MONICA'S REQUEST

HE looked as surprised as they when they met each other. Sidney introduced Austin at once.

"I came up here for a blow," said Randolph.

"And perhaps to get away from people," said Sidney with quick intuition. "We had no idea we were pursuing you, though we admired the purpose and energy of your long strides."

Randolph smiled.

"I was pursued by visions of dinners and crowded drawing-rooms. I have come from town to escape them."

"Then my mother wasn't successful in capturing you," said Austin; "she had a hard try, didn't she?"

"She was very kind. I am afraid I vexed her; but I should be no addition at present to any company."

Sidney looked at him with a mixture of amusement and interest.

"There are very few of us who refuse Mrs. de Cressiers anything," she said. "I don't think it was very kind of you. And these are very special occasions, aren't they, Austin? It is a political opportunity."

"So Mrs. de Cressiers said; but that is just one of the reasons why I fight shy of it."

Sidney, who knew his history, was silent.

"Shake hands!" cried Austin delightedly. "I loathe politics. My mother is too strong on them for my taste."

"I am ashamed of you both," said Sidney hotly, a warm colour creeping up into her cheeks. "If you love your country, you must be interested in them. It is sheer laziness with you, Austin, and you know it."

Randolph turned to her.

"What part are you going to take in these political dinners, Miss Urquhart?"

"Oh, I shall be a listener, and perhaps try a little persuasion with one or two stiff-necked old squires, for I want Sir Walter Rame to succeed. He isn't of this county, but he rents a big place here, and is honest and upright, I am sure."

Randolph was silent again. He doubted the sincerity of a would-be member.

Sidney looked at him a little deprecatingly.

"Forgive me, Mr. Neville; I don't know you well enough to scold you, do I? But I can't bear to think that there are some Englishmen who wash their hands of politics because they cannot purge them of all self-seeking and knavery. There is always good leaven in them, and we want to increase that, not decrease it. A good captain never deserts an old ship."

"It's only the rats," said Randolph, meeting her earnest gaze with twinkling eyes. "I'm a bad rat and a sad rat, and I shan't be missed."

"Look here," broke in Austin; "I didn't bring you up here, Sid, to talk politics. Let us try another subject. Look at the ocean. Are you keen on fishing? I'm going out to-night with an old salt—a great pal of mine. Will you make a third?"

Randolph and Austin plunged into an animated talk of fish in general. Sidney moved away. She loved the wide expanse of earth and sky, and the fresh keen air invigorated and refreshed her. Sitting down and leaning her back against a rock she wondered why, at a high altitude, the troubles and worries of daily life seemed so small and insignificant.

"I suppose," she mused, "it is because I feel so near Heaven, and deep down in my heart I know that my deepest love and interests are there."

When, a little later, Randolph and Austin joined her they were both conscious of an increased radiance and softness in her face. And Austin, who never could keep his thoughts to himself, said:

"Communion of the saints again, Sid? I'd like to know your thoughts when you get alone, but you never will tell me."

She roused herself with a light laugh.

"It is time we were going home. We will leave you to your solitude, Mr. Neville. I would love to spend a night up here by myself."

Randolph did not offer to accompany them down, and Austin took care to engage Sidney's attention for the rest of the way.

"The mother will be furious at Neville's refusal to come to her. A very decent chap, I should say, but quite equal to holding his own with anyone."

"He looks unhappy," Sidney remarked.

"Oh, you sentimental women! If a man has got a fit of indigestion, or the gout in his big toe, it is heartache with you. He is posing as a country-lover, and he's already bored to death. He jumped at the idea of an all night fishing. I'll tell you if he has had a disappointing love affair after our expedition is over. But I doubt it. He's bored to tears with the quiet here, and won't own up to it."

"We won't criticise him, Austin. He is a stranger and deserves our consideration."

When Sidney chose, a certain aloof inflection of tone had the effect of a severe snub upon Austin. He instantly demanded very weakly:

"Please tell me what to talk about now," and then with laughter, they resumed their usual happy intercourse together.

