So different was the taste and feeling of those days that, though Poppleby Church was a very fine old one-in grand architecture, such as in these days is considered one of the glories of the country-no one thought of going to look at it, and the effect of Mr Grantley's excellent sermons had been the putting up of a new gallery right across the chancel arch.
It had a fine tower and steeple, and this Dora thought of as a delightful subject for a sketch from the Parsonage garden. She made great friends with Lucy Grantley, the eldest daughter, over their tastes in drawing, as well as in the Waverley novels and in poetry, and was invited to spend a long day at Poppleby and take a portrait of the steeple.
After the calls had been made and returned, began the dinner-parties. Elmour Priory was so near Greenhow that it would have been easy to walk there across the fields, or to drive in the phaeton, especially as the hours were much earlier, and six or half-past was held to be a late dinner hour, but this would have been contrary to etiquette, especially the first time, with people who evidently thought much of 'style,' and the Carbonels were not superior to such considerations, which were-or were supposed to be-of more importance in those days. So a chaise was ordered, and they went in state, and had a long, dull evening, chiefly enlivened by the Miss Selbys and Dora playing on the piano.
As they were going home, all round by the road, when they were near the top of the hill, before they came to the 'Fox and Hounds,' the postilion first shouted and then came to a sudden stop. The captain, putting his head out at the window, saw by the faint light of a young moon, going down in the remains of sunset, that he was jumping off his horse, growling and swearing, but under his breath, when the captain sprang out. A woman was lying across the road, and had barely escaped being run over. Mary and Dora were both out in a moment.
'Poor thing, poor thing! Is it a fit? She is quite insensible.'
'A fit of a certain kind,' said the captain, who was dragging her into the hedge, while the post-boy held the horses. 'Go back, Mary, Dora!'
'It is Nanny Barton!' said Dora in horror.
Mary took down one of the carriage lamps and held it to the face. 'Yes, it is!' said she. 'Can't we take her home, or do anything?'
'No, no; nonsense!' said Edmund. 'Don't come near, don't touch her. Don't you see, she is simply dead drunk.'
'But we can't leave her here.'
'The best thing to do! Yes, it is; but we will stop at the `Fox and Hounds,' if that will satisfy you, and send some one out to see after her.'
They were obliged to be satisfied, for the tones were authoritative, and they had to accept his assurance that the woman was in no state for them to meddle with. She would come to no harm, he said, when he had put her on the bank, and it was only to pacify them that he caused the postilion to stop at the public-house, whence roaring, singing, and shouts proceeded. The landlord came out, supposing it was some new arrival, and when Captain Carbonel jumped out, and, speaking severely, desired that some one would go to look after the woman, who was lying in the road, and whom the horses had almost run over, he answered as if he had been doing the most natural and correct thing in the world.
'Yes, sir; I had just sent her home. They had been treating of her, and she had had a drop too much. She wasn't in a proper state.'
'Proper state! No! I should think not! It is a regular shame and disgrace that you should encourage such goings on! Where's the woman's husband? Has no one got the humanity to come and take her home?'
Oldfellow called gruffly to some of the troop, who came reeling out to the door, and told them it was time to be off, and that some one, 'You Tirzah had best see to that there Barton 'oman.'
Captain Carbonel wished to keep his ladies from the sight, but they were watching eagerly, and could not help seeing that it was Tirzah Todd, more gipsy-looking than ever, who came out. Not, however, walking as if intoxicated, and quite able to comprehend Captain Carbonel's brief explanation where to find her companion.
'Ah, poor Nanny!' she said cheerfully. 'She's got no head! A drop is too much for her.'
The chaise door was shut, and they went on, Dora and Mary shocked infinitely, and hardly able to speak of what they had seen.
And they did not feel any happier when the next day, as Mary was feeding the chickens, Nanny came up to her, curtseying and civil.
'Please, ma'am, I'm much obliged to you for seeing to me last night. I just went in to see if my husband was there, as was gone to Poppleby with some sheep, and they treated me, ma'am. And that there Tirzah and Bet Bracken, they was a-singing songs, as it was a shame to hear, so I ups and rebukes them, and she flies at me like a catamount, ma'am; and then Mr Oldfellow, he puts me out, ma'am, as was doing no harms as innocent as a lamb.'
'Well,' said Mrs Carbonel, 'it was no place for any woman to be in, and we were grieved, I cannot tell you how much, that you should be there. You had better take care; you know drunkenness is a really wicked sin in God's sight.'
'Only a little overtaken-went to see for my husband,' muttered Nanny. 'I didn't take nigh so much as that there Tirzah Todd, that is there with Bet Bracken every night of her life, to sing-'
'Never mind other people. Their doing wrong doesn't make you right.'
'Only a drop,' argued Nanny. 'And that there Tirzah and Bet-'
Mary was resolved against hearing any more against Tirzah and Bet, and actually shut herself into the granary till Nanny was gone. And there she sat down on a sack of peas and fairly cried at the thought of the sin and ignorant unconsciousness of evil all round her. And then she prayed a little prayer for help and wisdom for these poor people and themselves. Then she felt cheered up and hopeful.
CHAPTER SEVEN. SUNDAY SCHOOL.
'She hastens to the Sunday School.'
Captain Carbonel had written to the President of Saint Cyril's, and at once obtained his willing consent to the ladies attempting to form a little Sunday School. Dr Fogram said that he should come down himself on July 21, and should be very glad to take counsel with the Carbonels on the state of Uphill. He would be glad to assist if any outlay were needed.
The sisters were in high spirits. The only place they could find for the purpose was the wash-house and laundry. Once in five weeks two women, in high white muslin caps and checked aprons, of whom Betsy Seddon was one, Betty Pucklechurch the other, came to assist the maids in getting up the family linen-a tremendous piece of work. A tub was set on the Saturday, with ashes placed in a canvas bag on a frame above; water was poured on it, and ran through, so as to be fitted for the operations which began at five o'clock in the morning, and absorbed all the women of the establishment, and even old Pucklechurch, who was called on to turn the mangle.
Except during this formidable week, the wash-house and laundry were empty, and hither were invited the children. About twenty, of all ages, came-the boys in smocks, the girls in print frocks and pinafores, one in her mother's black bonnet, others in coarse straw or sun-bonnets. All had shoes of some sort, but few had stockings, though the long frocks concealed the deficiencies, and some wore stocking-legs without feet.
They made very low bows, or pulled their forelocks, most grinned and looked sheepish, and a very little one began to cry. It did not seem very promising, but Mary and Dora began by asking all their names, and saying they hoped to be better friends. They, for the most part, knew nothing, with the exception of George Hewlett's two eldest, Bessie Mole's girls, and one sharp boy of Dan Hewlett's, also the Pucklechurch grandchildren; but even these had very dim notions, and nobody but the Hewletts could tell a word of the Catechism.
To teach them the small commencement of doctrine comprised in the earliest pages of 'First Truths' was all that could be attempted, as well as telling them a Bible story, to which the few intelligent ones listened with pleasure, and Johnnie Hewlett showed that he had already heard it-'from aunt,' he said. He was a sickly, quiet- looking boy, very different from his younger brother, Jem, who had organised a revolt among the general multitude before long. None of these had enough civilisation to listen or be attentive for five minutes together, and when Mrs Carbonel looked round on hearing a howl, there was a pitched battle going on between Jem and Lizzie Seddon over her little sister, who had been bribed into coming with a lump of gingerbread, which the boy was abstracting. He had been worked up enough even to lose his awe of the ladies, and to kick and struggle when Dora, somewhat
