The Devil's Garden by W. B. Maxwell

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Once when Norah had been troublesome in this respect, Mavis was so
angry that she threatened her with corporal punishment.

"Look here, my lass," said Mavis, unconsciously founding herself on
the manner of her husband when administering rebuke, "if you can't
obey what I tell you, I shall ask Mr. Dale to chastise you--yes, my
lass, to give you a lesson you won't forget in a hurry." Norah hung
her head and pouted. Then she looked up and spoke firmly.

"He wouldn't do it. He's too kind."

"Oh, yes, he would. Don't you make a mistake about that."

"He _wouldn't_." Norah's eyes flashed; she stamped her foot, and
turned on Mavis quite fiercely. "He's so good that he wouldn't hurt a
fly, much less beat a girl. You've no right to say it--behind his
back--what you know isn't true."

"Be off to your work this instant," said Mavis, stamping also, "or
I'll whip you myself." And she pursued Norah to the kitchen. "You dare
to sauce me like that again as long as you live!"

Before the evening was over, Norah, completely contrite, begged to be
forgiven for her rudeness; and Mavis was only too ready both to
forgive and to forget. She had felt quite shocked and upset by the
girl's tantrums.

It was almost immediately after this that Norah said she wished to be
a Baptist, and to go to chapel with Mr. Dale.

"Do you think," asked Dale, when informed of Norah's petition, "that
it is genuine? Or is it just curiosity?"

"I think it's genuine," said Mavis. "But no doubt she is influenced by
the fact that _you_ go there. I do believe she'd wish to go
anywhere--or do anything that you did."

Dale questioned Norah seriously.

"Why do you wish it? Speak to me with freedom, my dear."

"I do want to be good, sir." And Norah burst into tears. "Oh, I do
want to be good."

"Then come with me," said Dale.

Henceforth they two went to worship together every Sunday, and Mavis
once or twice felt a twinge of regret that she herself had not been
able to abandon the established church and join the Baptists with her
husband. But that she could not do. The chapel was too ugly, its
eastward wall too bare, its faith too painfully simple and
matter-of-fact.

She took great pains with Norah's Sunday costume, dressing her better
than before, anxious that the girl should do them credit when seen
with Dale in a public place; and Norah, all in her best, following
after her master as he made his long strides down the road, trotted
like a faithful little dog. She sat beside him in one of the front
benches, breathing hard, and following the text with her finger, while
Mr. Osborn read the Bible; and she blended her birdlike trills with
Dale's strong bass when they both stood up to sing the hymns. Dale
liked the note of her voice, took pleasure in observing her piety, and
thoroughly enjoyed expounding any difficulties in the sermon while
they walked home to dinner or to supper.

If Dale stood outside the chapel talking to elders of the flock, Norah
modestly withdrew to a little distance; or if he met people on the
road and stopped to chat, she went on ahead, waiting respectfully, and
only returning to his side when he walked on again alone. He always
kept his eye on her, and saw that she was not being accosted
unpleasantly by any undesirable acquaintance.

Once, when Dale had stopped thus to talk to Mr. Maghull, there were
two field-laborers leaning against a gate and discussing people as
they passed. Neither of them was a Baptist. One was a stupid old man,
and his would-be-funny chatter, at which the other kept guffawing,
bothered Dale in his serious conversation with Mr. Maghull.

"Be that little Norrer Veale?"

"I dunno."

"I do think that's little Norrer Veale, but I ben't sure."

"Yes, it is," said Dale, turning and speaking sharply. "What about
her?"

"Lord, how she's coming on," said the old man. "She's an advertisement
to your larder, sir;" and he stared at the girl. "Fillin' out into all
a piece o' goods, ben't un?" Then he laughed, in peasant style. "Give
her another year or two and she'll be a blink to set some un o' fire
pretty quick, if she gets hedge-row walkin'."

Dale felt annoyed by this rustic criticism, but he knew that there was
substantial truth in it. Norah was developing rapidly, and showed
distinct comeliness. As he walked after her he noticed her figure. It
was still very slender, but it had roundnesses that would soon become
rounder, and graceful curves that would swell with an ampler grace
every month till she reached full growth. He was pleased when he
thought of the good food that she had received in return for her good
work. He thought, too, that he must tell Mavis to be watchful and
careful, a real guardian, when this childlike bud burst into
womanhood.

