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Evadne found herself one morning in Judge Hildreth's roomy coach-house, watching Pompey, as he skilfully groomed her uncle's pets.
It had been decided that after the summer holidays, she should become a member of the fashionable school which Isabelle and Marion attended. In the meantime she was left almost entirely to her own devices. Her uncle was away all day, Louis at College, and her aunt busy with social duties. Her cousins had their own particular friends, who were not slow to vote the silent girl with the mournful grey eyes, full of dumb questioning, a bore; while Evadne, accustomed to being her father's companion in all his scientific researches, found their vapid chatter wearisome in the extreme.
Horses were a passion with her, and she noted with pleased interest Pompey's deft manipulations. She stood for a long time in silence. Pompey had saluted her respectfully then kept on steadily with his work. Dexterously he swept the curry-comb over the shining coats and then drew it through the brush in his left hand with a curious vocal accompaniment, something between a long-drawn whistle and a sigh, and the horses laid their heads against his shoulder affectionately and looked wonderingly at the stranger out of their large, bright eyes.
"Did you really know my father?" she asked at length.
"Laws, yes, Missy!" and Pompey's honest black face grew tender with sympathy. "Mass Lennux stayed with the Jedge 'fore he went ter Barbadoes, an' he spen' powerful sight of his time out here wid me an' de horses. He wuz allers del'cut,—warn't able ter do nothin' in this yere climate,—but he bed sech a sperit! He wouldn't ever let folks know when he wuz a sufferin'. He use ter call me 'Pompous,'" and Pompey chuckled softly. "He say when I git inter my fur coat I look as gran' on de box as de Jedge do inside; an' one day he braided de horses' manes inter a hunderd tails an' tied 'em wid yaller ribbun, 'cause he said de crimps wuz in de fashun an' yaller wuz de Jedge's 'lecshun color. De Jedge wuz powerful angry. He don't like no sech tricks wid his horses. But, laws, he couldn't keep angry wid Mass Lennux! He jes' stood wid his hans on his sides an' larf an' larf, till de Jedge he hev ter larf too, an' he call him a graceless scamp, an' say he send him ter Coventry, an' Mass Lennux he say 'all right ef de Jedge go 'long too, an' take de horses, he couldn't do widout dem nohow.'"
"Were these the horses my father used to ride?"
"Laws, no, Missy. Dey wuz ez black ez night. Mass Lennux use ter call 'em Egyp an' Erybus."
Pompey's face softened.
"When my leetle gal died he jes' put his han' on my shoulder an' sez he,—'Pompous, you jes' go home an' cheer up de Missis, yer don't hev no call to worry 'bout de horses.' An' he tuk care of dem jes' as ef he'd ben a coachman. We'll never fergit it, Dyce an' me."
Evadne's eyes shone. That was just like her father!
"'Specs little Miss is powerful lonesum 'thout Mass Lennux?"
The soft voice was full of a genuine regret. Evadne sank down on a bench which stood near by and burst into tears.
"Oh, Pompey, I wish I could die!"
"'Specs little Miss hez no call ter wish dat," said Pompey gently.
"'Specs de Lord Jesus wants her to live fer him."
Evadne opened her eyes in wonder.
"'The Lord Jesus,'" she repeated. "Why, Pompey, do you know him?"
A great joy transfigured the black face.
"He is my Frien'," he said simply.
Evadne leaned forward eagerly. "Oh, Pompey, if that is true, then you can help me find him."
Pompey smiled joyously. "Miss 'Vadney don't need ter go far away fer dat. He is right here."
"Here!" echoed Evadne faintly.
"Lo, I am wid you all de days'" Pompey repeated softly. "De Lord Jesus don't leave no gaps in his promises, Miss 'Vadney. He's allers wid me wherever I is workin', an' when I is up on my box a drivin' troo de streets, he's dere. He's wid me continuous. Dere's nuthin can seprate Pompey from de Lord," he added with a sweet reverence.
"How can you be so sure?" she asked wistfully.
