Thelma
waters of the Fjord, the refreshing breeze, the perfume of the flowers,
and the satisfied impression left on his mind by recent tea and
toast--all these things combined had a soothing effect on Mr.
Dyceworthy, and with a sigh of absolute comfort he settled his large
person in a deep easy chair and composed himself for pious meditation.
He meditated long,--with fast-closed eyes and open mouth, while the
earnestness of his inward thoughts was clearly demonstrated now and then
by an irrepressible,--almost triumphant,--cornet-blast from that
trifling elevation of his countenance called by courtesy a nose, when
his blissful reverie was suddenly broken in upon by the sound of several
footsteps crunching slowly along the garden path, and, starting up from
his chair, he perceived four individuals clad in white flannel costumes
and wearing light straw hats trimmed with fluttering blue ribbons, who
were leisurely sauntering up to his door, and stopping occasionally to
admire the flowers on their way. Mr. Dyceworthy's face reddened visibly
with excitement.
"The gentlemen from the yacht," he murmured to himself, hastily settling
his collar and cravat, and pushing up his cherubic wings of hair more
prominently behind his ears. "I never thought they would come. Dear me!
Sir Philip Errington himself, too! I must have refreshments instantly."
And he hurried from the room, calling his orders to Ulrika as he went,
and before the visitors had time to ring, he had thrown open the door to
them himself, and stood smiling urbanely on the threshold, welcoming
them with enthusiasm,--and assuring Sir Philip especially how much
honored he felt, by his thus visiting, familiarly and unannounced, his
humble dwelling. Errington waved his many compliments good-humoredly
aside, and allowed himself and his friends to be marshalled into the
best parlor, the drawing-room of the house, a pretty little apartment
whose window looked out upon a tangled yet graceful wilderness of
flowers.
"Nice, cosy place this," remarked Lorimer, as he seated himself
negligently on the arm of the sofa. "You must be pretty comfortable
here?"
Their perspiring and affable host rubbed his soft white hands together
gently.
"I thank Heaven it suits my simple needs," he answered meekly. "Luxuries
do not become a poor servant of God."
"Ah, then you are different to many others who profess to serve the same
Master," said Duprez with a _sourire fin_ that had the devil's own
mockery in it. "_Monsieur le bon Dieu_ is very impartial! Some serve Him
by constant over-feeding, others by constant over-starving; it is all
one to Him apparently! How do you know which among His servants He likes
best, the fat or the lean?"
Sandy Macfarlane, though slightly a bigot for his own form of doctrine,
broke into a low chuckle of irrepressible laughter at Duprez's levity,
but Mr. Dyceworthy's flabby face betokened the utmost horror.
"Sir," he said gravely, "there are subjects concerning which it is not
seemly to speak without due reverence. He knoweth His own elect. He hath
chosen them out from the beginning. He summoned forth from the million,
the glorious apostle of reform, Martin Luther--"
"_Le bon gaillard!_" laughed Duprez. "Tempted by a pretty nun! What man
could resist! Myself, I would try to upset all the creeds of this world
if I saw a pretty nun worth my trouble. Yes, truly! A pity though, that
the poor Luther died of over-eating; his exit from life so undignified!"
"Shut up, Duprez," said Errington severely. "You displease Mr.
Dyceworthy by your fooling."
"Oh, pray do not mention it, Sir Philip," murmured the reverend
gentleman with a mild patience. "We must accustom ourselves to hear with
forbearance the opinions of all men, howsoever contradictory, otherwise
our vocation is of no avail. Yet is it sorely grievous to me to consider
that there should be any person or persons existent who lack the
necessary faith requisite for the performance of God's promises."
"Ye must understand, Mr. Dyceworthy," said Macfarlane in his slow,
deliberate manner, "that ye have before ye a young Frenchman who doesna
believe in onything except himsel'--and even as to whether he himsel' is
a mon or a myth, he has his doots--vera grave doots."
Duprez nodded delightedly. "That is so!" he exclaimed. "Our dear Sandy
puts it so charmingly! To be a myth seems original,--to be a mere man,
quite ordinary. I believe it is possible to find some good scientific
professor who would prove me to be a myth--the moving shadow of a
dream--imagine!--how perfectly poetical!"
"You talk too much to be a dream, my boy," laughed Errington, and
turning to Mr. Dyceworthy, he added, "I'm afraid you must think us a
shocking set. We are really none of us very religious, I fear, though,"
and he tried to look serious; "if it had not been for Mr. Lorimer, we
should have come to church last Sunday. Mr. Lorimer was, unfortunately,
rather indisposed."
"Ya-as!" drawled that gentleman, turning from the little window where he
had been gathering a rose for his button-hole. "I was knocked up; had
fits, and all that sort of thing; took these three fellows all their
time on Sunday to hold me down!"
"Dear me!" and Mr. Dyceworthy was about to make further inquiries
concerning Mr. Lorimer's present state of health, when the door opened,
and Ulrika entered, bearing a large tray laden with wine and other
refreshments. As she set it down, she gave a keen, covert glance round
the room, as though rapidly taking note of the appearance and faces of
all the young men, then, with a sort of stiff curtsey, she departed as
noiselessly as she had come,--not, however, without leaving a
disagreeable impression on Errington's mind.
"Rather a stern Phyllis, that waiting-maid of yours," he remarked,
watching his host, who was carefully drawing the cork from one of the
bottles of wine.