He felt a glow of indignation at the mere idea of harm coming to her
while she was under their care. Hands off, there. Any louts who
attempted tricks would have him, William Dale, to reckon with.

For years Dale had been a bad sleeper, but now he was a good sleeper;
and Mavis traced this change directly to the calming effect of his
religion. There could be no question that the improvement dated from
that night on which he was baptized. Since then he had not once been
troubled with bad dreams, and habitually he slept so soundly that he
required a lot of rousing in the morning. Another change, among those
slight differences that she fancied she observed in him, was his
abstraction when reading. Formerly he used to seem particularly alert
and vigorous whenever he sat with an open book before him; his whole
air was that of lively expectation; the features worked; he was
waiting for a passage that he did not agree with. Nowadays he seemed
to read in a completely receptive spirit, without questioning, without
doubting; and his face reflected the quiet confidence that he was
adopting with regard to the author. He never looked up, or stopped to
read out anything that struck him; he had withdrawn himself from
every-day life and given himself to the world of the book; you had to
speak two or three times, and quite loudly, before you could drag him
back to material facts.

Still another change, and one that affected them both, Mavis did not
altogether attribute to the revival of her husband's religious belief;
but she thought that this had accelerated its progress and confirmed
its finality. It had begun after the birth of her second child. Then
it was that the love between husband and wife purified itself still
further; and the refining process had continued; they had passed
onward and upward until the beautiful new feelings seemed firmly
established, and, without a word spoken, all the old passion had been
allowed to fade. It was quite another joy now when they kissed or lay
locked in each other's arms: they were a father and a mother, a
brother and sister, comrades--but no longer lovers.

She was surprised once or twice to find how calmly and contentedly she
thought about all this; without the least regret for something that
was and had ceased to be; and without a vestige of the confusion of
ideas which makes women in their ripening years cling to all belonging
or seeming to belong to vanished youth, and to suffer under the loss
of anything they possessed then, even though a better thing has come
to them in its place. She was a woman completing her destined course;
and so that the cycle-curve swept on unbroken, she would be as happy
on the downward sweep as when the sweep was rising.

But in these days, in spite of her mental tranquillity, she could not
sleep well at night; she tossed and turned, muttered and started, as
if the dreams and restlessness that had gone out of Will had found
their way into her. For this reason they generally occupied different
beds, and sometimes different rooms.

Throughout this period while Mrs. Dale's bodily health was not on its
normal level of excellence, Norah showed magnificent grit and
altogether proved worth her weight in gold.

Dale always remembered the night when she came to his room, and, after
much beating on the door and calling him by name, at last succeeded in
waking him. Mavis, who had unfortunately caught cold the day before,
was now taken with violent colic, and suffering such pain that she
could not restrain her groans and screams. Ethel, the new maid, was
scared out of her wits by the sight of her afflicted mistress; Dale
himself was alarmed; neither of them could do anything. But Norah did
it all. She had sprung out of bed just as she was, rushed to the scene
of disorder, snatched up the mistress' keys, then had procured and
administered brandy. Then she rushed down-stairs again, lighted the
fire, and began to boil water and to get flannel for hot compresses.

Dale came down to the kitchen presently, and said that his wife was
feeling easier; the brandy had done her good. Then, the anxiety having
lessened, his attention was held by Norah's scanty attire. She was in
her night-dress and nothing more, and even this garment was not
sufficiently fastened; her black hair was tumbling loose about her
shoulders, and she pattered here and there across the stone floor on
her bare feet.

He began to chide her, rather irritably. "You little fool, do you want
to catch a chill as well--so's to make two invalids instead of one?
Here, put on my jacket."

"Oh, no, Mr. Dale."

"Do as I tell you. Besides, it--well, it isn't seemly to be running
about half naked."

Norah flushed red in the candle-light, and clutched at her
night-dress. Then she hastily put on Dale's jacket, which swamped her,
going far down below her hips and making her seem a wonderfully
strange figure.

Next morning, when she was bringing him his breakfast, he talked to
her of what had "passed a few hours ago."

"Norah, my dear, I'm sorry I spoke sharply to you--just when you were
doing all that you possibly could for us. But, you know, I didn't mean
it a bit unkind."

"Oh, no, sir," said Norah, shyly.

It's only that I'm always a stickler for etiquette--and that sort of
thing. I do so like what I call seemly conduct."

"Yes, sir. I was ashamed the moment you spoke;" and Norah blushed
again. "But truly I hadn't thought, sir. If I'd given it a thought,
I'd never have done it."

