainly he is the better man."

"Dear, dear; and we shall have to dine at seven, and keep as we are, I suppose?" with a glance at the stately folds of her brocade dress.

"Yes; we won't treat a school meeting like a theatre," said May, laughing. "Will it be considered unduly flippant on my part to go in this muslin? or ought I to wear black, as at a funeral?"

"It cannot signify in the least; a change of dress would not alter your flippant mind," replied her mother, with unusual smartness. "Dear Mr. Curzon has really convinced me that it is a most important subject, so I don't mind making a sacrifice for once in a way."

"By dining an hour earlier than usual and not changing your dress! All right, mother; I'll order the carriage for ten minutes to eight. We may as well be punctual."

The back benches of the schoolroom were crowded to overflowing when May and her mother entered that evening.

"It's very hot, May. I'm not sure that I can stay," said Mrs. Webster, pausing in the doorway.

"Oh yes, mother; we'll see it through to the bitter end," said May, in an undertone. "There are seats in the front."

Mrs. Webster picked her way daintily through the crowd, and Mr. Lessing, who was seated at the end of one of the desks, stood up to let her pass. May's skirt caught against a nail, as she followed, and Paul bent to set it free; but as May turned smiling to thank him, it gave her a faint shock of surprise to read the dislike that found expression in his eyes. Her smile faded, and she passed on her way with a haughty little bow.

"I wonder why he hates me? I am not aware that any man has ever viewed me with honest dislike before," she thought, as she took her seat by her mother.

Paul, on his side, was inspired with the same unwilling admiration and active irritation as on the occasion of their first meeting at Brussels. Beautiful she undoubtedly was; so beautiful that his eyes unconsciously followed her every movement. The cordial greeting she accorded the rector--so different from her bow to himself,--and the poise of her head, as she turned to look at the rows of expectant faces behind her, giving a smiling nod to Mrs. Macdonald, who, duly impressed with the gravity of the occasion, sat by the side of her John with her hands clasping a clean pocket-handkerchief as if she were at church. Paul tried to define the cause of his annoyance as he looked at her.

"It is the hard crust of indifference which society people cultivate to such perfection; it's the assurance which beauty assumes. She has come here most probably in search of a new sensation," he thought.

But the rector, who sat on a platform at the end of the room, with his two churchwardens, was already on his feet, and Paul pocketed his annoyance and settled himself to listen.

"My friends," he began, "we have met to-night to consider on what basis our school shall be carried on; whether at this crisis in school affairs, which demands an outlay of some seven or eight hundred pounds, the voluntary system shall be continued; or whether it shall be turned into a board school, paid for out of the rates, and managed by a committee chosen by the votes of the people. It is not a question that it has been necessary for us to discuss before. My people, I believe to a man, have been content to entrust the education of their children, the practical management of the school, to the churchwardens and myself, supporting us by their voluntary subscriptions; but a murmur has reached our ears that some of you are dissatisfied with this arrangement. My churchwardens and I feel reluctant to retain the management of the school unless fully assured that we are fulfilling the wishes of the majority of the people. You one and all know my views on this subject, and the principle that I believe to be involved in your decision. Whichever scheme is followed will mean a considerable outlay of money. It is for you to decide whether that money shall be exacted from you by rate, or whether it shall be given freely and liberally out of the means with which God has blessed you."

The rector closed with a request that any one wishing to address the meeting would come up to the platform, and, in answer to the challenge, Paul Lessing walked up the room and took his stand before the people. He was clever, and gifted with readiness of speech, but something in the audience baffled him; whether it was the stolid imperturbability of the faces in the back benches, or May Webster's half-amused, half-scornful smile just below him, he could not decide. But he pulled himself together, determining to state his case as shortly and clearly as he could.

He expressed no doubt that in times past the school had been well and ably managed; but he reminded them that Government had seen fit to place in their hands a power which the people in country places were slow to recognize: that of exercising a control over the education of their children. That all authority on a subject so important should be vested in the hands of two or three men of the same way of thinking, seemed to him, at the best, a one-sided arrangement; surely it was more just that a committee of men should be chosen by the votes of the people, and that every form of thought should find its exponent--thus keeping the balance of opinion even. Much more he said, and said it ably, ending with a strong appeal that each one there present, unbiassed by any cry of party, should think out this subject for themselves, and consider whether he was doing the best for the place in which he lived by saying, that what had been should be and could not be improved; or whether he would make use of that power vested in him by Government, and should decide to let his voice, in the education of the future generation, find expression in that great and powerful development of modern times, a School Board.