Mr. Dyceworthy smiled. "Oh, no, no! not stern at all," he answered
sweetly. "On the contrary, most affable and kind-hearted. Her only fault
is that she is a little zealous,--over-zealous for the purity of the
faith; and she has suffered much; but she is an excellent woman, really
excellent! Sir Philip, will you try this Lacrima Christi?"
"Lacrima Christi!" exclaimed Duprez. "You do not surely get that in
Norway?"
"It seems strange, certainly," replied Mr. Dyceworthy, "but it is a fact
that the Italian or Papist wines are often used here. The minister whose
place I humbly endeavor to fill has his cellar stocked with them. The
matter is easy of comprehension when once explained. The benighted
inhabitants of Italy, a land, lost in the darkness of error, still
persist in their fasts, notwithstanding the evident folly of their
ways--and the Norwegian sailors provide them with large quantities of
fish for their idolatrous customs, bringing back their wines in
exchange."
"A very good idea," said Lorimer, sipping the Lacrima with evident
approval--"Phil, I doubt if your brands on board the _Eulalie_ are
better than this."
"Hardly so good," replied Errington with some surprise, as he tasted the
wine and noted its delicious flavor. "The minister must be a fine
_connoisseur_. Are there many other families about here, Mr. Dyceworthy,
who know how to choose their wines so well?"
Mr. Dyceworthy smiled with a dubious air.
"There is one other household that in the matter of choice liquids is
almost profanely particular," he said. "But they are people who are
ejected with good reason from respectable society, and,--it behooves me
not to speak of their names."
"Oh, indeed!" said Errington, while a sudden and inexplicable thrill of
indignation fired his blood and sent it in a wave of color up to his
forehead--"May I ask--"
But he was interrupted by Lorimer, who, nudging him slyly on one side,
muttered, "Keep cool, old fellow! You can't tell whether he's talking
about the Gueldmar folk! Be quiet--you don't want every one to know your
little game."
Thus adjured, Philip swallowed a large gulp of wine, to keep down his
feelings, and strove to appear interested in the habits and caprices of
bees, a subject into which Mr. Dyceworthy had just inveigled Duprez and
Macfarlane.
"Come and see my bees," said the Reverend Charles almost pathetically.
"They are emblems of ever-working and patient industry,--storing up
honey for others to partake thereof."
"They wudna store it up at a', perhaps, if they knew that," observed
Sandy significantly.
Mr. Dyceworthy positively shone all over with beneficence.
"They _would_ store it up, sir; yes, they would, even if they knew! It
is God's will that they should store it up; it is God's will that they
should show an example of unselfishness, that they should flit from
flower to flower sucking therefrom the sweetness to impart into strange
palates unlike their own. It is a beautiful lesson; it teaches us who
are the ministers of the Lord to likewise suck the sweetness from the
flowers of the living gospel, and impart it gladly to the unbelievers
who shall find it sweeter than the sweetest honey!"
And he shook his head piously several times, while the pores of his fat
visage exuded holy oil. Duprez sniggered secretly. Macfarlane looked
preternaturally solemn.
"Come," repeated the reverend gentleman, with an inviting smile. "Come
and see my bees,--also my strawberries! I shall be delighted to send a
basket of the fruit to the yacht, if Sir Philip will permit me?"
Errington expressed his thanks with due courtesy, and hastened to seize
the opportunity that presented itself for breaking away from the party.
"If you will excuse us for twenty minutes or so, Mr. Dyceworthy," he
said, "Lorimer and I want to consult a fellow here in Bosekop about some
new fishing tackle. We shan't be gone long. Mac, you and Duprez wait for
us here. Don't commit too many depredations on Mr. Dyceworthy's
strawberries."
The reason for their departure was so simply and naturally given, that
it was accepted without any opposing remarks. Duprez was delighted to
have the chance of amusing himself by harassing the Reverend Charles
with open professions of utter atheism, and Macfarlane, who loved an
argument more than he loved whiskey, looked forward to a sharp
discussion presently concerning the superiority of John Knox, morally
and physically, over Martin Luther. So that when the others went their
way, their departure excited no suspicion in the minds of their friends,
and most unsuspecting of all was the placid Mr. Dyceworthy, who, had he
imagined for an instant the direction which they were going, would
certainly not have discoursed on the pleasures of bee-keeping with the
calmness and placid conviction, that always distinguished him when
holding forth on any subject that was attractive to his mind. Leading
the way through his dewy, rose-grown garden, and conversing amicably as
he went, he escorted Macfarlane and Duprez to what he called with a
gentle humor his "Bee-Metropolis," while Errington and Lorimer returned
to the shore of the Fjord, where they had left their boat moored to a
small, clumsily constructed pier,--and entering it, they set themselves
to the oars and pulled away together with the long, steady, sweeping
stroke rendered famous by the exploits of the Oxford and Cambridge men.
After some twenty minutes' rowing, Lorimer looked up and spoke as he
drew his blade swiftly through the bright green water.
"I feel as though I were aiding and abetting you in some crime, Phil.
You know, my first impression of this business remains the same. You had
much better leave it alone."
"Why?" asked Errington coolly.
"Well, 'pon my life I don't know why. Except that, from long experience,
I have proved that it's always dangerous and troublesome to run after a