"No, you didn't think. And there's nothing on earth for you to be
ashamed of. Far be it from me to put thoughts into your innocent
little noddle which needn't come there yet a while. You'll
understand--and it'll just be instinct to you then--that what's right
for children is a bit odd and startling for those who're older. Now
don't think any more about it."

"I don't want to, sir--if you say so;" and Norah smiled comfortably
once more.

She made and laid his early breakfast for him every morning until
Mavis was well enough to come down to do it herself, and Dale had
never been better waited on or seen a daintier way of arranging a
table. She always gave him a napkin, which was an unusual luxury, and
she folded it in fantastic shapes; moreover, undeterred by the notions
of economy or caution natural in a proprietor, she brought out pieces
of the bettermost china that were rarely used by Mavis; she set one of
the smallest and very best afternoon tea-cloths in such a manner that
it looked like a diamond instead of a square, and on this, as central
decoration, she placed a blue bowl full of flowers. Then, too, she had
requisitioned the silver-plated cake basket for the newly-baked
bannocks. The silver basket gave a touch of splendor that really made
the table seem as if its proper situation was a grand London
restaurant or a nobleman's mansion.

"You want to spoil me, Norah," said Dale, watching her. Then he
laughed. "But, my dear, all these pretty trickings and ornamentations
are fairly wasted on me."

"No, they aren't," said Norah, breathing hard, seeming to purr with
pleasure. "They can't be wasted, if you've noticed them, Mr. Dale;"
and as she lifted her head, she shook back the dark curling hair from
her forehead. "P'raps they'd be wasted if you didn't know they were
there."

"Oh, we rough old chaps don't require such prettiness about them."

Norah displayed her small white teeth in a broadening smile; then she
looked at the revered master thoughtfully.

"Why do you say you're _old_? You aren't really old, Mr. Dale."

"Oh, aren't I? I wonder what you call old, lassie."

"I call father old, and Mr. Bates--and Mrs. Goudie."

"Well, I mayn't be as old as them--as they; but I think I'm like the
walnut tree out there. I still stand up straight, but I fear me I've
seen my best days.... There! What are you up to now?"

She was lugging and pushing the great porter's chair from its corner.

"I don't want that."

"It's your chair, so why shouldn't you sit in it at breakfast as well
as supper?" She brought it to the table, and looked at him over the
back of it shyly, yet with a kind of defiance--much as his own
children looked at him when they had made up their minds to be cheeky.
"It's quite an old man's chair, sir--so it'll suit you nicely."

He sat in the chair, amused by her impudence, but holding up his
finger with mock reproof. She had run to the kitchen door, and she
stood there for a moment laughing merrily. "Oh, you do look all a
gran'father in that chair, Mr. Dale. You do, indeed."

Next moment she was singing at her work outside in the kitchen. Then
there came a silence; her shadow passed the window, and he guessed
that she was taking a circuitous route to the room up-stairs where the
children and Ethel were busily engaged in toilet operations. Rather
than risk disturbing him at his breakfast by coming through here, she
had gone right round the house and in again at the front door. She was
always like that--always thinking of other people's comfort, never
sparing her own labor.

Then he heard her voice at a distance somewhere near the cowhouse. She
had not gone up-stairs after all; she had gone out there on dairy
business. Soon she came singing back--singing, he thought, as blithely
as a lark; just as sweetly and tunefully as any bird one could name.

Other people as well as Dale noticed the freshness and unforced music
of Norah's singing, and it was not long before she received an
invitation to sing among the regularly trained young women at the
chapel.

On the morning when she left Dale's side to take her place upon the
platform she was woefully nervous. Dale too had been anxious, but
directly he heard her voice--and he knew it so well that he at once
distinguished it amid all the other voices that made up the platform
chorus--he felt perfectly reassured. Her nervousness had not put her
out of tune: she was acquitting herself admirably.

They walked home together in a high state of gratification; and he
hastened to tell Mavis that the little maid had achieved a success,
and that Mr. Osborn had paid her a compliment at the door before
everybody. Mavis was delighted. She ran to give kisses of
congratulation, and she said that on her very next visit to Old
Manninglea she would buy some stuff to make Norah a pretty new dress,
which they would set to work on as soon as the evenings began to
lengthen again.

