Part 7 (1/2)
”But I suppose the tea helps to get people together and be more sociable?”
”Certainly. The next best thing to religion is a cup of strong tea and a frosted cake, to make us country people friends. Both combined can't be beat. But you ought to see the things that have been sent in this last week for the missionary box. There's a smoking jacket, two pairs of golf-trousers, several pairs of mismated gloves, a wonderful lot of undarned stockings, bonnets and underclothes to burn, two jackets and a bathin' suit. I wonder what people think missionaries are doin' most of the time!”
On the day appointed for the missionary tea the ladies were to a.s.semble at Thunder Cliff at four o'clock; and when Maxwell came home, before the advent of the first guest, he seemed somewhat depressed; and Mrs. Burke inquired:
”Been makin' calls on your paris.h.i.+oners?”
”Yes, I have made a few visits.”
”Now you must look more cheerful, or somebody'll suspect that you don't always find parish calls the joy of your life.”
”It's so difficult to find subjects of conversation that they are interested in. I simply couldn't draw out Mrs. Snodgra.s.s, for instance.”
”Well, when you've lived in the country as long as I have, you'll find that the one unfailin' subject of interest is symptoms--mostly dyspepsy and liver complaint. If you had known enough to have started right with Elmira Snodgra.s.s, she would have thawed out at once. Elmira is always lookin' for trouble as the sparks fly upwards, or thereabouts. She'd crawl through a barbed wire fence if she couldn't get at it any other way. She always chews a pill on principle, and then she calls it a dispensation of Providence, and wonders why she was ever born to be tormented.”
”In that case,” laughed Maxwell, ”I'd better get some medical books and read up on symptoms. By the by, is there any particular program for this missionary meeting, Mrs. Burke?”
”Yes, Virginia Bascom's goin' to read a paper called 'The Christian Mother as a Missionary in her own Household.' To be sure, Ginty's no Christian Mother, or any other kind of a mother; but she's as full of enthusiasm as a shad is of bones. She'd bring up any child while you wait, and not charge a cent. There goes the bell, so please excuse me.”
The guests were received by Mrs. Burke. Miss Bascom entered the parlor with a portentous bundle of ma.n.u.script under her arm, and greeted Donald with a radiant smile. Pulling a pansy from a bunch in her dress, she adjusted it in his b.u.t.tonhole with the happy shyness of a young kitten chasing its tail. After the others had a.s.sembled, they formed a circle to inspect the clothing which had been sent in. There was a general buzz of conversation.
As they were busily going through the garments, Virginia remarked, ”Are all these things to go to the missionaries at Tien Tsin?” and she adjusted her lorgnette to inspect the heap.
”Yes,” Mrs. Burke responded wearily, ”and I hope they'll get what comfort they can out of 'em.”
”You don't seem to be very appreciative, Mrs. Burke,” Virginia reproved.
”Well, I suppose I ought to be satisfied,” Hepsey replied. ”But it does seem as if most people give to the Lord what they can't use for themselves any longer--as they would to a poor relation that's worthy, but not to be coddled by too much charity.”
”I think these things are quite nice enough for the missionaries,”
Virginia retorted. ”They are thankful for anything.”
”Yes, I know,” Mrs. Burke replied calmly. ”Missionaries and their families have no business to have any feelings that can't be satisfied with second-hand clothes, and no end of good advice on how to spend five cents freely but not extravagantly.”
”But don't you believe in sending them useful things?” Virginia asked loftily.
”So I do; but I'd hate that word 'useful' if I was a missionary's wife.”
”Might I inquire,” asked Miss Bascom meekly, ”what you would send?”
”Certainly! I'd send a twenty-five-cent scent bag, made of silk and filled with patchouli-powder,” said Hepsey, squarely.
”Well,” Virginia added devoutly, ”satchet bags may be well enough in their place; but they won't feed missionaries, or clothe them, or save souls, you know, Mrs. Burke.”
”Did anybody say they would?” Mrs. Burke inquired. ”I shouldn't particularly care to see missionaries clothed in sachet bags myself; the smell might drive the heathen to desperation. But do we always limit our spending money to necessary clothes and food? The truth is, we all of us spend anything we like as long as it goes on our backs, or down our throats; but the moment it comes to supportin'
missionaries we think 'em worldly and graspin' if they show any ambition beyond second-hand clothes.”
”Do you live up to your preachin', Mrs. Burke?” a little sallow-faced woman inquired from a dark corner of the room.
”Oh, no; it hits me just as hard as anybody else, as Martin Luther said. But I've got a proposition to make: if you'll take these things you brought, back with you, and wear 'em for a week just as they are, and play you're the missionaries, I'll take back all I've said.”
As, however, there was no response to this challenge, the box was packed, and the cover nailed down.