LITMIR.BIZ

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to Portsmouth to deposit his child with her when the tragic event took place. Why did she not come forward? Why did she hold her tongue?

      Had there existed in her bosom one particle of natural feeling she would not have remained mute and motionless, and allowed the parish to bury her brother-in-law and encumber itself with her niece.

      So the parish talked, appealingly, argumentatively, blusteringly, objurgatively, but all to no purpose. The deceased wife's sister kept mum, and invisible. Reluctantly, resentfully, the parish was finally obliged to face the facts, pay the expenses of the interment, and settle that a weekly dole should be afforded for the maintenance of the child, and as that deceased wife's sister did not appear, the parochial bile overflowed upon the hapless babe, who came to be regarded as an incubus on the ratepayers and a general nuisance.

      The one difficulty that solved itself – ambulando, was that as to who would take charge of the child. That was solved by the hostess of the Ship.

      The parish endeavored to cajole the good woman into receiving the babe as a gift from Heaven, and to exact no compensation for her labors in rearing it, for the expense of clothing, feeding, educating it. But Mrs. Verstage was deaf to such solicitations. She would take charge of the child, but paid she must be. Eventually the parochial authorities, after having called a vestry, and sat three hours in consultation, and to "knuckle under," as the hostess expressed it, and allow a trifle for the entertainment of the little waif.

      So the matter was settled.

      Then another had to be determined. What about the christening performed in the shed by Iver? What about the outlandish name given the child? The landlady raised no question on these heads till it was settled that the little being was to be an inmate of her house, and under her care. Then she reasoned thus – "Either this here child be a Mehetabel or she bain't. Either it's a Christian or it's a heathen. What is it? Is it fish, is it flesh, or is it good red herring? It ain't no use my calling her Mehetabel if she bain't nothing of the sort. And it ain't no use teachin' her the caterplasm, if she ha'n't been made a Christian. I'll go and ax the pa'son."

      Accordingly the good woman took Iver by the shoulder and dragged him to Witley Vicarage, and stated her case and her difficulties. The Vicar had already had wind of what had occurred. Thursley was at the period a chapelry in the extensive parish of Witley, and the church therein had, before the Reformation, been regularly served by the monks of Witley Abbey. It was afterwards more or less irregularly supplied with sacred ministrations from the mother-church, and had no resident pastor.

      In former days the parishioners were never very sure whether there was to be a service in Church at Thursley or not. The sexton was on the look-out, and if he saw the parson's wig glimmering over the hedge top, as he rode along, then he at once rushed to the bell-rope and announced to such of the parishioners as were within hearing, that there was to be divine service. If there were no service, then those who had come from a distance in expectation of devotion, retired to the tavern and drank and gossiped, and were not disposed to cavil. The Church of Thursley is curious, it has a central bell-tower supported on huge beams of oak, such oaks they must have been as are never seen now. Those desiring to see the parson had to seek him in the Vicarage of the mother parish.

      Mrs. Verstage accordingly had to go with her boy to Witley.

      "If the boy gave a name," said the parson.

      "He did, your Reverence, and such a name."

      "What is it?"

      "Mehetabel."

      "Wherever did you pick up that name?" asked the Vicar, turning to the boy.

      "Please, sir, we was doin' the Dooks of Edom in Sunday-school. We'd already learned David's mighty men, and could run 'em off like one o'clock, and – I don't know how it was, sir, but the name slipped out o' my mouth wi'out a thought. You see, sir, we had so many verses to say for next Sunday, and I had some of the Dooks of Edom to repeat."

      "Oh! So you gave it the name of one of the Dukes."

      "Please, sir, no. Mehetabel was the wife of one, she was married to his Grace, Dook Hadar."

      "Oh, Hadar! to be sure, quite so; quite so! Very good boy, glad you are so well primed in all things necessary to salvation."

      "And is the child to be called Mehetabel?" asked the woman.

      "That depends," said the Vicar. "How did the boy perform the sacred function?"

      "Please, sir," said Iver, "I did it as your Honor does, after the second lesson on Sunday afternoon, and the churching."

      "He hadn't no surplice on," argued the mother.

      "You had a bowl of pure water?" asked the parson.

      "Yes, sir, rain water. I caught it out of the spout."

      "And the words used?"

      "The same as you say, sir; exactly."

      The parson rubbed his chin.

      "Was it done in thoughtlessness – in irreverent folly?"

      "Oh, no, sir! I did it in sober earnest. I thought the child was going to die."

      "Of course," said the Vicar, "lay baptism is valid, even if administered by a Dissenter; but – it is very unusual, very much so."

      "I didn't do all that about the cross," observed Iver, "because the cat jumped and upset the bowl."

      "Of course, of course. That belongs to the reception into the church, and you couldn't do that as it was – "

      "In Bideabout's basin," said Iver.

      "You are certain the water touched the child?"

      "Soused her," responded the hostess. "She caught a tremendous cold out o' it, and has been runnin' at the nose ever since."

      "I think the very best thing we can do," said the Vicar, "is that I should baptize the child conditionally, in church, – conditionally mind."

      "And call her by another name?" asked the woman.

      "I do not think I can do that."

      "It's a terrible mouthful," observed Mrs. Verstage.

      "I daresay that in practice you will be able to condense it. As for that boy of yours, ma'am, I should like a word with him, by himself."

      "So, the creetur must bide Mehetabel?"

      "Mehetabel it must be."

      CHAPTER VII

      FALSE PERSPECTIVE

      As this story concerns that child which received the name of Mehetabel, it has been necessary to begin de novo with her as a babe, and to relate how she came by her name – that is her Christian name – and how it was that she had no surname at all. Also, how it was that she came to be an inmate of the Ship, and how that her fortunes were linked at the very outset of her career, on the one hand with Iver, who baptized her, and on the other hand with the Broom-Squire, whose roof – that at least of his shed – had sheltered her when every door of the squatter settlement in the Punch-Bowl, was resolutely closed against her.

      But although this story begins with Mehetabel before she could speak, before she could assimilate anything more substantial than milk, yet the author has no intention of inflicting on the reader the record of her early days, of her acquisition of the power of speech, and capacity for consuming solid food. Neither is it his purpose to develop at large the growth of her mental powers, and to describe the evolution of her features. Suffice it then to say that Mehetabel grew up in the Ship Inn, almost as a child of the hostess and of her husband, with Iver as her playmate, and somewhat consequential patron.

      By the parish at large, whether that of Witley or of its subdivision Thursley, she was coldly regarded. She was but a charity girl, and kind as Mrs. Verstage was, the hostess never forgot that.

      Iver was fourteen years older than Mehetabel, and, above all, was a boy, whereas Mehetabel was a waif, and only a girl.

      Iver, moreover, regarded the child with gracious condescension. Had he not baptized her? Did she not owe her name to him? Had he not manufactured her first feeding-bottle?

      As

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