Or, the Battle Which All Must Fight

by
Charlotte Maria Tucker
A. L. O. E.

The Readings

Preface

My design in writing this little volume has been to induce the thoughtless child to think; and for this purpose the form of allegory has long been deemed suitable by those in whose footsteps I would humbly endeavour to tread. The powers of the mind are roused to energy by the effort to penetrate a mystery.

I, however, look upon the following descriptions of the Christian warfare, not as finished pictures, but rather as scanty outlines to be filled up, not merely by the imagination of the child, but the suggestions of those to whose care he is confided. I would earnestly ask from such the “word in season” to point out the moral, to apply the lesson; above all, to explain the allusions to the higher and holier truths of religion which I thought it irreverent more openly to introduce into what bears so much the appearance of a fairy-tale. The sword, the armour, the very name of the champion, the strength which he received, the crown which he was to wear at the close of his labours, but not as their reward, will serve as examples of these allusions; which a wise and pious parent may expand to most valuable lessons. From the experience which I have had of children, I feel assured that an allegorical tale is likely to be attractive to their minds; but it greatly depends on the influence of those around them whether they derive from it only the passing amusement of an hour, or the solid instruction in sacred truth which the Author is anxious to convey.

A. L. O. E.

Capter I.
The Arrival

Well, I hope that we’re near the end of our journey at last!” exclaimed Adolphus Probyn, with a long weary yawn, as the fly which was conveying him and his brother from the station rolled slowly along a quiet country road.

“You’re in a precious hurry to get there,” said Constantine, fixing his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets, and putting up his feet on the opposite seat; “but I don’t believe that you’ll like the place when you see it. I hate being sent to a private tutor’s; I’d rather have gone to a regular school at once.”

“I don’t know as to that,” said Adolphus, who had some vague ideas in his mind about fagging, hard dumplings, and wooden benches.

“One thing I know,” cried his brother, “I’m certain to dislike this tutor with all my heart.”

Adolphus did not take the trouble to ask his reasons, but Constantine went on without stopping to be questioned.

“I should dislike any one recommended by Aunt Lawrence, she’s so particular, thinks so many things wrong, is so fond of good books and lectures, and that sort of thing. Depend upon it, she put into papa’s head that we were spoilt, and needed some one to keep us in order, and she found out this poor country clergyman” —

“Poor — I’m sorry he’s poor,” observed Adolphus; “he’ll not make us half so comfortable as we were at home. I wonder if he’ll have no late second dinner.”

“Oh, you may make up your mind to that!” cried his brother; “all the family will dine together at One on boiled mutton and rice pudding, or bacon and beans!” Adolphus sighed. “And it will be work, work, work, from morning till night, with no change but long sermons, long lectures, and long walks; and if we go birdnesting, or have a little fun, won’t we catch it — that’s all!”

“Here we are at last!” said Adolphus, as the fly stopped at a little green door.

Constantine put his head out of the window. “No carriage drive,” he muttered; “what a mean place it must be!”

The Finish of the Journey.

Scarcely had the coachman’s pull at the bell broken the peaceful stillness of that quiet spot, when the green door was thrown wide open, and a boy of about eleven years of age appeared at it, with a broad smile of welcome on his face.

“I’m so glad you’ve come — we’ve been waiting dinner for you; let me help down with that,” he added, as the coachman made preparations for lifting down a black trunk which had kept him company on the box.

Constantine jumped from the carriage; his twin brother more slowly descended, and without troubling themselves with their luggage, or taking much notice of their new companion, they proceeded along the narrow gravel-walk which led up to the entrance of the dwelling.

A pretty cottage it appeared, though a small one, with the sunshine gleaming through the twining roses on the diamond-panelled windows, that peeped from beneath the low thatched roof. It would have looked very well in a picture; not a chimney but was twisted into some elegant shape; the whole building, nestling in trees and garlanded with creepers, might have served as a model to a painter. But as Adolphus gazed curiously upon his new home, it looked to his eye rather too much like a magnified toy: he began to wonder to himself where room could be found in it for him and his brother, especially when he saw two little girls standing in the porch watching their arrival with a look of shy pleasure.

Boys of ten years of age are, however, seldom long troubled with thoughts such as these, and the attention of young Probyn was almost immediately diverted by the appearance of Mr. and Mrs. Roby, who advanced to welcome their guests to Dove’s Nest. The former was a tall, pale gentleman, with a stoop, a high forehead and thoughtful air, which at once impressed the two little boys with an idea that a very learned scholar was before them. Mrs. Roby, on the contrary, was stout and rather short, with a bright merry glance in her dark eyes, to which the dimples in ner cheeks corresponded; there was kindliness in the press of her hand, and a cheerful animation about her whole manner that made her guests feel at home with her at once.