The day after, Monica called for Sidney to drive into the nearest market town with her. Admiral Urquhart had a small trap, and a very fat lazy pony. Monica's cob was a fast one, and Sidney was always glad to go with her rather than drive herself. Friday was market day in Pegborough, and both of them liked to go there every week.

"Randolph has taken Chuckles off my hands for the day," Monica said. "I shall be glad when his holidays are over. He is rather a handful for poor Aunt Dannie, and I can't have him always with me."

"I wish you would send him up to me oftener. I adore him."

"Sidney, I'm going to ask a favour of you." Monica spoke abruptly, and a certain little frown appeared between her level eyebrows.

"Ask away; you know you will get it."

"Don't be rash. It's this. I want to know if you'll give Chuckles a little Sunday tuition on Sunday afternoons?"

If Sidney was surprised, she did not show it.

Monica flicked her cob a little nervously as she continued:

"I can't do it, as you know. It isn't in my line at all, and poor old Aunt Dannie tries and fails. Last Sunday the little imp chased her round the room with sofa cushions. I know you have a class in the morning, and it seems nasty of me to wish to spoil your quiet Sunday afternoons, but the fact is, I feel he wants something that I can't give him. He is growing up a godless little heathen, and seems lacking in moral principles. I don't know why I can't give them to him, but I can't. They're instinctive with me, but he seems morally deficient. And I'm anxious, awfully anxious, that he should grow up to be an upright honourable man. I know what you believe in, Sidney, and I want you to impart your faith to him."

Sidney was silent. Sudden tears sprang into her eyes.

"I would love to have him, Monica dear, but you ought to teach him, not I."

Monica looked before her with set lips.

"You know what my religion is. I never want to appear other than I am. I go to church once on Sunday. I practise honesty and live straight. I have a strong belief in leaving the world better than I find it. I believe in our Creator. That is the sum and substance of my faith. I get along very well. I have been successful in all that I have put my hand to, and I want no more. But I have failed so far in building up Chuckles' character. I can build my own; I can't build his."

"He wants a foundation stone, and so do you." Sidney's tone was soft and reflective.

"He may do so. I give you leave to do what you can in that direction. But I differ from you entirely about myself. I consider I have shaped my own life since I left school. I have firm ground under my feet—duty is my foundation; a good straight life springs up from it. This sounds conceited. It is only what I aim at. I sometimes fail in the practice, and I seem to fail with Chuckles. Duty is always shirked by him, and oh, Sidney! My hopes are centred in him. I want him to grow up a success, not a failure. I hope to hand him over a thriving, prosperous farm—his heritage; only regard it as a trust for him at present. They say single women make a mess of a boy's training, but I am determined that I shall not. No one can say I spoil him, and I think I have his love."

"Chuckles is very lucky," said Sidney warmly.

"I think he is," responded Monica with a little laugh; "not in his aunt, but in his surroundings. But I honestly would like him to have a little more religion. He hates church. When Aunt Dannie discourses to him on the love of God for good little boys, and how he ought to love back, he says he can't love a Person he never sees, and he doesn't want to be a good little boy. Then she shakes her head over him, and he laughs at her. I feel that his only hope in that direction is being taught by you."

Sidney did not answer for a moment; then she said slowly:

"You know, Monnie, I was of the same mind as you till I met that earnest-minded German woman abroad four years ago. I hope I inherited principles of duty and honour from dad, but I do assure you that there is something more in life than that; and she showed it to me. Duty is a good foundation, but it isn't the right one."

"It's good enough for me," said Monica dryly.

"But you are willing that Chuckles should have a better one?"

"No, I want him to have that, but I can't arrive at it."

"Oh, what a drab world for children and for all of us if duty filled our hearts to the exclusion of love!"

"Don't let us moralise; but I hand over Chuckles' spiritual education to you with pleasure."

Then they began to talk over Randolph Neville.

