The Devil's Garden by W. B. Maxwell

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He stood calmly surveying the tremendous pageant, and thought in each
roar and crash: "This must be the climax."

That last flash had crimson streamers, and it swamped the road with
violet waves. The fury and the splendor of the thing was overwhelming.
Was it brought about by Nature's forces or God's machinery?
Titanic--like a struggle between the divine and the evil power--some
fresh rebellion of Satan just reported up there, and God, rightly
indignant, giving the devil what for--or God angry with _man_! Very
magnificent, whatever way you regarded it.

The worst was over, and gradually the storm began to roll away.
Holding his hands high above his head, he felt the rain-drops beat
upon them, saw the lightning soften and grow pale, heard the thunder
booming more gently, grumbling, whispering--as if it had been the
voice of the Maker of heaven and earth, murmuring in sleep.

Such a storm had naturally disturbed everything. Mavis and Norah were
trembling on the lamplit threshold; horses rattled their head-stalls
and stamped in the stables; even the bees were frightened in their
hives. And a cock, thinking that so much light and noise must mean
morning, had begun to crow hours before the proper time.

Dale, listening to the cock's crow while he told Mavis he was safe and
sound, thought of Peter, the well-meaning man who wanted to believe
but could not always do so.

XX

When the time came for Dale to be baptized Mr. Osborn offered to
perform the ceremony at dawn in the stream that runs through Hadleigh
Wood; but Dale refused the offer. He said he would much prefer to have
it done within four walls, in the evening, at what he supposed to be
the usual place, the chapel. He added an expression of the hope that
there would not be many people there.

"There would only be a few of ourselves, true-hearted ones, in either
event," said Mr. Osborn; "and out of doors is not unusual. I did it
that way for George Hitching a year ago. We took him down to Kib Pool,
and waited till the sun rose. Then in he went."

And without urging Dale to change his mind, Mr. Osborn in a few words
touched off the beauty of this baptismal scene. He described how the
dew was like diamonds on the grass, and they stood all among the
shadows, and the rising sun seemed to touch George Hitching's head
before it touched anything else. "Then we and the birds began to sing
together. I promise you it was uncommonly pretty, as well as very
moving."

Nevertheless, Dale remained quite firm. That idea of Hadleigh Wood at
dawn held no attraction for him.

So far he had said nothing of all this to Mavis, but now one night
after supper he broached the subject. He had laid down his knife and
fork, and she had brought him the tobacco jar. He sat filling his pipe
slowly, and then instead of lighting it he put it meditatively aside.

"Mavis, something has happened which will probably surprise you. I
have found religion again."

"Oh, Will, I am glad."

Mavis was delighted; but when he told her that he was about to join
the Baptists she did not feel so well pleased. She scarcely knew what
to say. Why should he want to take the creed of dissenters, of quite
common people? It was all very well for farm-laborers, sempstresses,
and servants; but it did not seem good enough for her Will. Socially
it was without doubt a retrograde step; and nowadays, when he got on
capitally with the best of the gentlefolk, when they were all jolly
and nice to him, it did seem a pity to go and mix himself up with a
pack of ignorant underlings. The gentry, who of course all belonged to
the Church of England, would not like it any better than she herself.

Moreover, that notion of total immersion was extremely repugnant to
her. A grown-up person, an important person, a member of the District
Council, splashing about in a tank! She asked him many questions
concerning the baptism itself, and he told her all that he knew about
it. He did not tell her, however, of Mr. Osborn's proposal that the
immersion should occur in the wood-stream.

"What took your fancy, Will dear, with Mr. Osborn's teaching more than
anybody else's?"

Then he told her all that Mr. Osborn had said of the fatherly
attributes of God, of the fact that men were veritably His children,
and that for communion with God one must be as a child approaching a
father.

"Yes, dear, I'm sure that's true. But Mr. Norton would say just the
same."

"He never _has_ said it, Mav. That is, I never heard him say it."

"Perhaps in those days you didn't note his words. I'm not arguing,
dear. You must do whatever you judge right, and it will be right for
me--if once you've done it. Only I do assure you what you repeated is
altogether Church of England; and I feel certain Mr. Norton must have
said it times and often."

"Then perhaps he hasn't said it quite in the same way."

When the evening arrived Mavis asked if she might come to the chapel,
but he said "No." Her presence would distract his thoughts.