Allison, forgetful of his fears about rates, murmured "Ooray!" as the squire resumed his seat; and the rector, thanking the squire for his able expression of his views, asked if there were any one else who would give them the benefit of his opinion. There was a long silence. It was hoped that Allison would have something to say and one and another gave him a friendly nudge, but the blacksmith was too wise to commit himself; he halted between two opinions. But there was a murmur of astonishment as Macdonald rose and, supporting his burly form against the wall, cleared his throat, and began to speak a little huskily.

"No, thank you, sir," he said in answer to a nod from the rector to come up to the platform. "I ain't scholard enough to stand up there, but there's something I wants to say. The squire says as we should know our own minds, and I'd like to tell you what's mine. Who should have care of the children but the man who loves 'em like his own, who goes reg'lar to see after 'em every day whilst we goes to work, who teaches 'em to be good at school and to mind what their parents says at home, and wants 'em most of all to love their God? If we voted him out to-night we'd vote him in again to-morrow, and I'll give a pound to-night to show as I'm ready to bide by my words. That's all, gentlemen."

And Macdonald sat down with a very red face, which he promptly mopped with a redder pocket-handkerchief, whilst Mrs. Macdonald unfolded her clean one and wiped happy tears from her eyes. She dated every event in after life from the night when "my John" made his speech in the schoolroom. Its effect was electric, and roused the meeting to enthusiasm.

A vote of confidence in the present management was proposed and carried by an overwhelming majority, as seventy hands were counted in support of it, and only five were raised against it. The subscription list lay on the table, and not a few of the working-class, mindful of Macdonald's example came up to enter their names under his.

"I shall make my subscription a hundred pounds, May; I really shall," said Mrs. Webster, feeling that her moral support was taking substantial form. "Poor Mr. Curzon! I think Mr. Lessing's speech was very uncalled-for, and that old Macdonald really surprised me. I thought him a rude old man the only time I spoke to him, but to-night he was simply charming. I felt almost inclined to cry. I'm going to put down my name now. I wish Mr. Curzon to realize that I am on his side, whatever the squire may be;" and Mrs. Webster swept towards the platform.

Left to herself May stood and looked down the room which was emptying rapidly. The squire stood apart but, catching her eye, moved towards her with a slightly satirical smile.

"So you've lived it through, Miss Webster; you've faced the bitter end," he said, quoting her words.

"Yes; and I've not been bored at all," she answered, resenting his tone.

"You came to scoff, in fact, and you remained to pray."

"I came with an open mind, prepared to be converted by the best speaker, and I found him in Macdonald," said May, defiantly. "Henceforth I shall be an ardent supporter of the voluntary system."

Paul laughed. "Will your ardent support take tangible form like old Macdonald's?" he said. He spoke in pure jest, but May accepted his words literally and flushed a little. "It's a question that your very short acquaintance with me hardly justifies you in asking, does it?"

"Not in earnest, certainly; I spoke in the merest fun. If I vexed you, I apologize."

"You did vex me. It is the second time to-night that you have put yourself out of the way to say a disagreeable thing. People may think as many disagreeable things as they like, but they have no right to give expression to them."

"But now you are charging me with sins which I have not committed. I have not spoken to you for five minutes, and no other sentiment of mine, that I know of, needs a special apology."

"A look does! You looked cross as you stooped to unfasten my dress from that nail when I came into the room: it bored you to render me even that very slight service. Pray don't attempt to deny it! you possess the merit of being strictly truthful."

"Truthfully disagreeable apparently," said Paul, a little nettled.

"And now," said May, restored to perfect good-humour by having spoken out her mind, "the platform seems vacant; shall we go and consider that subscription list, or will it hurt your feelings?"

"Not the least. I've suffered defeat, but I was glad of the opportunity of speaking."

"Why?" asked May, as she mounted the platform.

"Because I have won four to my side; I made four people think."

"Then the people who followed Macdonald's lead, which includes myself, are credited with not having the capacity of thinking. That is your inference, is it not?" asked May, with a gay laugh.

"You have a sharp tongue, Miss Webster. All I hinted at was that country people are slow to exercise their individual judgment on any question. They follow each other like a flock of sheep."

"And aren't they wise to do it when they have so kind and good a shepherd?" with a glance at the rector's handsome head, as he stood at a little distance off, talking with a happy, radiant face to her mother. "I wish you would tell me what possible motive you had in trying to upset a man who lives in the hearts of his people."

Paul was interested in spite of himself, for he saw that May had passed from brilliant nonsense to earnestness.

"It was not the man I wished to upset--nobody can fail to appreciate his simple earnestness,--but it is his principle. And your very intolerance makes me feel that I was right to state the other side of the question."