"I hez his word, Missy. You allers b'lieved your father? 'I will not leave you orphuns, I will cum ter you.' I 'specs dat verse is meant speshully fer you, Miss 'Vadney."
"But we can't see him," said Evadne.
"Only wid de eye of faith, Missy. We trusts our friens in de dark. You didn't need ter see your father ter know he wuz in de house?"
"Oh, no!" Evadne's voice trembled.
"It's jes' de same wid my Father, Miss 'Vadney."
"How can you call God so, Pompey?"
A great sweetness came over the homely face.
"'Cause he hez sent his Sperit inter my heart, an' poor black Pompey can look up inter de shinin of his face an' say 'my Father,' 'cause I'se hidden away in his Son. I'se a little branch abidin' in de great Vine. I'se one wid de Lord Jesus."
"I don't know where to look for him!" Evadne cried disconsolately.
Pompey laid aside his curry-comb and brush and folded his toil-worn hands.
"Lord Jesus," he said quietly, "here is thy little lamb. She's out in de dark mountain, an' she's lonesum an' hungry, an' de col' rain of sorrow is beatin' on her head. Lord, thou is de good Shepherd. Let her hear thy voice a callin' her. Carry this little lamb in thy bosom an' giv her de joy of thy love."
* * * * *
Judge Hildreth sat in his library far into the night. He was reading for the twentieth time the letter which Evadne had placed in his hands the morning after her arrival, and as he read, he frowned.
"It is ridiculous, absurd!" he exclaimed impatiently. "Just of a piece with all of Len's quixotic theories. By what possible chance could a child of that age know how to manage money? She would make ducks and drakes of the whole business in less than a year!"
A letter addressed to Evadne lay upon the pile of age-worn papers in an open drawer at his side.
"I enclose herewith a letter to Evadne," his brother had written, "giving full and minute explanations as to her best course in the matter. These she will follow implicitly, under your supervision, and I feel confident the result will be a well-developed character along the lines on which women, through no fault of their own, are so lamentably deficient, namely, the proper conduct of business and management of money."
Judge Hildreth looked again at the envelope with its clear, bold address. "That is not the handwriting of a fool," he muttered. "I wish I could make up my mind what to do."
Through the solemn hush of midnight his good and evil angels contended for his soul. In a strange silence he listened to their voices, the one insidious, tempting, the other urging him to take the upright course. Had his eyes not been holden he would have seen them, the one dark-browed, malignant, clothed in shadows, the other robed in light; while other angels hovered near and looked on pityingly. The white-robed angel spoke first.
"It is not a question to be decided by your judgment. There is no other course left open to you."
Mockingly the other answered. "It is a most unprecedented proceeding.
You should have been appointed her guardian, with sole control."
"It is your brother's last will and testament."
"Some wills are made to be broken. This one is against sound reason."
"It is the only honorable thing to do."
"It is unnecessary. The child need not know, and, if she did, would thank you for saving her from care."
"It is your brother's money. He had a right to do as he will with his own."
"If he had known to what straits this year's speculations have brought you, he would be glad to give you a lift. If you do not have money now what are you going to do? This has come just in time, for you know your credit is already strained to its utmost." "Your niece will be anxious to have your advice as to profitable investments. You can borrow the money from her."
"That would be awkward, in case the bottom fell out of the mine. A little capital in hand would give you a chance to water the Panhattan stock and develop a new lead in the Silverwing."
"If you use money that does not belong to you, you will be a thief!"
"If you do not use it, you will be a pauper. You have paper out now to five times the amount of your income. This is an interposition of Providence to save you from ruin."
"What right had you to put yourself in the way of ruin?"
"You did it to advance the interests of your family. The Bible says, 'If any provide not for his own, especially his own kindred, he … is worse than an infidel.'[Footnote: Marginal rendering A. V.]"
"If you do this thing you will be dishonored in the sight of God."
"If you do not save yourself from this temporary embarrassment, you will be disgraced in the eyes of the world. You owe it to your position in society, and the church, to keep above the waves." The listening spirits heard a low, malicious laugh of triumph and the white-robed angel turned sadly away.