"Very well, dear, I'll stay here. I shall say a prayer for you. I may
do that?"

"Yes, please do that."

Throughout the ceremony, and afterward, he was very grave and
dignified, plainly taking the whole matter with the most profound
seriousness. He was silent and solemn throughout the rest of the
evening; but he slept extraordinarily well at night. There were no
dreams, no disturbances of any kind. He lay motionless, sleeping as
peacefully as a little child.

Tender thoughts filled the mind of his wife as she watched him. She
thought of the ugly chapel, those stupid illiterate people, the dark
water, the splashing and the noise; the clumsy absurdness of the whole
rite; and yet, in spite of everything, she now felt the essential
beauty of the idea itself. It seemed to her most beautiful when
applied to this particular case--the strong brave man who in spirit
and heart has made himself simple and guileless as a child, to be
taken back to the Eternal Father of all children.

XXI

Outwardly his religion sat lightly on him, but inwardly it was solid
and real. He took to reading aloud one chapter of the Gospel every
night, and soon made a habit of adding a brief extempore prayer for
the benefit of Mary, Norah Veale, and Mrs. Goudie, who regularly came
from the kitchen to hear him. His reading and praying formed, of
course, a marked innovation; but beyond it there were very few
perceptible changes that could be traced to the fresh phase of mind
into which he had now entered. And these few changes were traced or
perceived by only one person, his wife.

Mavis saw with satisfaction that the gentlefolk did not seemed to be
huffed. Orders came in from several of those old-fashioned people who
had hitherto held aloof, but who perhaps were at present generous
enough to think that if you don't go to church, the next best thing is
to go to chapel. The Baptists were not therefore standing in his way:
they had caused no check to his success.

He bought all the corn and hay which the neighboring farms could spare
to sell, so that what others had grown and cut for miles round was
carted straight into his rick-yard. During the hay harvest he appeared
especially grand, riding about the fields on his horse, grave and
watchful, really like a prince with vassals hard at work for him as
far as the eye could see. On the last day he entertained the farmers
to dinner in the best parlor, and afterward they all stood in the
front garden, smoking cigars and praising Mrs. Dale's roses and
carnations.

Mavis too gave parties; but she as a rule exercised her hospitality at
the back of the house, where the little court and the petitioners'
bench near the kitchen door were more fully occupied than ever. Here
took place the annual summer tea-party for the cottage women, when
Mavis was quite like some squire's wife, being courtesied to,
receiving votes of thanks, and taking innocent pleasure in the
proudness of her position. A far bigger and more difficult affair was
when she invited all the children from the Orphanage. Long trestle
tables for the girls were set out on the grass paths of the kitchen
garden, with a separate and more stately table for the matrons and
governesses; urns had been borrowed, seats hired, mountains of food
and fruit got ready; and nevertheless the heart of Mavis almost failed
her when the two-and-two procession of blue-coated orphans began to
arrive. It seemed endless, an army, and she felt that she had
attempted something too big for her resources. However, everything
went off splendidly. The orphans whooped for joy as they broke their
formation and spread out, through the garden, far into the meadows.
Out there they looked like large bluebells; and at tea, when their
cloaks had been removed and their brown frocks showed, they looked
like locusts. Locusts could scarcely have eaten more. After tea Dale's
men came from the yard and brought the piano out of the house, and
Mrs. Dale played with stiff fingers while Norah Veale, Rachel, and the
orphans danced on the flags and up and down the grass paths. The poor
little orphans stayed late, and left regretfully. They said it had
been the treat of their lives.

But the most interesting party and the one that Mavis enjoyed most
came upon her unexpectedly.

One week Mr. Druitt the higgler failed to pay his usual visit, and
there was conjecture in the Vine-Pits kitchen as to the reason of his
absence. He had never before allowed a week to pass without a call.
Mavis asked Mary if he had written to her explaining his absence; and
Mary said no, and that she felt very anxious.

But next week he turned up, gay, jovial, looking ten years younger. He
stood just inside the kitchen door, smiled at all, and winked most
archly at Mary.

"See this, Mary?" And he pointed to the band of black crape on his
arm. "Know what that means, Mary?" Then he turned to Mavis. "I call
her Mary now, because I can do it with a clear conscience, ma'am. I
buried Mrs. Druitt yesterday."

