A queen of England once said, when she signed an important document, that then she learned for the first time that the laws of men were very different from the laws of God.…
The spring had become summer, and Mr. Hayhoe had not lived in Dodder for many weeks before he learned that the will of Lord Bullman towards his dependants and the will of God Almighty to his human family were not very closely connected. Nor was the conduct of these two noble ones—though Mr. Titball considered the one as good as the other—always similar in purpose.
Upon some points, however, their united outlook may be observed to be the same, for it is said of the Almighty that to Him all the nations of the earth, except that which is His chosen, are as nothing, and Lord Bullman regarded himself as being just as superior to all others of the Children of Adam.
God enjoys goodness, Lord Bullman liked his own way, and Mr. Hayhoe was always fond of dripping.
Ever since Mr. Hayhoe had been a little boy he had liked dripping, preferring it, with pepper and salt, to the best butter. But he never troubled himself to learn what dripping was or where it came from. Had any one asked him this question, he would have replied innocently that he believed dripping was a kind of soft paste made of boiled beans.
Had he been laughed at for saying so, Mr. Hayhoe would not have been in the least surprised. He had always regarded himself as a very stupid man. To him the greatest wonder of his life had been that he had managed to pass his final examination at a Theological College; and, indeed, it was only a huge love of the Gospels that could ever have made him get a little Greek—enough to satisfy the examiners that he could pray with a sinner. But, though no one could have been more astonished than Mr. Hayhoe was when he got through, yet had he but known how the Bishop of Sarum revered him when he read his papers, and indeed no truly pious examiner could have done otherwise, he would have been more astonished than ever.
Mr. Hayhoe had ridden an Ass, then a Mule, then an Ass again. He had been a curate, then a vicar, then a curate again. When he was the vicar of Maids Madder, he bought golden ware for the Holy Altar. This purchase ruined him. He had given all to God, and his creditors—having such a good example to follow—took all from him. Becoming a bankrupt, he was forced to leave his living, for he was troubled at what people said about him, and became a curate again, doing casual duty—and so came to be employed at Dodder.
He lodged at Shelton, where his son died. One day, looking out of his window, he saw Farmer Lord’s great bull—tied by ropes—being led by to market. The huge beast, that every one said was extremely fierce and terrible, looked as docile as a lamb.
This sight gave Mr. Hayhoe courage; he decided to go the next day and ask Lord Bullman for the living of Dodder. He went bravely and, finding my lord busy about a gate, he opened it for him, and was promised the living as a reward.
Though hardly a moment passed without Mr. Hayhoe thinking happily that Dodder was his own, yet Lord Bullman—as soon as he had given him the living—forgot all about his promise. He had his wife and the gout, and they were enough for him to think of.
These two often troubled him, and there were other things that troubled him too. His first disappointment came when he married. Before that day, he had always been given the rightful honour that he knew he deserved. But his wife, alas, gave him no honour at all; she thought him a great fool. She had promised to obey him and she never did so. She taught her children to laugh at him when he told fine tales at breakfast.
He had to submit to such treatment, but he did not enjoy it. Whenever he went to bed, he told himself that the laws of the country were sadly out of order. He was deprived of his rights; he could not even run into his own kitchen and cry “privilege!”
But for all that, Lord Bullman had much to boast of, while Mr. Hayhoe had not anything. Christ, perhaps—but what coat of arms had ever Jesus to wear? When was He seen, oddly dressed, upon a first of September, striding, with a couple of spaniels at his heels, after the partridges? Did He ever lord it finely over His brother magistrates at the Quarter Sessions, or cough and guffaw as He stept out of a great car at the hustings?
Mr. Hayhoe was peculiar. Besides honouring Jesus and eating dripping for breakfast, he loved his wife. And Priscilla loved him too.
At breakfast a good man is generally hungry; when he sees the table laid, he is glad. When there is toast, he knows that his wife is a kind woman. If the tea tastes pleasantly, he knows that God loves him. The last supper upon the earth is always a sad meal; the first breakfast in Heaven will be happier.
At breakfast a good man is pleased, but a son of Belial is plagued and tormented. Because he does not know where true joy is to be found, he has no proper appetite. He cannot eat even little trout patiently. He is afraid of the bones; he is troubled by God. He moves his legs uneasily, and exclaims that the coffee is burnt. He smells the bread and finds it musty. He looks for a cigarette, but God has hidden the packet. He sits down again, catches his coat in the chair, and bursts a button. His mind is troubled by his sins: there is a dead bee in the honeycomb.
Within Mr. Hayhoe all was well; it was only from without that he was sometimes a little tormented. The Manor Farm was near the church, and the church was near the Vicarage. Sometimes at breakfast Mr. Hayhoe would hear the ugly growl of Mr. Mere’s fierce dog, coming from the farmer’s yard. That sound proved only too surely that there was evil in the world—cruelty. The dog had a nasty bark. One day, Mr. Hayhoe thought, it would do some one a mischief.
If the farmer saw a trespasser in his fields, he would send the dog after him. Once Mr. Hayhoe heard the farmer shout at his dog and send him after John Death, who had walked into Grange Mead, looking for his parchment.