Judge Hildreth had thrust Evadne's letter, with his own, far under the pile of papers, and double-locked the drawer!
* * * * *
Above the coach-house was a large room where Pompey kept a store of hay and grain, and there Evadne often found herself ensconced with Isabelle's Bible, during the long mornings when she was left to amuse herself as best she might. The atmosphere of the house stifled her, and Pompey had loved her father! It was scrupulously clean. Under Pompey's régime spiders and moths found no tolerance, and a magnificent black cat effectually frightened away the audacious rodents which were tempted to depredations by the toothsome cereals in the great bins. In one corner Pompey had improvised for her a luxurious couch of hay and rugs, and in this fragrant retreat Evadne studied her strange new book. She brought to it a mind absolutely untrammeled by creed or circumstance, and in this virgin soil God's truth took root. Slowly the light dawned. Hers was no shallow nature to leap to a hasty conclusion and then forsake it for a later thought. Gradually through the darkness, as God's flowers grow, this human flower lifted itself towards the light.
Sometimes she would sit for hours with the stately cat upon her knee, thinking, thinking, thinking, while Pompey sang his favorite hymns about his work and the mellow strains floated up the stairway and soothed her lonely heart. His childlike faith became to her a tower of refuge, and often, when bewildered by life's inconsistencies, she felt as if the eternal realities were vanishing into mist, she was calmed and comforted by his happy trust.
"I cannot imagine, Evadne," said Isabelle one evening at dinner, "what pleasure you can find in sitting in a stable in company with a negro! It certainly shows a most depraved taste."
"Christ was born in a stable, Isabelle."
"What in the world has that to do with you?"
"I am beginning to think he has everything to do with me," answered her cousin quietly.
"Well," said Isabelle with a toss of her head, "we are known by the company we keep. I should imagine Pompey's curriculum of manners was not on a very elevated plane."
"Pompey! Isabelle," said Judge Hildreth suddenly. "Why, my dear, Pompey is a modern Socrates, bound in ebony. There is no danger to be apprehended from him."
"Well, it is a peculiar companionship for Judge Hildreth's niece, that is all I have to say," said Isabelle coldly, "but chacun à son goût ."
"I read this morning in your Bible that God had chosen the base things of the world, and things which are despised, and things which are not, to bring to nought things that are. What does that mean, Isabelle?"
"Really, Evadne, we shall have to send you to live with Doctor Jerome!" said her aunt, with a careless laugh. "You are getting to be a regular interrogation point. We are not Bible commentators, child, you cannot expect us to explain all the difficult passages.
"The Embroidery Club meets here tomorrow, Evadne," exclaimed Marion, "and I don't believe you have touched your table scarf since they were here before. What will Celeste Follingsby think? She works so rapidly, and her drawn work is a perfect poem."
"No, I have not," confessed Evadne. "It seems such silly work, to draw threads apart and then sew them together again."
Isabelle elevated her eyebrows with a look of horror.
Louis laughed. "She's a hopeless case, Isabelle. You'll never convert her into an elegant trifler. You might as well throw up the contract."
"It seems to me, Evadne," said his sister icily, "that you might have a little regard for the decorums of society. Don't, I beg of you, give utterance to such heresies before the girls. And I wish you would not call it my Bible. I did not make it."
"That is quite true, Evadne," said Louis gravely. "If she had, there would have been a good deal left out."
Isabella shot an angry glance at him but made no remark. Her brother's sarcasms were always received in silence.
"Eva," she said after a pause, "I intend to call you by that name in future,—your full one is too troublesome."
Evadne shivered. Her father was the only one who had ever abbreviated her name. "I shall not answer to it," she said quietly.
"Why, pray?"
"Because, I suppose, in common with the rest of the lower animals, I have a natural repugnance to being cut in two."
"How tiresome you are!" exclaimed Isabelle with a pout. "I do not object to my first syllable. All the girls at school call me Isa. Mamma, did you remember to order the tulle for our wings? Claude Rivers has finished hers and they are perfectly sweet. She showed them to me this afternoon."
"Wings, Isabelle! What in the world are you up to now?"