This meant a marriage feast for Mary; nor would the higgler permit of
the least delay in its preparation. He was ardent to taste the
felicity that had been so long postponed, and refused to listen to any
appeals that might be addressed to his sense of propriety, the respect
due to the departed, and so forth. Dale, inclined to say he would not
put up with Druitt's nonsense, was overborne; chiefly because Mary,
having been greatly scared by a facetious remark of her lover, at once
took his part in the dispute. He had said, when she pleaded with him
for a reasonable breathing-space, that he knew of as many other
red-cheeked maids as there were morris-apples at akering-time. Mary
then bustled with her trousseau, of which the cost was defrayed by the
Dales.

The charm of that party was its homelike, almost patriarchal
character. A Saturday had been chosen to suit everybody's convenience,
and the fickle June weather was kind to them. One long table was set
out on the flags, in the shade of the house wall, close to the kitchen
and the hot dishes; and the meal, which was substantial and lavish,
lasted from about half-past three till five o'clock. Dale sat at the
head of the table with his wife and the newly married couple; then
there were a coachman and his daughter, and the higgler's best man;
then Norah Veale and the children, and further off Mrs. Goudie, the
dairymaid, and all the men from the yard. Mr. Bates had been asked,
but he would not come. Abe Veale came unasked, to Nora's shame and
indignation.

"I thought," he said, "as Norrer's true farder, and owing my life to
him who is her adapted farder, and so well beknown to Miss Parsons,
that I wouldn't be otherwise than welcome."

"You are welcome," said Dale quietly. "Be seated." And Norah felt
intensely grateful to Dale and intensely disgusted with her parent.

They ate and drank and laughed; and Norah was sweet with the children,
taking them away before they had gorged themselves. Outside the shadow
of the wall one had the vivid beauty of flowers, the perfume of fruit,
and the lively play of the sunlight; with glimpses through the foliage
of smooth meadow, sloped arable, and distant heath; the firm ground
beneath them, the open sky above them, and all around them the
contented atmosphere of home. All these things together confirmed
Mavis in the feeling that she had reached the apotheosis of her
party-giving.

At the bottom of the table there was of course slight excess. The fun
down there became rather broad. And old Mrs. Goudie made jokes which
she reserved solely for weddings, and which she had better have kept
to herself even then.

Dale proposed the bride's health, and spoke in the dignified easy
style of a man who is accustomed to addressing large audiences, but
who is tactfully able to reduce the compass of his voice and the
weight of his manner for friendly informal gatherings. He was only
heavy--and not a bit too heavy--when he thanked Mary for the kindness
she had always shown to him and his. Then he pointed to the gold
locket that was his wedding present, and said that when she wore that
round her neck, as she was wearing it now, "it reposed on a loyal,
faithful heart." This caused Mary to weep.

The opening of the higgler's speech was in deplorable taste--all about
widowers making the best husbands. He said, "Widowers know what to
expect; so they ain't disappointed. And if they've suffered in their
first venture, it's an easy job for Number Two to please 'em;" and he
winked to right and left. Mavis and Dale were looking uncomfortable.
Fortunately, however, the speech improved toward the end of it.

"All I ask of Mary is to look nice--and that she can't help doing,
bless her bonny face; to speak nice--and that she can do if she tries,
and copies Mrs. Dale; and to act nice--and in that she'll have an
example under her eyes, for I mean to act uncommon nice to her."

When, winking and bowing, he resumed his seat by Mary's side, the
applause from the bottom of the table was vociferous. "Brayvo. He hev
a said it smart. Never 'eard it better worded. Well done, Mr. Druitt."

Half the flowers had lost their color in the extending shadow of the
house before Mr. and Mrs. Druitt drove away. The higgler's pony
groaned between the shafts of a cart that was much too big for him;
rice and old shoes struck the wheels; Mrs. Goudie made her last joke;
the men at the yard gate shouted; Norah and the children ran a little
way along the road--and then the party was over.

After a few days Mr. Druitt called exactly as usual to offer good
bacon. "Mornin', ma'am. Mary sends her love, and the message that
she's as happy as the day is long."

"And I hope," said Mavis, "that you are happy too, Mr. Druitt."

"Mrs. Dale," he said, "I don't reco'nize myself. When I think of the
past and the present--"

Mavis stopped him. He was of course going to disparage Number One, and
she felt that to be so horrid of him.

