Chapter 3

________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER THREE.

A good log was burning brightly on the hearth, and filling with its glowing, cheerful light the dining-room of Dr Morgan, the new rector of the parish, where he with his wife and the younger members of his family were collected. The rector sat in his easy-chair, his book had fallen from his hand, for he was dozing after a hard day's work of physical and mental labour in the abodes of the sick and afflicted of his widely-scattered parish. His wife had a cradle by her side, but she held its usual occupant in her arms, putting it to sleep with a low lullaby, while a group of older children, boys and girls, sat at the table variously occupied. Charles and Anna having some fresh foreign postage-stamps, arranged them in a book according to the different countries from whence they came, and were preparing a short account of each--a plan their father had recommended, so as to give an interest to this otherwise very useless pursuit.

"This must surely be American," said Anna, holding up a stamp. "How like a well-done photograph is the head. Can it be that of Washington?"

On this William, who was engaged professedly in learning his lessons for the next day, looked up. The rest decided that although the stamp was American, as it was the head of a somewhat sour-looking old gentleman it could not be that of the great Washington, but of one of the later Presidents of the United States. The children were talking in an undertone, so as not to disturb their father.

"Old Polly Forty Rags, the witch, came from America," said William. "But it was from some place which the English don't know about; a wild, barren sea-coast, just like the mountain-side up there, where they say that she used to practise her witch tricks on the vessels which came near, and many and many's the one she has sent to the bottom or driven on the rocks."

"How did she practise her witch tricks?" asked Arthur, who did not very clearly understand his brother's meaning.

"How!" exclaimed William. "That's more than I can tell. I'm only repeating what those who know all about the matter say."

"Isn't she a very wicked old woman then?" asked Mabel, with simplicity.

"Wicked? I should think so! as wicked an old hag as you ever heard of," answered William. "It would be a good thing to rid the world of such a monster; but they say she can't be killed; not if she was soused over head and ears in the river or thrown into the fire. That's the nature of witches."

Anna, who was giving the finishing rub to a stamp just put in, heard the last words, and, looking up, inquired with a slight tone of irony in her voice, "What did you say about witches, Willie? Who has been telling you those remarkably wise things about them?"

"Oh, the people about here, and the other fellows at school," answered Willie in a low tone and somewhat hesitating manner, for he was not fond of having to reply to his sister's pointed questions.

"Oh, the people about here," said Anna, repeating his words. "Is it possible they can believe such nonsense?"

Willie did not reply. "Anna wouldn't think it nonsense if she was to see Old Polly Forty Rags," he muttered. After being silent for some time he added, "If ever there was an old witch she is one."

"You said she came from America, Willie. Why, that's where Frank's ship has been to, isn't it?" said Arthur.

"Of course it is," cried Willie, as if a bright thought had occurred to him. "I wonder whether he heard anything of her there? He'll soon be at home, and then he'll tell us."

"If she didn't send his ship on the rocks," remarked Arthur.

"She'd better not have tried to do it, or we'd pay her off for it," said Willie, as if speaking of some heroic purpose.

"But I thought you said that she couldn't be killed; and if she couldn't be killed, she couldn't be hurt, I should think," observed Arthur, who was called the philosopher of the family.

"Well, I don't know: they say witches can't be killed, and that Old Polly Forty Rags has lived hundreds and hundreds of years," said Willie, justly considered the most thoughtless of the family. "Nothing does hurt her either. You can't think what fun it is to hear the stones bounce against her, just as if she was made of straw. If anything could hurt her, I know a big stone I sent in at her window this evening would have given her a cracker she wouldn't forget in a hurry. It's my belief that she didn't care for it more than she would if it had been a pea out of a pea-shooter."

Anna's attention was again drawn to her brother's whispered conversation. "What are you saying about throwing stones?" she asked. "At whom have you been throwing stones?"

"Why at old Mountain Moggy, of course, or Polly Forty Rags as they call her. Who else should I throw at? She's as hard as she is wicked; and they say she has a whole suit of elephant's skin under her rags, and that's one of the reasons the stones don't hurt her."

Anna had been so busy examining some little three-cornered Cape of Good Hope stamps, that she had not till now clearly comprehended what Willie was speaking about.

"You throw stones at Mountain Moggy!" she said in an incredulous tone.

"Of course we do, and awful fun we had this very evening," answered William, boldly. "We heard them go in at the window and thump against the old witch. The clock struck, and we had to run away, or we should have given her more of it. But it was just as well that we were off, for some of the fellows saw her lighting up her house for her witcheries, and there's no doubt but that she'd have sent down some of her imps after us if we hadn't made good use of our legs to get off."

"What do you really mean, Willie?" said Anna, now quite interested. "You cannot tell me that you have been stoning that poor miserable old woman on the mountain?"

"Haven't we though," said Willie, carelessly, crossing his arms on the table and beginning to pore over his book.

"Willie says that she's a wicked black witch, with red eyes and a blue tongue," remarked little Mabel.

"Don't stuff the little ones' heads with such abominable nonsense, Will," said Charles, looking up from his book. "There's nothing I hate to hear so much; it's wrong, and you have no business to do it."

