PHILIP had led always the solitary life of an only child, and his loneliness at the vicarage was no greater than it had been when his mother lived. He made friends with Mary Ann. She was a chubby little person of thirty-five, the daughter of a fisherman, and had come to the vicarage at eighteen; it was her first place and she had no intention of leaving it; but she held a possible marriage as a rod over the timid heads of her master and mistress. Her father and mother lived in a little house off Harbour Street, and she went to see them on her evenings out. Her stories of the sea touched Philip's imagination, and the narrow alleys round the harbour grew rich with the romance which his young fancy lent them. One evening he asked whether he might go home with her; but his aunt was afraid that he might catch something, and his uncle said that evil communications corrupted good manners. He disliked the fisher folk, who were rough, uncouth, and went to chapel.
But Philip was more comfortable in the kitchen than in the dining-room, and, whenever he could, he took his toys and played there. His aunt was not sorry. She did not like disorder, and though she recognised that boys must be expected to be untidy she preferred that he should make a mess in the kitchen. If he fidgetted his uncle was apt to grow restless and say it was high time he went to school. Mrs. Carey thought Philip very young for this, and her heart went out to the motherless child; but her attempts to gain his affection were awkward, and the boy, feeling shy, received her demonstrations with so much sullenness that she was mortified. Sometimes she heard his shrill voice raised in laughter in the kitchen, but when she went in, he grew suddenly silent, and he flushed darkly when Mary Ann explained the joke. Mrs. Carey could not see anything amusing in what she heard, and she smiled with constraint.
"He seems happier with Mary Ann than with us, William," she said, when she returned to her sewing. "One can see he's been very badly brought up. He wants licking into shape." On the second Sunday after Philip arrived an unlucky incident occurred. Mr. Carey had retired as usual after dinner for a little snooze in the drawing-room, but he was in an irritable mood and could not sleep. Josiah Graves that morning had objected strongly to some candlesticks with which the Vicar had adorned the altar. He had bought them second-hand in Tercanbury, and he thought they looked very well. But Josiah Graves said they were popish. This was a taunt that always aroused the Vicar. He had been at Oxford during the movement which ended in the secession from the Established Church of Edward Manning, and he felt a certain sympathy for the Church of Rome. He would willingly have made the service more ornate than had been usual in the low-church parish of Blackstable, and in his secret soul he yearned for processions and lighted candles. He drew the line at incense. He hated the word protestant. He called himself a Catholic.
He was accustomed to say that Papists required an epithet,they were Roman Catholic;but the Church of England was Catholic in the best,the fullest, and the noblest sense of the term.He was pleased to think that his shaven face gave him the look of a priest,and in his youth he had possessed an ascetic air which added to the impression.He often related that on one of his holidays in Boulogne,one of those holidays upon which his wife for economy's sake did not accompany him,when he was sitting in a church,the cure had come up to him and invited him to preach a sermon. He dismissed his curates when they married,having decided views on the celibacy of the unbeneficed clergy.But when at an election the Liberals had written on his garden fence in large blue letters:This way to Rome, he had been very angry,and threatened to prosecute the leaders ofthe Liberal party in Blackstable.He made up his mind now that nothing Josiah Graves said would induce him to remove the candlesticks from the altar,and he muttered Bismarck to himself once or twice irritably.
Suddenly he heard an unexpected noise. He pulled the handkerchief off his face ,got up from the sofa on which he was lying,and went into the dining-room. Philip was seated on the table with all his bricks around him.He had built a monstrous castle,and some defect in the foundation had just brought the structure down in noisy ruin. "What are you doing with those bricks,Philip? You know you're not allowed to play games on Sunday." Philip started at him for a moment with frightened eyes,and,as his habit was,flushed deeply. "I always used to play at home."he answered. "I'm sure your dear mamma never allowed you to do such a wicked thing as that." Philip did not know it was wicked;but if it was,he did not wish it to be supposed that his mother had consented to it.He hung his head and did not answer. "Don't you know it's very,very wicked to play on Sunday? What d'you suppose it's called the day of rest for? You're going to church tonight,and how can you face your Maker when you've been breaking one of His laws in the afternoon?"
課題 Mr.Care told him to put the bricks away at once,and stood over him while Philip did so. "You're very naughty boy,"he repeared."Think of the grief you're causing your poor mother in heaven." Philip felt inclined to cry,but he had an instinctive disinclintion to letting other people see his tears,and he clenched his teeth to prevent the sobs from escaping. Mr.Carey sat down in his armchair and began to turn over the pages of a book.Philip stood at the window. The vicarage was set back from the high road to Tercanbury,and from the dining-room one saw a semi-circular ships of lawn and then as faf as the horizon green fields. Sheep were grazing in them. The sky was forlorn and gray. Philip felt infinitely unhappy.
Presently Mary Ann came in to lay the tea,and Aunt Louisa desended the stairs. "Have you had a nice litte nap,William?"she asked. "No,"he answered. "Philip made so much noise that I couldn't sleep a wink." This was not quite accurate, for he had been kept awake by his own thoughts;and Philip,listening sullenly,reflected that he had only made a noise once,and there was no reason why his uncle should not have slept before or after.When Mrs.Carey asked for an explanation the Vicar narrated the facts.