"It is strange," Monica said, "that he is content with my quiet life. He seems in no hurry to leave me. To-day he has taken Chuckles up the river, fishing. I expect he will be bored with the small imp before long. I was vexed that he refused Mrs. de Cressiers' invitation to dinner. She was astonished and annoyed. She is not accustomed to be denied anything."

"No," Sidney said, laughing. "We spoil her, don't we? And she was quite aware of her condescension in asking him at all, as she knew nothing of him. I like him, Monnie; I admire strong silent men, and I am sure he is one of them, but something has embittered and soured him."

"Yes, and I heard this morning what it is. His cousin mentioned it in a letter to me. The girl he was going to marry threw him over and married someone else."

"Oh!" said Sidney with a long-drawn breath. "If a man is real in his feelings, he takes that very badly."

"Yes, but it ought not to spoil his life."

"It won't spoil Mr. Neville's."

"I hope not. He ranks himself as a failure, but that's mere surface talk. He is keen now on getting a Government appointment abroad. I hope he will. He is too good to be an idler, and he unfortunately has enough money to be that."

They accomplished their marketing and returned home. Sidney had a busy afternoon. Her uncle carried her off to his workshop directly lunch was over. He was erecting a small teahouse in the garden, and wanted her advice about the dimensions and shape of it. Then her father told her he wanted to drive over to inquire for an old friend of his, a Sir Peter Wood, who lived six miles off, and he would like her to accompany him.

When they came home, a woman from the village was waiting for her. One of her little Sunday scholars was very ill and wanted to see his teacher. Sidney went off promptly, and returned only just in time for dinner. And after dinner, she played chess with her uncle, sang to her father, and got no time to herself till bedtime arrived.

When she was at last alone her thoughts turned to Chuckles. She was a true child-lover, and had often longed to have a bigger bit of his company than was possible. Here was an opportunity. And the thought of all that might result from it, made her open her Bible and pray earnestly for guidance.

"It is a bit of building," she thought as she read to herself. "'Other foundation can no man lay than that is laid, which is Christ Jesus.' God's building, and if Jesus and His Life and Love are left out in a child's training, how can he be expected to thrive on stern duty and self-repression? Love makes it all so easy."

And as her mind dwelt on the theme of the New Testament her heart glowed within her.

"What does it matter about my broken prospects when I serve One Who never disappoints, Who never fails? He is a rock under my feet, and that gives me an idea for to-morrow. I will tell Chuckles the story of the builders on the rocks and the sand."

She went to sleep that night with a happier heart than she had had for a long time, and with a little shamed feeling that she had not realised more of the wealth she possessed in the unseen things.

Precisely at three o'clock the next afternoon Chuckles appeared. He was in his Sunday garb—an immaculately clean white sailor suit; but he looked at Sidney rather suspiciously.

"I don't know what I've comed for. Aunt Monnie said I was to listen to you, Miss Sid. What are you going to say?"

"We're going to enjoy ourselves," said Sidney, producing a box of chocolates. "Help yourself, Chuckles, and you shall choose where we shall sit, under a tree or in a tree. But I vote for the garden and not the house."

Chuckles gave a swift glance round; then his eyes rested on the river in the distance, and he promptly said:

"I chooses to sit in the boat."

For an instant Sidney hesitated; then she gave consent, and they marched down to the bottom of the garden.

"We won't unmoor her as it is Sunday, and I never use her on Sunday."

Chuckles looked a little dissatisfied, but clambered in, and Sidney followed him, thinking to herself that the boat had one distinct advantage, for that Chuckles could not so easily run away from her.

"What am I to listen to you about?" the small boy demanded, folding his arms and looking up at her with a glint of defiance in his brown eyes.

"Oh, just talk," said Sidney happily. "Why weren't you at church this morning?"

"I don't like it. I—I washed the yabbits' house." Chuckles "r's" had a way of escaping him sometimes. "And then I wented down and built sand castles on the sand, but the sea comed in, and I had to come home. Aunt Dannie says I'll never go to heaven."

He said this quite cheerfully.