A considerable time elapsed before this kind intention became an
accomplished fact; but in due course the dress was ready to wear, and
Norah looked very nice when wearing it. As to color, it was of so
lively a blue that it would permit no shadows even in its deepest
folds; it was just a close-fitting brightness that made the girl seem
to have shot up in a night to a form of much greater height and
increased slenderness. Her hat was made of yellow straw, with a wreath
of artificial daisies round the crown. When the tempered sunshine fell
upon her as she stood up to sing, she looked like something composed
of vivid color, light, and life--like a flower glowing in a garden, a
kingfisher hovering over a stream, a rainbow trembling on the crest of
a hill. Dale, watching her, thought that in comparison the other
maidens on the platform were positively plain.

He told Mavis afterward that he felt certain the dress had been
admired, adding that Norah's general appearance did her the utmost
credit. And that Sunday they both talked seriously about Norah's
future.

"You know," said Dale, "I feel it as a responsibility on us."

"So do I," said Mavis.

"Having taken it up, we must go through with it to the end. I mean,
we must always stand her friends--and more than that, her guardians."

"Of course."

"In a sense," he went on, didactically, "we may have made a mistake in
bringing her forward to the extent we've done."

"How so, Will?"

"I mean, if one wished to argue selfish--which of course I don't
wish--well, the selfish view would be not to have drawn her out but
rather keep her down a bit."

"Oh, she'd be miserable if she didn't feel to be one of ourselves--and
you always said let's treat her that way."

"I know; and I don't go back on it. I was only stating the case of
selfish policy, for the sake of argument. It's like this. The more
useful you teach her to be, the more we're going to miss her when she
leaves us."

"She'll never leave us."

"Won't she be thinking of taking service in some gentleman's family
when you've perfected her, and rendered her really capable of filling
a situation?"

"Oh, no, she'd never want to go away from Vine-Pits."

"Is that so? Well, of course I regard that as another feather in her
cap. I'm glad to think she's properly devoted to you."

"It isn't me," said Mavis. "It's you she's devoted to. It's been the
same all along. I told you from the first that child just worshiped
you. It's Mr. Dale. Mr. Dale is the cry with Norah always. She looks
on me as very small potatoes," and Mavis laughed. "I don't mind. It's
how I look on myself."

Dale patted his wife's hand, and smiled. "Rubbish! But look here,
Mav;" and he spoke very thoughtfully.

"I don't wish ever to trade on Norah's gratitude. It may be, when the
time comes, we shall have to decide for her. It may be that she'll do
better for herself in the long run by going than by staying. If so, we
mustn't be the barrier in her way. We must push her out into the
world, even if she can't see the point of it. But all that lies far
ahead. We needn't worry about it yet a while.... How old is Norah
now?"

"Seventeen."

"No? Do you mean to say she has been with us five years?"

"Yes. Every bit of five years."

"Then how old is Rachel?"

"Eleven."

"And Billy?"

"Five--and more."

"My goodness, Mav," and Dale sighed, "how time goes." Then he rose
from his chair, stretched himself, and sighed again. "_How_ time is
going!"

XXIV

Another charwoman had now been engaged; and Mrs. Goudie, retiring on a
small pension from the Dales, came to Vine-Pits only to pay her
respects or now and then to appear as the least greedy and most
deserving petitioner of all those who sat on the bench or stood
waiting at the back door. Coming thus for a dole of tea, she asked
Norah to inform Mr. Dale that young Bates--as he was still called--had
again been seen in the neighborhood. As usual, he had come and gone
furtively.

Dale, duly receiving the message, frowned and shook his head
ominously. He had never been able to get hold of young Bates, although
Mrs. Goudie had reported several of these sinister reappearances, and
probably nothing could have been gained by an interview with such a
heartless scoundrel. So long as old Bates was weak enough to give,
young Bates would be cruel enough to go on taking; and from the aspect
of things it appeared that the too generous father would before long
be altogether denuded. He was getting shabbier and shabbier in his
apparel; his poor old face looked pinched and thin, and the talk was
that he lived on starvation rations. It all seemed horrible to Dale--a
thing that should not be permitted; and yet what could one do?

He thought about it all next day, and it was more or less occupying
his mind at dusk when he sat with Norah in the office clearing up for
the night.

"There, my dear, that'll do. You'll only hurt your eyes."

"It's all right, Mr. Dale. I can see well enough just to finish."