The Reception

“I see that my Aleck has introduced himself to you already,” said she, smiling, “but here are other little friends glad to see you, and anxious, I am sure, to make you happy. Bertha — Laura — my darling,” she continued, laying her hand fondly on the curly head of the youngest child, the little image of herself, with her bright eyes and merry glance, “you should bid these young gentlemen welcome.”

The Probyns were soon shown to the room which they were to share with Aleck; and though the ceiling was low, and sloped down on one side, and the single window was certainly small, he would have been difficult to please indeed, who could have found fault with so pretty an apartment. Everything was so beautifully clean and neat, and through that open window came so sweet an air; while the tinkle of a distant sheep-bell, and the carol of birds from the neighbouring trees, made music delightful, after the rattle of a railway, or the ceaseless roll of carriages in London.

The dinner, also, to which the Probyns speedily descended, was excellent, though simple; and Adolphus especially, who had soon managed to find out that no second one was to be expected, did ample justice to the good cheer after his long journey, having quite forgotten sundry parcels of sandwiches and cake which he had managed to dispose of by the way.

Being rather shy at first, and under the eye of Mr. Roby, the boys were upon their good behaviour, and everything went on very harmoniously. Laura had indeed to squeeze up very close to her mother to avoid the elbows of Constantine, and opened her merry eyes wider than usual when Adolphus, seeing that the plumtart was rapidly disappearing, thrust forward his plate for a second help before he had half finished his first. But no open notice was taken of either breach of good manners; this was not the time to find fault.

Mr. Roby sat quiet and observant, and his two little daughters said little; but their mother led the conversation, in which Aleck joined freely, and before the dinner was over the Probyns were quite at their ease.

“We shall have plenty of things to show you,” said Aleck; “papa has given us all a half-holiday in honour of your arrival. There are my two rabbits, the black and the white one.”

“I like rabbit curry very much,” interrupted Adolphus.

“Oh, but you are not to eat them!” exclaimed little Laura in alarm, shocked at the idea of cooking her favourites.

“And there is the garden,” continued Aleck; “we have made two arches across the gravel-walk, and such beautiful creepers are twined round them; and there is a famous bower at the end of it — we helped to pave it with pebbles ourselves.”

“And there’s a cow!” cried Laura; “you shall see her milked!”

“Then we will have some syllabub, that we will!” exclaimed Adolphus.

The little Robys looked at each other, and then glanced at their mother, in astonishment at such a bold and unusual proposal. The lady, somewhat to their surprise, gave a smiling consent, and poured out nearly a tumbler-full of home-made wine in preparation for this unwonted treat.

“This is not so bad,” thought Constantine; “I dare say we’ll have some fun here. I shall like to tease that prim puss Miss Bertha a little, who looks as though she considered it wrong to open her mouth; and we’ll bring down Master Aleck a peg or two — he thinks himself mighty clever, I can see.”

“This is a great deal better than school,” — such were the reflections of Adolphus. “The master looks mild enough, the lady is the picture of good-nature, and these people don’t appear to be shabby, although they are certainly poor.”

Yes, Mr. Roby was poor; even had his income been double what it was, one so generous and benevolent would still have been poor. He could not afford to give Aleck, his only son, the advantage of a school, but this seemed no misfortune to the affectionate father; he preferred conducting his boy’s education himself. Aleck was naturally clever, and, under the careful training of his parent, had made uncommon progress in his studies. If there was anything on earth of which the clergyman was proud, it was the talents and goodness of his son. Quiet and reserved as Mr. Roby was, it was no small trial to him to introduce strangers into his peaceful home, though these strangers were the nephews of an intimate friend; it was a sacrifice of inclination to duty. But his wife, in encouraging him to make this sacrifice, had other reasons beyond increasing their small means, or obliging the aunt of the Probyns. Mrs. Roby, with her clear common sense, saw that it was not good for her Aleck to have no companion but his sisters. They were both younger than himself, and looked up to him in everything. He helped them in their lessons, took the lead in their amusements, and was loved by them with the fondest affection. What wonder if the boy was becoming a little spoiled; he was of too much importance in the quiet home-circle; he could not but feel that his parents were proud of him — that his sisters regarded him as one who could scarcely do wrong; he grew too fond of giving his opinion — too self-confident, and his mother saw it. Hers was, however, the eye of partial affection, and she had little idea how often those who had been gratifying her husband by praising the uncommon talents and virtues of their son, behind his back spoke of him as “a conceited boy, who loved to hear himself talk, who was ruined by being brought up at home, and would never be good for anything in the world.”