"I'm going to tell you a story," said Sidney promptly. "One fine day two men walked along by the seashore, and they suddenly said to each other: 'We'll build a house to live in by the sea; it's so beautiful here.' So they began to build, and first they walked about to choose the place. And one was quicker than the other, and he started the very next day. He chose a nice flat place on the sand, a good way from the sea, and he got some men to help him, and every day his house grew bigger and higher. When his doors and windows were in, he looked at his friend's house, and he could see no sign of it. At last he went over and called his friend.

"'What are you doing? Just look at my house. You've done nothing but dig, dig, dig. Every day you dig, and I have had no digging at all.'

"'Yes,' his friend said, 'I've been watching you, and I'll allow your house is getting built very quickly, but, you see, I want a good strong foundation, for this is a stormy part, so I am digging into the rock.'

"'Oh, that's waste of time; there's nothing to show for your labour.'

"'We'll wait and see,' the slow builder said. And so days passed; his house grew very slowly, but it was firm.

"The house on the sand was finished very soon, and the man furnished it, and took his family to live in it, and everybody said what an industrious worker he had been, and how quick and how clever he was. And they laughed at the rock builder; they said he would be an old man before his house would be finished. But he did not care; he went slowly and steadily on. At last his house, too, was complete, and he went into it to live with his family.

"Now, Chuckles, which house would you lived in?"

Chuckles had been following this story with open mouth and eyes.

"I like sand better than rock," he remarked reflectively; and Sidney was glad his aunt was not there to hear him say it.

"Well, you would have chosen a house on sand. What happens to your sand castles?"

"Oh!" said Chuckles, with a beaming face. "You're going to make a storm knock it down. I should like to have been there to see it."

Sidney went on hurriedly.

"Yes; one day the clouds rolled up, and the sky got black, and the wind rolled the waves in with a boom and a crash, and the two men got inside their houses and hoped they would be safe. But, alas! The house on the sand soon began to rock and sway, and the sea rushed in at the bottom, and then suddenly it all crumpled up and fell down with an awful crash, and the man and his family were crushed to death."

"And the other house?"

Chuckles' eyes were nearly starting out of his head.

"Well, the slow man looked out of his window, and saw his neighbour's house destroyed, and his wife began to cry and say: 'It will be our turn next.' And then he said, with a proud smile: 'No; we are built upon the rock, and the ocean itself and all the storms in the world won't wash us away.'

"He was right. The waves dashed against his house, and the wind beat it, and the rain poured down; but when the storm was over and the sun shone out there was his house safe and sound, and the other was in ruins. Now, which do you think was best?"

"The rock," said Chuckles with conviction. "I'll build a castle on the rocks next time."

There was a pause. It was one thing to tell the story, another to apply it; and Sidney began to feel that her subject was above a child's comprehension.

"That's a story from the Bible, Chuckles. Jesus told that one, and He said that people who tried to live without Him were like the man who wouldn't build on the rock. He is the Rock of Ages, you know. And God wants us all to be builders; only we must take care we build properly."

Chuckles leant over the side of the boat, and began to splash the water with his hands.

"I don't know nothing about God," he remarked carelessly, "and I can't live with Jesus. He is up above the stars, millions of miles away. Aunt Dannie told me so."

"He is here now, Chuckles—close to us. He sees you, and He hears what you say."

Chuckles looked fearfully round; then he shook his curly head.

"I would rather He didn't."

"That is because you don't know Him, Chuckles. I want you to get to know Jesus Christ. I want Him to be your best friend."

"The las' friend I made was our washwoman's husban'. He mends umbrellas and china, and he sharpened my knife for nuffin. He lived in London once, but the fog got on his chest. I've got an awful lot of friends."

"But I don't think you have one friend who died to save you. And Jesus loved you so much that He did this for you. If He was on earth, He would draw you gently to Himself, and put His arm round you. He would tell you He had died so as to let you go to Heaven, for He had been punished instead of you. He would tell you He wanted to live in your little heart, and make you happy and take care of you; and if you only saw His kind, loving face, if you only heard His voice, you would look up and say: 'I will follow You all my life. I will try to please You every day.'"

