Jill's Red Bag Part 20

As quick in action as in thought, Jill darted into the house and soon returned with her Bible in her hand. For some minutes she turned over the leaves of it unsuccessfully, then an under-gardener pa.s.sed her.

Now this young man was a local chapel preacher, and Jill had heard some of the servants call him "a s.h.i.+ning light." She looked up at him inquiringly.

"Tom," she said, "what is the very goodest thing to do when you want to be really good?"

Tom scratched his head.

"'Tis G.o.d's Word will tell 'ee, Miss Jill. There be that sayin' of Apostle James--'Pure religion an' undefiled is to visit the widows and fatherless in their affliction, and to keep oneself unspotted from the world.' 'Tisn't many that get beyond that!"

"Thank you," said Jill in delight. "Please show me the verse in case I may forget it."

So Tom took her Bible in his hand and found it for her, then went on his way; and Jill began to formulate her plans with great rapidity.

"'Unspotted from the world' means, of course, not to tumble down and dirty my frock on the way to the Golden City. That I'm trying to do hard, but I haven't visited any widows, and I know there are two or three in the village. That will be a lovely way of doing good. I will go at once."

But alas for Jill! Mona was calling her to come and pick some flowers for her.

For a minute she thought of running away, then her conscience told her--

"That will not be running in a straight road," and she reluctantly obeyed her sister's call, and picked flowers till the bell rang for the school-room dinner.

She was not free from lessons till four o'clock. Then, without saying a word to any one, she put on her hat and ran out of the house and down the long drive as fast as her legs could carry her. She knew one old widow by sight, but she had never been inside her cottage. She was rather shunned by her neighbours, as she was a very dirty, thriftless woman, and earned her living by collecting rags and bones.

Jill knocked at her door eagerly and breathlessly.

The old woman poked her head out and looked at her crossly.

"What do 'ee want?"

"I've come to visit you."

"Don't want no visits from plaguey children!"

The door was banged in her face.

Poor Jill retired discomfited. Then she thought of another widow who had lately lost her husband, a very respectable farmer. She lived at a farm some distance off, but distance was no detriment to Jill's purpose.

Away she went; across fields and down lanes; getting more tired and heated every step she took.

She found the young woman at her wash-tub.

"May I come in and visit you?" asked Jill meekly.

"Come in and welcome, miss. I think you be one of the little ladies belongin' to Miss Baron?"

"Yes, I am," said Jill, seating herself on a low stool with a sigh of relief. "I'm glad you will let me come in. Old Mrs. Jonas wouldn't!"

"That old cat! Why, miss! you be never tryin' to visit her?"

"I'm visiting all the widows I can find to-day," said Jill solemnly. "The Bible tells me to."

Young Mrs. Drake put her ap.r.o.n to her eyes.

"Aye, dearie me! My poor, dear husban'! To think that I be called a widder along wi' that old good-for-nothin' Mrs. Jonas! Oh, 'tis a cruel, wicked world, and hard on me that has allays done me duty an'

attended church reg'lar!"

"Don't cry, please," said Jill, only dimly understanding the drift of her words. "You can't help being a widow, you know. That's why I've come to see you. And I've come to see your children too, because it says the 'fatherless!'----"

But at this Mrs. Drake began to sob afresh, and so violently that Jill felt quite alarmed.

"So they be! 'Fatherless.' An' only last Wednesday three weeks he were a dandlin' of 'em on his knee. Oh, 'tis hard, 'tis cruel hard on a poor, single woman!"

A hard-featured woman put her head in at the door.

"Why, Polly, what be 'ee makin' such a moan over?"

Then seeing Jill, she stepped forward.

Mrs. Drake sobbed the louder.

"Little miss have been mindin' me that I'm a lone widder, and my chillen fatherless. So they be, the poor critturs, but 'tis hard to have it thrown up agen me! Ah, my poor dear husban'! Oh, Jim, Jim! why did 'ee leave me?"

She began to beat her hands to and fro, and seemed to be hysterically inclined.

"Run away," said the hard-featured woman. "You won't do no good here, missy. Poor soul! she has been well-nigh distracted, and I were hopin'

she were gettin' over the worst of it, and now she be so bad as ever!"

Jill crept out of the house feeling her visit had been a failure.

As she gained the high-road again, she met Sir Henry Talbot, whom b.u.mps still called the "keeper."

He was very good to the children, and stopped directly he saw her.

"Hulloo!" he said. "Are you having another truant day? Are you all alone?"

"I'm not truanting," said Jill. "I've been looking for widows. Do you know any, Sir Henry?"

He laughed.

"I do. Now, what the d.i.c.kens do you want widows for? Tell me, and I'll help you."

Jill hesitated.

"You won't laugh at me?"

"On my honour, no."

"I'm trying to be double-good to-day, so I'm visiting them, like the Bible says we must."