XXII

The new housemaid was adequately filling Mary's place, and life at
Vine-Pits as of old ran smoothly on. With increasing means the Dales
still refrained from frivolous additions to household expenditure.
Neither craved for further pomp or luxury; both took pleasure in
amassing rather than in squandering.

To get up early, work hard, and go to bed thoroughly tired--all this
Mavis took for granted as a correct and undeviating program for one's
days. Indeed in her complete satisfaction she tended naturally to a
mental attitude that was taking for granted all phenomena, whether
objective or subjective. The visible comforts of her home, the love of
her husband, the bliss of being the mother of two perfect children,
together with her contented thoughts in relation to each and all of
these matters, were accepted as so intimately connected with the prime
fact of her existence itself that no fear of possible disturbance or
cessation ever troubled her. She no more thought of a break in the
grand routine of placid joy than she thought of leaving off the
process by which she filled and emptied her lungs when breathing.

As perhaps is usual with the majority of successful people, she never
considered whether the hour had not come for diminishing the effort
that was producing the success. They had fixed no goal which when
reached should be a resting-place as well as a winning-post.

They were working for the future. The money they earned was for then,
and not for now. But she very rarely thought of this remote period;
and when she did, it was with absolute vagueness. A lot of money would
be required for the children; and eventually she and Will would be
old, feeble, unable to go on working, and then a modest amount of
money would be required for themselves.

Always in her early dreams of affluence she had pictured holidays, the
excitement of traveling, and rapid changes of scene; yet, although
since they first came to Vine-Pits they had not been away for a single
staying holiday, she had no sense of missing something that might have
been enjoyed. It would be absurd to drag Dale away from home while he
was so busy. For herself it seemed quite sufficient change and
excitement to drive over to Old Manninglea for an afternoon's severe
shopping about six times a year.

Now, of a sudden, Dale himself offered to give her a day out at the
very first opportunity. Little Rachel had never seen the sea, and
expressed a strong desire to look upon the wonders of the deep; so
daddy promised to take her and her mother to Rodhaven Pier directly he
was free enough to do so. In the end he chose a Sunday for this treat,
saying that the better the day the better the deed.

He came out of chapel before the sermon; they dined at noon, and
started in good time to catch the train at Rodchurch Road. At the
moment of departure, when the horse and wagonette stood ready, and
Dale in his silk hat, black coat, and dogskin gloves was about to
mount the box-seat, the boy Billy began to howl most pitifully because
he was being left behind. Mavis, whose heartstrings were torn by the
sight of her angel's tears and the sound of his yells, looked at Dale
appealingly.

"All right," said Dale. "Will you behave yourself, Billy, if we take
you?"

But this meant taking Norah too, because obviously Mavis could not
manage both children unaided.

"Norah," said Dale, impressively, "I give you two minutes, and no
more, to get yourself and the boy ready."

Mavis, overjoyed, put Rachel in the back of the wagonette, took her
seat by her husband's side, and with sprightly chat endeavored to make
two long minutes seem two short ones.

"How nice the horse looks! Will, I do feel we are all in luck. Such a
fine day too. Do you think your top hat is necessary? Wouldn't you be
more comfortable in your straw?"

"May be--but I don't think it would be the thing," said Dale. "We
shall be sure to meet a lot of people we know."

"I only thought you'd get it so dusty. Is it your best or the old
one?"

He did not answer, because just then Norah and Billy came rushing down
the garden path.

It proved an altogether delightful excursion. There was so little in
it really, and yet long years afterward Mavis sometimes thought of it
as perhaps the happiest day of her life. They drove through Rodchurch,
past the post office, the church, and other interesting sights; then
along the broader road beneath big trees, to the railway station.
Billy sat between his parents, and did not behave too well, wriggling,
contorting himself, threatening to jump out, and even grabbing for
the reins.

"It's his excitement," said Norah.

"Yes, it's his excitement," said Mavis; and she and Norah talked
reassuringly, as if to each other, but really at Dale. "He'll be all
right, Norah, when he has had his run about."

"Yes," sad Norah sagely, "children are like that. They must let off
steam. As soon as they're tired they remember their manners and behave
nicely."

At the Station Inn Dale put up the horse and trap, and the journey was
pursued by rail.

The brightness and gaiety of Rodhaven charmed them all. They seemed to
get out of the train into another climate, another world. Everything
was new and strange--blazing sun with a wind that made you as cool as
a cucumber; crowds and crowds of people, Salvation Army band,
procession of volunteers; and the pier, the streamers, the sea--and
the _sands_.

