THE PARISH TRILOGY - Annals of a Quiet Neighbourhood, The Seaboard Parish & The Vicar's Daughter. George MacDonaldЧитать онлайн книгу.
"Babe Jesus lay on Mary's lap;
The sun shone in His hair:
And so it was she saw, mayhap,
The crown already there.
"For she sang: 'Sleep on, my little King!
Bad Herod dares not come;
Before Thee, sleeping, holy thing,
Wild winds would soon be dumb.
"'I kiss Thy hands, I kiss Thy feet,
My King, so long desired;
Thy hands shall never be soil'd, my sweet,
Thy feet shall never be tired.
"'For Thou art the King of men, my son;
Thy crown I see it plain;
And men shall worship Thee, every one,
And cry, Glory! Amen."
"Babe Jesus open'd His eyes so wide!
At Mary look'd her Lord.
And Mary stinted her song and sigh'd.
Babe Jesus said never a word."
When Jane had done singing, I asked her where she had learned the carol; and she answered,—
"My mistress gave it me. There was a picture to it of the Baby on his mother's knee."
"I never saw it," I said. "Where did you get the tune?"
"I thought it would go with a tune I knew; and I tried it, and it did. But I was not fit to sing to you, sir."
"You must have quite a gift of song, Jane!" I said.
"My father and mother can both sing."
Mr Brownrigg was seated on the other side of me, and had apparently listened with some interest. His face was ten degrees less stupid than it usually was. I fancied I saw even a glimmer of some satisfaction in it. I turned to Old Rogers.
"Sing us a song, Old Rogers," I said.
"I'm no canary at that, sir; and besides, my singing days be over. I advise you to ask Dr. Duncan there. He CAN sing."
I rose and said to the assembly:
"My friends, if I did not think God was pleased to see us enjoying ourselves, I should have no heart for it myself. I am going to ask our dear friend Dr. Duncan to give us a song.—If you please, Dr. Duncan."
"I am very nearly too old," said the doctor; "but I will try."
His voice was certainly a little feeble; but the song was not much the worse for it. And a more suitable one for all the company he could hardly have pitched upon.
"There is a plough that has no share,
But a coulter that parteth keen and fair.
But the furrows they rise
To a terrible size,
Or ever the plough hath touch'd them there.
'Gainst horses and plough in wrath they shake:
The horses are fierce; but the plough will break.
"And the seed that is dropt in those furrows of fear,
Will lift to the sun neither blade nor ear.
Down it drops plumb,
Where no spring times come;
And here there needeth no harrowing gear:
Wheat nor poppy nor any leaf
Will cover this naked ground of grief.
"But a harvest-day will come at last
When the watery winter all is past;
The waves so gray
Will be shorn away
By the angels' sickles keen and fast;
And the buried harvest of the sea
Stored in the barns of eternity."
Genuine applause followed the good doctor's song. I turned to Miss Boulderstone, from whom I had borrowed a piano, and asked her to play a country dance for us. But first I said—not getting up on a chair this time:—
"Some people think it is not proper for a clergyman to dance. I mean to assert my freedom from any such law. If our Lord chose to represent, in His parable of the Prodigal Son, the joy in Heaven over a repentant sinner by the figure of 'music and dancing,' I will hearken to Him rather than to men, be they as good as they may."
For I had long thought that the way to make indifferent things bad, was for good people not to do them.
And so saying, I stepped up to Jane Rogers, and asked her to dance with me. She blushed so dreadfully that, for a moment, I was almost sorry I had asked her. But she put her hand in mine at once; and if she was a little clumsy, she yet danced very naturally, and I had the satisfaction of feeling that I had an honest girl near me, who I knew was friendly to me in her heart.
But to see the faces of the people! While I had been talking, Old Rogers had been drinking in every word. To him it was milk and strong meat in one. But now his face shone with a father's gratification besides. And Richard's face was glowing too. Even old Brownrigg looked with a curious interest upon us, I thought.
Meantime Dr Duncan was dancing with one of his own patients, old Mrs Trotter, to whose wants he ministered far more from his table than his surgery. I have known that man, hearing of a case of want from his servant, send the fowl he was about to dine upon, untouched, to those whose necessity was greater than his.
And Mr Boulderstone had taken out old Mrs Rogers; and young Brownrigg had taken Mary Weir. Thomas Weir did not dance at all, but looked on kindly.
"Why don't you dance, Old Rogers?" I said, as I placed his daughter in a seat beside him.
"Did your honour ever see an elephant go up the futtock-shrouds?"
"No. I never did."
"I thought you must, sir, to ask me why I don't dance. You won't take my fun ill, sir? I'm an old man-o'-war's man, you know, sir."
"I should have thought, Rogers, that you would have known better by this time, than make such an apology to ME."
"God bless you, sir. An old man's safe with you—or a young lass, either, sir," he added, turning with a smile to his daughter.
I turned, and addressed Mr Boulderstone.
"I am greatly obliged to you, Mr Boulderstone, for the help you have given me this evening. I've seen you talking to everybody, just as if you had to entertain them all."
"I hope I haven't taken too much upon me. But the fact is, somehow or other, I don't know how, I got into the spirit of it."
"You got into the spirit of it because you wanted to help me, and I thank you heartily."
"Well, I thought it wasn't a time to mind one's peas and cues exactly. And really it's wonderful how one gets on without them. I hate formality myself."
The dear fellow was the most formal man I had ever met.
"Why don't you dance, Mr Brownrigg?"
"Who'd care to dance with me, sir? I don't care to dance with an old woman; and a young woman won't care to dance with me."
"I'll find you a partner, if you will put yourself in my hands."
"I don't mind trusting myself to you, sir."
So I led him to Jane Rogers. She stood up in respectful awe before the master of her destiny. There were signs of calcitration in the churchwarden, when he perceived whither I was leading him. But when he saw the girl stand trembling before him, whether it was that he was flattered by the signs of his own power, accepting them as homage, or that his hard heart actually softened a little, I cannot tell, but, after just a perceptible hesitation,