Helping at Lessons

Oh, how startled should we often be, could we know the difference between what is said to us, and what is said of us; what a shock would our vanity receive, could we look beyond the smile of flatterers and see into their hearts!

Chapter II.
First Impressions

The next morning Aleck and his sisters met their mother in the breakfast-parlour before their guests had left their sleeping apartment. Mr. Roby was still engaged in his study, having as usual risen at five, that he might not leave one of his various duties neglected.

“Mamma,” said Bertha, after having received her morning’s kiss, “I am afraid that we shall not like these Probyns at all.”

“It is too early to decide upon their characters,” replied Mrs. Roby; “we must wait till we know them a little better.”

“I think Constantine a very disagreeable boy,” said Bertha; “he has a sort of — I don’t know what sort of manner, but it is not in the least like Aleck’s. It is as though he despised us for being girls; and he kicks his feet against the legs of the table, and never keeps still for a moment, and it fidgets me so — I can’t bear it!” The little girl’s brow was all wrinkled over with frowns.

“And he’s so naughty,” said Laura, resting her arms on her mother’s knee, and looking up gravely into her face. “He pulled the cow’s tail, and would not leave off, and when we told him that it hurt her, he only laughed!”

“You should have seen how the boys quarrelled for the syllabub,” continued Bertha, “pulling and struggling till half of it was thrown over between them.”

“And they never let me have one drop,” added Laura; “I think that they are shocking bad boys!”

“So they are,” said Aleck, as he paused in his task of cutting the loaf for breakfast; “they never read their Bibles before going to bed, nor said their prayers neither, as far as I could tell.” Aleck did not add — indeed, he did not consider, that although he himself had not omitted to kneel down, as he had been taught from his childhood to do, his thoughts had been so much taken up with his new companions, and drawing a contrast between their conduct and his own, that not a feeling of real devotion had given life to his heartless prayer.

“Not say their prayers!” cried Laura, looking more shocked than before; “did you ever think that there were such wicked boys?”

“And such stupid ones too,” rejoined Aleck. “When I spoke to them about their lessons, Adolphus said, with a great yawn, that learning was a bore.” Laura raised her eyebrows with an expression of arch surprise. “I offered to lend him my account of the famous Cook. ‘Oh, I know all about him already,’ said he; ‘his name was Soyer, and he made a capital sauce!’” Here two merry dimples appeared on the little child’s cheeks, and deepened as her brother proceeded: “And when I asked him if he did not like Cæsar, he thought that I was speaking of a dog, and inquired if he was one that would not bite!”

This overcame Laura’s gravity altogether; she burst into such a merry ringing laugh that neither Bertha nor Aleck could help joining her heartily; and even Mrs. Roby, who was meditating a little lecture to her children on too hastily judging others, found it difficult to keep her countenance.

The entrance of the Probyns stopped the mirth of which they had been the subject. Breakfast passed over; then came hours of study, which served to strengthen Aleck in his opinion that his companions were very stupid boys. Adolphus appeared the dullest of the two; not that he naturally was so, but he had always been too lazy to learn. He stumbled at every word in his reading, spelt pheasant with an f, and thumb without a b, could not see any difference between a noun and a verb, and confused the Red Sea with the Black. Poor Mr. Roby, accustomed to an intelligent pupil, stifled a quiet sigh; and Aleck, with a feeling of vast superiority, could not hide the mingled surprise, amusement, and contempt, which the boy’s ignorance called up in his own mind. The Probyns noticed the smile on his face, and it stung them more than a real injury would have done; while indulging his secret pride, Aleck was sowing in the hearts of his companions bitter feelings of resentment and hate.

After lessons, an hour was given to play in the garden; but anything but play it proved to Aleck, for the Probyns were determined to show him that, if he had more book-learning than they, he, a country boy, was ignorant of many things familiar to them from living in London. Without coming to an open quarrel, they made him feel that they disliked him, showed such open contempt for what he valued, and treated his favourite pursuits with such scorn, that, irritated almost beyond his power of endurance by a trial to which he was unaccustomed, Aleck lost both his patience and his temper, and was laughed at for being so easily “put in a pet.” It was fortunate for him that the time had now come for joining his mother and sisters in the parlour. The boys found the little ladies busy at their sewing; Mrs. Roby had quitted the room to see a poor woman who had come for advice and assistance.