University of Virginia Library

4. THE EXCHANGE OF CONFIDENCES

Mrs. Christie, tired as she was, remained up an hour or so later than Arabella, chatting with her sister before the fire, that was constantly replenished with shovelfuls of coal. She, too, like her young companion, enjoyed the rest, the quiet, so foreign to her ordinary laborious and drearily monotonous existence, though she did not yield herself thereto with the same completeness as did Arabella. Habit was too strong for her, and during her brief visit she was perpetually looking about for something to do. However, on that first night of her arrival she permitted herself the untroubled enjoyment of the arm-chairs the stillness — within doors, at least — which the noises of the thoroughfare only accentuated, and her sister's society. Having ascertained, by tiptoeing to the door, that Arabella was really sound asleep, she proceeded to give Alicia, in her own terse and forcible way, the chief points in Arabella's history. These were almost entirely new to Miss Norris, who had been aware only in a general way that her sister had adopted an orphan.

"Yes," said Mrs. Christie, "we got her from the Sisters when she was little more than a baby. She didn't know anything about that. I guess you remember when that was — near thirteen years ago."

Alicia agreed that she did.

"Well, there ain't much more to tell concerning that part of it," Mrs. Christie declared. "She lived with us ever since. When she got big enough she helped with the work."

"Did you ever find out who she was?"

"Well," answered Mrs. Christie, "the Sisters were most sure she had some rich relations because of a locket and ring that were left with her, and a few lines in writing. The jewelry was to identify her, if ever she was wanted. Mr. Christie, he never believed that anyone would come after her. He always said he guessed somebody was well rid of her."

"And did anyone ever come?" Alicia inquired, eagerly. The little woman had in her composition a strong flavor of romance, and she was always weaving stories to herself there in her tiny rooms, as fairies weave beautiful fabrics out of sunbeams.

"I'm coming to that!" declared Mrs. Christie, settling herself comfortably in her chair, "But first I must tell you, the Sisters bound me to bring up the child a Catholic."

"Why, of course!" Alicia assented.

"Well, it was not so very easy," Mrs. Christie said, shifting uncomfortably in her chair and unwilling, just then, to meet the bright, dark eyes that were fixed upon her.

"You couldn't have brought her up anything else, dear," piped Alicia, "since you were a Catholic yourself, and such a good one, when we went to the Sisters' school long ago."

Mrs. Christie's face took on something of defiance, though her dull eyes softened, too, as she remembered the days when she used to take her little sprite of a sister by the hand and proceed to the school near the church.

"Oh, then it was easy enough," she answered, "but when I married Silas Christie he wasn't a Catholic. I thought at the first go-off it would be kind of easy to make him one. I tried, but it didn't work worth a cent. He ain't nothing in particular now."

"But as long as you are," Alicia interposed, mildly.

Mrs. Christie sighed.

"Well, to tell you the honest truth," Mrs. Christie said, "the church is far off, and I've got lots of work to do on Sunday morning, and — and Silas didn't care very much about seeing me go there. Most of his folks are Methodists, and there ain't no Catholics around except a few farm hands and such like, and so —"

She paused. Alicia's quaint little face was puckered and the big tears falling from her eyes.

"Oh, sister," she cried pitifully, "don't you remember the jewel we used to talk about, the bright jewel of faith that the teacher told us we were never to let grow dim?"

Mrs. Christie turned upon her, irritated by her remonstrance and by the sharp pang of remembrance which shot through her heart.

"It's easy for you, Alicia," she cried, "that ain't got any husband or people-in-law to interfere with your affairs."

"I know, I know, dear," Alicia answered, "it was hard. But what about the child?"

And the little woman hastily dried the tears which she saw were aggravating to her sister, while Mrs. Christie, momentarily ignoring the question, continued her self-justification.

"I ain't goin' to say nothin' about the daily nag, nag, that went on for close upon seven years, until I stopped my church-going 'most altogether. When there was talk about adoptin' a child, the Sisters, as I told you, insisted that it must be a Catholic, and I insisted, too. I jest kicked up my heels and fought it right out with Silas. 'Silas,' says I to him, 'if that baby girl comes to this house it's got to be a Catholic, and a good one, too; not the sort that you've made of me.'"

"And then?" inquired Alicia.

"I told him right off that if ever he went for to interfere with Arabella's religion, why that minute I'd take her back to the Sisters. Well, Silas is the sort of man, if once he agrees to anything it's all right. I can trust him. So I've done my best with the girl, and I sent her to a Catholic school, though it's a poor one, where she can't get much schooling. It's jest kept by an old woman in the village. And I sent her to church and Sunday school right straight along."

Alicia grasped her hand.

"That was so good of you, dear," she whispered. "You kept the jewel of her faith bright, anyway."

"Yes, and Arabella, she's a Catholic all right enough. She loves her church, and she can talk about it like a book, once she gets started."

Alicia was delighted with this intelligence for she had known very well that her sister's Catholicity had wavered and grown dim in the years of her married life. She herself was staunch in the faith, and had striven hard to instill it into those pupils who were put into her charge in a neighboring parochial school. Just as she had retained a greater refinement of speech and manner than her sister, so had she practised in her daily existence the teaching of the Sisters. She was, therefore, very much pleased to hear that the poor little waif whom the Christies had adopted had been brought up, as far as possible, a child of the church. She did not, however, insist further just then upon the subject of religion, but began to ask if any further information had ever been received about Arabella's parentage.

"Why, to be sure," answered Mrs. Christie, "and that's jest what brought me to town."