"We won't quarrel any more; I'm tired of it," said May, with a quick change of mood. "Let us look at all the people who are ready to bide by their words, as Macdonald puts it."

The subscription list was headed by the rector with two hundred pounds.

"He's not a rich man," said May, pointing to the sum.

"And he can't be a poor one," retorted Paul.

May seated herself and toyed with the pen which lay upon the table.

"I'm in a difficulty; I want an opinion."

"Legal?" said Paul. "If so, I might help you.

"Moral rather."

"Oh, then it's a case for the man who lives in the hearts of his people. Shall I call him?"

"You are not keeping the peace. For want of a better adviser I'll put my difficulty before you."

"And I will give you my opinion for what it is worth; you need not act on it unless you like."

"Oh no, I shan't. Should you think it right for me to put my name down on this subscription list when I owe, I'm afraid to say how much, to my dressmaker?"

"At the risk of being told again that I'm truthfully disagreeable, I answer emphatically, No! I should call it a most immoral act."

"Well, I'm going to do it anyway, and the person who has influenced me is yourself. You implied that I was unwilling to pay for my convictions; and my dressmaker must wait."

And May dipped her pen in the ink and wrote her name boldly under her mother's.

"Don't do it!" pleaded Paul, hurriedly. "Can't you see that the dressmaker, who earns her money so hardly, and waits for it so long, has the first right to yours?"

"May!" called her mother. "Are you never coming? I can't be kept waiting all night."

May hesitated for a moment, and then, half ashamed of yielding to the man whose dislike of her was fast deepening into contempt, she dashed her pen through the name she had just written, bringing her hand, as she did so, into contact with the lamp upon the table. With a smothered exclamation Paul bent across her and tried to stay its fall, but he was not in time. With a crash it fell forwards breaking the bowl, and a trickling stream of blazing paraffin ran down May's muslin skirt, enveloping her in flame. A piercing shriek from the other end of the room showed that Mrs. Webster realized her daughter's peril, and the rector dashed forward to the rescue; but Paul had already torn his coat from his back, and was holding it closely upon the burning skirt.

"See to the platform! she's safe enough!" he shouted as the rector ran up; and, almost before May realized the extreme danger from which she had been delivered, she was lifted from the platform and laid very gently on the floor.

"What are you putting me on the floor for? I'm not going to faint," she said, with lips that trembled a little. "I'm all right. Don't let mother be frightened."

Paul could not but admire the girl's wonderful self-possession.

"And you are not burned? You are sure you are in no way hurt?"

"Thanks to your marvellous quickness, no," she answered.

But Mrs. Webster, tearful but thankful, was at hand, and Paul felt he could not do better than leave May in her mother's charge.

The rector, meanwhile, with one or two others, was successfully battling with the burning stream of paraffin; and in a few minutes all serious fear of a conflagration was over.

"Now we had better see the ladies to their carriage," he said turning to Paul. But already they had taken their departure. "We can't be too thankful for such a narrow escape. The platform looked all on fire when Mrs. Webster's scream made me turn round. Can you tell me how it happened?"

"I think Miss Webster caught the lamp with her hand as she got up from the table. She had been reading the subscription list."

"Which reminds me that the list is burned to a cinder. But it does not signify; people will remember their promises," said Mr. Curzon.

"And nobody but myself will know that May Webster put down her name and scratched it out at my request," thought Paul, not a little proud of his moral victory over the haughty young woman.

"Well, I think everything is safe here; we may be going home. I want to get back before my little Kitty gets news of the fire, or she will worry herself into a fever. Late as it is, though, I must run up to the Court."

"Why?" Paul inquired. "We know that Miss Webster is safe."

"She might wish to see me," replied the rector, simply. "And if she does, she shall have the chance."

"Then I'll leave word at the rectory that you are all right, in case Kitty is awake," said Paul, rather shortly.

May, from her couch in her dressing-room heard the rector's cheery voice in the hall below asking after her.

"That's Mr. Curzon, Lancaster; run and ask him to come up and see me for a moment," she said to her maid.

In another moment he entered, followed by her mother.

"Oh, my darling, you are not ill? Have you been burned and not told me of it?" she gasped in terror.

"Oh no, mother," said May, trying to smile; "but it's just because I'm not burned, nor scared, nor horrible to look at, that I want Mr. Curzon. I want--I want----" And then May's high courage gave way, and she burst into tears.

"Let us pray," said the rector, quietly. And he and May's mother knelt down by the side of May's couch together.

When he rose up from his knees May's tears had ceased.