Dale was sitting at the table in the window and Norah stood at his
desk beside the high stool, copying rows of figures out of a huge
day-book. He turned his head and watched her for a minute or so in
silence. Her dusky black hair was like a crown over her stooping face;
her left elbow and hand lay on the desk; and the moving pen in her
other hand pointed straight at the right shoulder, exactly as Dale had
taught her to point it when she first began to imitate his
copper-plate writing. She had been an apt pupil, and there was no
mistake about the help she gave him nowadays. At the beginning he used
to pretend a little, saying that her aid lightened his labors, merely
to encourage and please her.

"Now stop, lassie. This is what Mr. Osborn terms blind man's holiday.
Shut the book."

"I should have liked to finish," said Norah.

Nevertheless she obeyed him, closing the book and putting her papers
in a drawer.

"Look here, if you _must_ be busy to the last moment, come over here
nearer the light and address these envelopes for me--and I'll have a
pipe."

Norah came meekly to the window and took the chair that Dale had
vacated for her. Standing close behind the chair and looking down upon
her, he noticed the deft way in which her hands gathered the loose
envelopes and stacked them; the shapeliness of her arms and
shoulders; and the ivory whiteness of her cheek. It was the fading
light that produced this effect, because she was not by any means a
pale girl. Her skin, although white enough, had warm tones in it, and
under it still warmer tones--a brownish glow, like a sunburn that had
been transmitted by nomad ancestors who baked themselves under fierce
southern skies centuries ago. The gipsy blood showed to that extent in
her complexion, and to a greater extent in her hair.

And suddenly he thought of what Mavis had been as a girl. _She_ had a
white skin--if you please; much whiter than Norah's; but she was like
this girl in many respects, was Mavis when he first saw her. She and
Norah were as like as two peas out of one pod in the matter of looking
fragile and yet firm, as gracefully delicate of form as it is possible
to be without arousing any suspicion of debility or unhealthiness. The
back of Mavis' stooping neck used to be exactly like this girl's--a
smooth, round stem, without a crease or a speck on it, a solid,
healthy neck, and yet so slender that his great hand would almost
girdle it.

"Aren't I doing right?" Norah looked up quickly. "I'm copying the
addresses off the letters."

"No, you're doing quite right." Dale put his hands in his pockets and
moved away to the high stool. "What made you think you were doing
wrong?"

"Oh, I don't know. I always get nervous when you watch me and don't
say anything."

"Then we'll talk. There, I'll wait till you're through, and then we'll
talk a bit."

"I am through now," said Norah in a minute. "Shall I put the stamps
on?"

"No, don't trouble. I'll do it myself--and post 'em at the pillar."

He had seated himself on the stool and had brought out his pipe. He
looked at its bowl reflectively, and then began to talk to Norah about
the children.

"Don't you think, Norah, that we ought to be putting Billy out to
school?"

Mavis so far had acted as governess, with Norah to assist, and between
them they had taught both children to read and write; but this home
tuition could not go on indefinitely, and Dale thought that the time
had already come when larger and bolder steps must be taken toward
achieving that liberal education which he had solemnly promised his
son and heir. He was always reading advertisements of attractive
seaside schools, where the boy could secure home comforts, the
rudiments of sound religious faith, as well as a good grounding in the
humanities. Mavis, however, would not yet hear of a separation from
her darling. She pleaded that he was such a _little_ fellow still; she
prayed Will not to hurry.

"Tell me what _you_ think about it, Norah--quite candidly."

Norah had hesitated about replying; but she now said that she really
thought Dale need not be in a hurry. Billy was so clever that when he
did get to school he would learn faster than other boys; and she added
that his departure from home would be "a dreadful wrinch for Mrs.
Dale."

"But it will be a wrench for her whenever it happens. In life one has
to prepare one's self for _wrenches_--That, I fancy, is the better way
of pronouncing the word. Yes, wrench after wrench, Norah--that's life;
until the last great wrench comes--and, well, that _isn't_ life....
Who was that passed the window?"

Norah turned her bright young face to the window and peered out.

"It's Mr. Bates, sir. How funny he looks!"

"What d'you mean--funny?"

"Walking so slow, and leaning on his great stick--as if he was a
pilgrim."

Dale had jumped off his stool; and he ran out to the road and begged
the old man to come in.

"Certainly, William," said Mr. Bates.

He had cut himself a long staff from some woodland holly-tree, a rough
prop that reached shoulder high, and on this he leaned heavily as soon
as he stopped walking. He looked very old and very shaky.

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