"A Butterfly Social, Papa. We must raise money in some way. The church is frightfully in debt."
"That is a deplorable fact, but I did not know butterflies were famed as financiers."
"Oh, of course it is just for the novelty of the thing. The last social we had was a Mother Goose, and we have had Brownie suppers and Pink teas and everything else we could think of. We must have something to attract, you know."
"I wonder if it really pays?" ventured Marion. "It never seems to me there is much left, after you deduct the cost of the preparation. People might as well give the money outright. It would save them a world of trouble."
"Why, you silly child, it is to promote sociability in the church. As to the trouble, of course we do not count that. We must expect to make sacrifices."
"But they do not make the church any more sociable," said Marion boldly, who, having struck for freedom of thought, was following up her advantage. "The same people take part every time and the others are left outside."
"Nonsense!" said Isabelle hotly. "It is only those who cannot afford to take part, and think what a treat it is for them to look on!"
"A sort of half-price theatre," said Louis with a sneer.
"I don't believe they find the looking on such fun as you think," said Marion, who was astonished at herself. "Suppose you try if they wouldn't like to take part and offer your place in the Cantata to Jemima Dobbs."
"Well done, Sis!" and Louis applauded softly.
Isabelle's lip curled. "Upon my word, Marion, you bid fair to become as hot an anarchist as Louise Michel. It is a mystery to me where you find out the Christian names of all the ungainly people in the congregation. The other sopranos would feel complimented to have a prima-donna with a face like a full moon and hands like a blacksmith's foisted upon them! One must have a little regard for appearances," and Isabelle drew her graceful figure up to its full height.
"Jemima Dobbs isn't dynamite, and I have no anarchical tendencies," persisted Marion stoutly,—"but beauty is only skin deep, Isabelle. She supports a sick mother and five children and that is more than any of the rest of us could do," and Marion, frightened at her momentary temerity, shrank back into her shell.
"It is a most unaccountable thing, Lawrence," said Mrs. Hildreth, "why the church should be so heavily encumbered. I am sure you contribute handsomely and the pew rents are high. There is always a large congregation. I cannot understand."
"It is largely composed of transients though, my dear, and they never carry more than a nickel in their pockets, so the weight of the burden falls upon a few. The expenses are very heavy. Jerome wants to make it the most popular church in the city, and the new quartette proves an extravagant luxury."
"Oh, well," said Mrs. Hildreth, "of course one cannot grudge the money for that. Professional singing is such an attraction! The way Madame Rialto took that high C last Sunday was superb."
"Well," said Isabelle, "I don't think there is any doubt that Doctor Jerome is the most popular preacher in the city. He is going to preach next Sunday on the moral progress of social sciences, and next month he commences his series of sermons on the social problems of the day. He does take such an interest in sociology."
"But why doesn't he preach Jesus Christ?" asked Evadne wonderingly.
"You will get to be a regular fanatic, Evadne, if you ring the changes on that subject so often. Doctor Jerome says he wants his people to have an intelligent idea of the progress of events. Of course everyone understands the Bible.
"I do think he is the loveliest man!" she continued rapturously, "he is so sympathetic; and Celeste Follingsby says he is 'perfectly heavenly in affliction.' Her little sister died last week, you know. It is so awkward that it should have happened just now. She will not be able to take any part in the Cantata, and she had the sweetest dress!"
"Very ill-timed of Providence!" said Louis gravely. "What a pity it is,
Isabelle, that you couldn't have the regulation of affairs." He yawned
and strolled lazily towards the fireplace. When he looked round again,
Evadne was the only other occupant of the room.
"Well, coz, what do you think of the situation? I belong to the worldlings, of course, but I confess the idea of Jesus Christ at a Butterfly Social is tremendously incongruous. We have the best of it, Evadne, for we live up to our theories. Give it up, coz. You'll find it a hopeless task to make the Bible and modern Christianity agree."
He looked at his watch.
"I say, Evadne, Jefferson is playing at the Metropolitan in Richard III. to-night. Let us go and hear him."
And Evadne went, and enjoyed it immensely.