"No, indeed; it's very wrong to tell stories about her, even in fun," remarked Anna.

"Nonsense and stories, indeed!" cried Willie, indignantly. "They are neither one nor the other. If she isn't black she's near it; and I never said she had red eyes and a blue tongue; but if you two were to hear her screech and howl, as I have, you'd confess fast enough that she was a witch." And Willie turned back to his book with the air of an injured person.

Poor boy, he had not had the advantages of his brothers and sisters, though worldly people would have said that his prospects were far better than theirs. They had been carefully trained in the way they should walk from their earliest days by their parents, who, though not possessed of worldly wealth, felt that they might yet give them the richest of heritages. William had not, like the others, been brought up entirely by his parents. His godmother, Miss Ap Reece, had offered to leave him her property, provided she might have entire charge of him, and his parents somewhat hastily consented. By her he had been well fed and well clothed, but not well educated. She was capricious, fond of gossip, and self-indulgent; and continually she would, in order to be rid of him, send him down amongst the servants, who, as her country residence was in a remote village, were more than usually ignorant. There he imbibed many of their prejudices, and learned to believe in many of their superstitions. Meanwhile, happily, the good seed sown in his earlier days was not entirely eradicated, though he and his brothers and sisters always exhibited in their subsequent lives the different systems of cultivation to which they had been subjected. The residence of William with Miss Ap Reece was brought to an abrupt termination by the failure of the County Bank, in which most of her money was placed. Her means were in consequence so straitened that she was obliged to ask Dr Morgan to take William home.

It was soon after this that the conversation took place which we have already recorded.

Mrs Morgan had been too much absorbed with her infant, and a book she occasionally read, to listen to the undertone conversation carried on by the rest of her children. Her husband continued dozing in his chair, but his sleep was soon interrupted, as was the conversation of the young people, by the violent ringing of the hall-door bell. A servant came in directly afterwards to say that the doctor was wanted immediately. Dr Morgan at once left the room, and when William, sent by Mrs Morgan, went out to inquire why he was summoned, it was found that he had quitted the house without leaving any message to say where he had gone. So startled were the younger ones by the sudden noise, that Arthur upset the gum-bottle over the beautiful new stamp-book. The little fellow looked very much alarmed at what he had done, and possibly in some families angry words and blows would have warned him to be more careful for the future; but Charles and Anna had learned that "he that ruleth his spirit is greater than he that taketh a city"; and the constant practice of this principle made it now easy for them to say to their brother, who sat crying and looking very sorrowful, "Never mind, little fellow; we shall soon make it clean." Then warm water had to be procured, and the injured book cleansed, and a few more stamps stuck in, and the rest put away, and scraps and writing materials cleared off the table. Books were then got out, and lessons looked over for the next day. Mrs Morgan left the room for some time to hear the younger children say their prayers, and to see them put to bed. When she re-entered the room, Dr Morgan had not returned. Dr Morgan's prolonged absence did not create any alarm. He was a Doctor of Divinity, but he had also, in his younger days, devoted much time to the study of medicine and surgery, so that he was qualified to become a regular practitioner. However, he had taken orders in the Church of England, but he never regretted the time he had spent in walking the hospitals, for, biding his time, he had now a means of access, which he otherwise might have lacked, to even the most hardened and profligate. Those who would not have called him in as a Christian minister to advise them regarding their souls, were thankful to get him to attend to the ailments of their bodies. Once in a house he never left it without making himself beloved and respected by its inmates, and insuring for himself, and for his glad tidings, a favourable reception. Although he was not looked upon as a popular preacher, it was observed that wherever he went there was a marked change in the religious conduct of the people.

Such was Dr Morgan. His great difficulty was to give that superintendence to the education of his children which he felt they required, without at the same time neglecting the multifarious duties of his position. His parishioners gained what his family lost. But the strict discipline by which he endeavoured to make amends for the want of that constant watchfulness so important in training the youthful mind did not answer the same purpose. Yet after all he could do, he knew that he must fail altogether, had he not gone daily, constantly, to the Throne of Grace for strength and wisdom for himself, and for protection and guidance for those committed to his charge.

Mrs Morgan had returned to the sitting-room; the elder children had put down their books. It was bed-time. They always waited for family prayers. When the Doctor was absent Mrs Morgan or Charles read them, but as he was momentarily expected, his wife and son were unwilling to usurp his office. At length the hall-door bell rang. It was the Doctor. He appeared unusually sad and serious. The family assembled. His voice, generally so firm, trembled as he prayed.

When he rose from his knees, shading his eyes with his hand, he said, after he had given them his blessing--

"Go to bed immediately, and be up betimes, for I wish you to breakfast an hour earlier than usual, and to accompany me directly afterwards to visit a sick, and I fear a dying person."

The younger children would all have been well pleased at this invitation, had it not been for their father's very grave manner; yet no one ventured to ask him the cause of this, and it was, perhaps, not without a slight misgiving that some of the party laid their heads on their pillows that night. _

Read next: Chapter 4

Read previous: Chapter 2

Table of content of Mountain Moggy; The Stoning of the Witch


GO TO TOP OF SCREEN

Post your review
Your review will be placed after the table of content of this book