"Would I, do you think?" said Chuckles thoughtfully. "If I could really see Him, p'raps I would. Only Aunt Dannie always says He wants me to be puffickly good, and have no fun at all."

"I am sure the Lord Jesus Christ loves to see you have fun—fun that makes you and everybody else happy is quite right. It is only fun that hurts or destroys anything and anybody that is wrong. Now, Chuckles, will you have the Lord Jesus for your best friend?"

Chuckles gave a little wriggle.

"I don't know Him."

"No, you don't; but I'm going to try to get you to know Him. I shall talk to you about Him, and tell you stories about Him, and read you messages from Him, until you won't be able to keep from loving Him. He is my best friend, and I want Him to be yours. And when you come to see me on Sunday afternoons, you are coming to meet Him and make His acquaintance. He is so close to us now that I am going to speak to Him, and you can listen to what I am saying, if you like."

Sidney bent her head. Chuckles watched her with keen interest.

"O Lord Jesus, will you be Chuckles' Friend? Will You speak to him Yourself, and make him love You and know You. For Thy Name's Sake. Amen."

"Why, that's praying!" said Chuckles. "You said Amen."

"Praying is only speaking," said Sidney. "Now I have talked to you enough. You talk to me."

"There's a man smoking the other side of the wall," said Chuckles, springing up in the boat. "Why, it's Cousin Ran!"

And Randolph it proved to be. He had walked down to fetch the small boy home to tea, but how long he had listened to the Sunday lesson on the other side of the wall, he did not say. Sidney wondered. And she wondered if she had made any impression upon Chuckles. As she stooped to kiss him and wish him good-bye she said:

"Have you liked our talk?"

He nodded.

"I liked about the storm and houses. I shall play at that."

"And remember, darling, that you're a little building belonging to God, and unless you are a part of Jesus Christ, Who is the Rock, you'll never stand the storm that will come to you."

"That's too differcult," said Chuckles, and then he turned to Randolph.

"She's going to make me have a New Friend," he said with a little nod of his head at Sidney. "But I haven't said 'Yes' yet."

Randolph's eyes met Sidney's.

"Ah!" he said. "You have made me wish myself a boy again, Miss Urquhart. I used to have Sunday lessons in a garden once upon a time."

Then, without another word, he marched Chuckles off, and Sidney went to her father wondering again if she had done any good or not by her first effort towards Chuckles' spiritual education.

Up the road the man and boy walked together.

"I love Miss Sid," Chuckles asserted. "I ate twenty chocolates, and she never said 'Stop.'"

"Mind you remember what she tells you," said Randolph, somewhat severely.

"Did you listen to her behind the wall?"

Randolph scorned embarrassment.

"If I did, it was for my own profit."

"Tell me honest now," said Chuckles gravely, "do you know this Friend? You don't think she's taking me in. I don't like church and catechism, you know, but she made it out quite different, and she says Jesus will like me to have fun. Do you know Him like she does?"

"That I don't."

"Not at all?"

"Well, perhaps a little."

"Is it proper for men and boys to know Him?"

"Quite proper," said Randolph, with a smile, and as he spoke the words from some distant cell in his memory came almost to his lips: "'Neither let the mighty man glory in his might, let not the rich man glory in his riches, but let him that glorieth, glory within, that he understandeth and knoweth Me.'"

"I'll think about it," said Chuckles in a loft manner, "and tell her next Sunday whether I'm going to do what she wants or not. But I shall cut the rope when she isn't looking, and then we shall drift out to sea and be shipwrecked."

As Chuckles' intentions that were told never came off, Randolph made no remark. His thoughts persistently followed Sidney, and at times he was perplexed and annoyed by the vagaries of his brain.

When Monica met them coming in at the garden gate, she looked a trifle anxiously at Chuckles.

"I hope you have been good," she said.

"Me and Miss Sid don't want to be good," said Chuckles with his chin in the air. "We don't talk about such stupid things as that."

Monica wisely forebore to question him further. It was enough for her that he had been and was willing to go again.