Mr. Hayhoe, who feared for his friend, hastily put on his boots, without tying the laces, and hurried off to the field to prevent John being bitten. He never thought for one moment that the dog might bite him instead of John. He climbed the gate into the field—and stopped suddenly. The dog was near to Death, but did not touch him; it only raised its nose in the air and howled dismally. Then the beast cowered down, turned, and ran off.…
Priscilla Hayhoe liked strong tea, but she knew that she ought never to make the tea strong, because of the extravagance. If she ever put an extra spoonful into the pot, something unlucky always happened. After such an act a sure retribution would follow.
But, even with this knowledge, Mrs. Hayhoe would sometimes pop in an extra spoonful. When she did so, she blushed and tried to hide from her sin. In order that the black look of her tea might not accuse her, she put more milk into her cup. Or else she tried to pretend that by long standing the tea had become a very dark colour. She would wonder if Mr. Hayhoe had seen. She believed that he knew all her funny ways, and yet in reality he knew none of them.
One morning Mr. Hayhoe was eating his bread and dripping with a good appetite, and Priscilla had put in one more spoonful of tea than usual, when the postman came.
Priscilla went to open the door to him. He was an old postman; his name was Mr. Potter, and he was a loyal churchman. He looked at Priscilla with concern, as though he knew the contents of the letter that he handed to her. Priscilla gave the letter to her husband, who read it at once,
Though the letter only came from the agent’s office, there was printed upon the envelope the Bullman arms. The letter was from Mr. Pix, who demanded that old Huddy, together with his two daughters, should be turned into the road. The cottage belonged to the glebe, and Mr. Huddy, who had once been gardener, rented it off the incumbent. Mr. Hayhoe had never received any rent, and he had never asked for any.
Certain persons in Dodder had hinted that there might be a reason for this leniency. But the truth of the matter was that Mr. Hayhoe had often paid rent himself, and knew how unpleasant it was to part with his money to a landlord. There was another reason, too, that prevented him from accepting what was due to him; he feared that some of the money might be the wages of sin.
According to law, the Huddys need not go, but a law, made in London, does not always reach country places. A new-made law is a bad traveller; it stays a while to drink with the Mayor of Maidenbridge, and forgets the villages. In country places the powers that rule have older manners.
Lord Bullman expected his orders to be obeyed. And this time he gave a reason. “Daisy Huddy,” wrote Mr. Pix, “is known to be a whore”—Mr. Pix underlined the word in red ink—“and she even hangs a scarlet thread out of her window as a sign of her trade.”
Mr. Hayhoe sighed deeply and finished his bread and dripping. Priscilla sighed too, and, looked at the teapot. She wished that God wasn’t quite so quick to notice little faults. She knew she had done wrong; she ought never to have smelt the tea in the caddy, for it was the scent of the tea that had tempted her to put in more. She knew it was all her fault that the letter had come.
“Alas!” cried Mr. Hayhoe, rising and looking out through the open window into the garden, “what good do these sweet summer airs do to unforgiving men? The hearts of men are exactly the same in these kind, warm days as they are in the coldest winter ones. To see before him a field of buttercups cannot melt the heart of a Lord Bullman.”
“But it may soften him,” suggested Priscilla.
“Alas!” exclaimed Mr. Hayhoe, “what has Daisy done, what has Winnie done, to be turned into the road? In order to earn a little money Daisy has sinned deeply, though every one says that it is only a very little money that Mr. Mere gives her. Daisy once served at Lord Bullman’s mansion. What did she learn there? But all this trouble has come because I read to her the book of Joshua. So it is I that am to blame.”
“Mrs. Moggs did hint to me yesterday that you had something to do with it,” observed Priscilla innocently.
“Ought I to obey Lord Bullman?” cried Mr. Hayhoe. “Wouldn’t it do better service for God, to allow Daisy to stay where she is, to forget the Bible, and to learn a new and more chaste manner of earning her living?
“My dear,” said Mr. Hayhoe, who was very much troubled, “surely I cannot obey my lord in this matter. I am aware that, as the lay rector here, he is in authority over me.”
“Ask God what you had better do,” said Priscilla.
Mr. Hayhoe knelt, with his head near to the unlucky teapot, and closed his eyes. He remained thus for ten minutes. Then he arose and looked for a sign.
Beside the dripping-pot, there lay a dainty, white flower. What God had placed near to him, it was not for Lord Bullman to send away.
“Though Mr. Titball may not think so,” cried Mr. Hayhoe, “there is One above Who is greater than a baron.”
“There is, indeed,” said Mrs. Hayhoe, softly putting the tea-caddy away, “and I am sure you are right in keeping the Huddys near to you. As Daisy is a sinner, she is in the greater need of our care and assistance. Were she sent out of her home, she might find a worse; and there is no village in the world as good as Dodder for hemming a nightgown.”
“And none better,” cried Mr. Hayhoe, “for reading Pride and Prejudice aloud. I will begin this evening.”
“And I,” said Priscilla, gladly, “will find a sheet for Daisy to darn.”