Rachel scarcely glanced at Ocean's face: the sands were enough for
her. They got away from the crowd, and played on the sands. Dale was
so jolly with the children, running about, sportively chasing them,
hunting for shells, popping the buds of seaweed; while Mavis sat on a
dry bit of rock, looking large, red, overblown, and adored her family.
The little boy soon became, frankly, a nuisance, wanting his sister's
shells, refusing to catch daddy, wishing to paddle in his boots; and
Dale, testy at last, very hot and perspiring said: "Ma lad, if you
wear out my patience, you'll suffer for your conduct."

Then, almost at the same moment, Dale's top hat blew off; and a mad
chase ensued. The hat, like a live thing with the devil in it,
bounded and curvetted wildly, doubled away from Dale, dodged Rachel,
and sprang right over Norah's head, threatening to make for the open
sea. Mavis had scrambled up; and she stood on the rock, a tragic
figure, with a finger to her lip, watching the hat chase distractedly.
Norah caught the hat in the end, and it was really not much the worse
for its gambol.

Mavis' first words were, "Is it your best?"

"No," gasped Dale, very much out of breath; "my second-best."

"Thank goodness," said Mavis.

They made a fine solid meal at tea in a vast refreshment-hall on the
sands; Mavis and Norah, with their hats on adjacent chairs and their
hair untidy, helping the little ones to top and tail the first shrimps
that they had ever encountered; Dale eating heaps of shrimps and
drinking cup after cup of tea. The wind blew sand against the glass
front of the hall--the smell of the sea mingled with the smell of the
shrimps--and they were absolutely happy. But when all felt replete the
boy began to cry, and soon howled. "I wis' I lived here always, yes, I
do."

"O Billy, you like home best."

"No, I don't. I like this best. I hate home;" and he bellowed.

"He's getting tired," said Norah sagely.

"Yes," said Mavis. "That's all it is. He's getting tired."

He fell asleep directly they got into the lamplit train; and Norah
carried him from the station, carried him all the time the horse was
being put to and they were getting ready to leave. "He's too much for
you," said Dale kindly. "Give him to me."

"Oh, no, sir."

And Dale whispered approvingly to Mavis, saying that he liked Norah's
grit.

Then they drove home; Norah behind with the children, both of them
sleeping now; and Dale and Mavis side by side in front, talking
quietly as they passed beneath the dark trees and out beneath the
bright stars.

XXIII

Norah was a treasure to them, and she seemed always to be improving.
She had done with school now, but she evinced a commendable yearning
for further cultivation, buying copy-books with her pocket-money,
imitating Dale's clerkly hand; so that already at a pinch she was able
to help in the office work. But proud as she felt when permitted to
copy out accounts or circular letters, her pride did not spoil her for
household labor. In fact she worked so stanchly at scrubbing,
scouring, and so forth, as well as looking after the children, that
for a long while Mavis did not detect how poor old Mrs. Goudie was
failing, and leaving nearly all her duties to be performed by others.
Moreover, in spite of having issued from the untidy hovel of those
rammucky Veales, she showed an innate love of cleanliness and order,
assiduously brushing her black hair and scrupulously washing her white
skin.

Only very rarely she gave a little trouble, and then both Dale and his
wife attributed this naughtiness to the Veale origin, finding the
explanation of a certain wildness in that strain of gipsy blood which,
as was popularly supposed, ran down her pedigree. She disgraced
herself when the circus menagerie passed the gates of Vine-Pits. She
stood firm with the rest of them watching the great painted vans go
by, and the droves of horses, and the tiny ponies; but when the
elephants came she broke away. The size, the weirdness, the shuffling
footsteps of these beasts made her beside herself. A lot of ragged
children with great wicked-looking hobbledehoys from the Cross Roads,
were trotting after the elephants; and Norah, joining this
disreputable band, trotted also. She went all the way to Rodchurch,
saw the immense tent set up on the Common, and probably crept inside
to see the entertainment. She did not return for six hours, not till
after dark.

Another thing that made Mavis anxious and angry was Norah's
ineradicable love of the woods. She never deserted work, but, if
allowed any time to herself, she would go stealing off into Hadleigh
Wood to pick flowers or bring back birds' eggs for the children. She
knew perfectly well that she was to keep to the road or the field
tracks, but the sylvan depths seemed to call her and she could not
resist the call.

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