They were hard at work at those same prizes, which filled almost as much of their minds as they could those of the expectant recipients, and occupied their fingers a good deal. And, after all, what would the modern scholar think of those same prizes? The prime ones of all, the Bible and Prayer-book, were of course, in themselves as precious then as now, but each was bound in the very plainest of dark-brown calf, though, to tell the truth, far stronger than their successors, and with the leaves much better sewn in. There was only one of each of these, for Susan Pucklechurch and Johnnie Hewlett, who were by far the foremost scholars in the Sunday School.
Then followed two New Testaments and two Psalters, equally brown, for the next degree. Sophy had begged for stories, but none were to be had within the appointed sum, except Hannah More’s Cheap Repository Tracts, really interesting, but sent forth without wrappers in their native black and white. Then there was a manufacture by the busy fingers, frocks made of remnants of linsey and print, of sun-bonnets of pink or blue spotted calico, of pinafores, and round capes, the least of all these being the list tippet, made of the listing of flannel, sewn on either in rays upon a lining, or in continued rows from the neck, leaving rather the effect of a shell. There were pin-cushions, housewives, and work-bags too, and pictured pocket-handkerchiefs, and Sophy would not be denied a few worsted balls for the very small boys, and sixpennyworth of wooden dolls for the lesser girls, creatures with painted faces, and rolls of linen for arms, nailed on to bodies that ended in a point, but all deficiencies were concealed by the gay print petticoats which she constructed, and as neither toys, nor the means of buying them were plentiful, these would be grand rewards.
The Christmas-tree had not yet begun to spring in England, magic lanterns were tiny things only seen in private, and even such festivities as the tea had not dawned on the scholastic mind. So, on the afternoon of Christmas Day, all the children were assembled in school before Mr Harford, the ladies, and the schoolmistress, while the table was loaded with books and garments, and beside it stood a great flasket brimming over with substantial currant buns, gazed on eagerly by the little things, some of whom had even had a scanty Christmas dinner. Such a spectacle had never been seen before in Uphill, and their hungry eyes devoured it beforehand.
Mr Harford made them a short speech about goodness, steadiness, and diligence, and then the distribution began with the two prime Sunday scholars, and went on in due order of merit, through all degrees, down to the mites who had the painted dolls, and figured handkerchiefs with Aesop’s fables in pink or in purple, and then followed the distribution of buns, stout plum buns, no small treat to these ever hungry children, some of whom were nibbling them before they were out of school, while others, more praiseworthy, kept them to share with “our baby” at home.
Johnnie Hewlett received a Bible, his sister Polly a warm cape, Lizzie a petticoat, little Judy a doll, but on the very last Sunday, Jem, always a black sheep, had been detected in kicking Jenny Morris at church over a screw of peppermint drops which they had clubbed together to purchase from Goody Spurrell. The scent and Jenny’s sobs had betrayed them in the thick of the combat, and in the face of so recent and so flagrant a misdemeanour, neither combatant could be allowed a prize, though the buns were presented to them through Mary’s softness of heart.
These stayed the tears for the moment, but a fresh shower was pumped up by Jem for the sympathetic reception of his mother. “It was a shame! it was; but they ladies always had a spite at the poor little lad. He should have some nice bull’s-eyes to make up to him, that he should! What call had they to be at him when it was all along of that there nasty little Jenny.”
Nevertheless, at the gate she shared her wrath with Jenny’s mother. What call had they to want to make the poor children to be like parsons at church? Jem shouldn’t be there no more, she could tell them.
Then Nanny Barton chimed in. “And look what they did give! Just a twopenny-halfpenny handkercher that her Tom would be ashamed to wear!”
He wasn’t, for it was thick and warm, and had been chosen because his poor little neck looked so blue. But Molly went on. “Ladies did ought to know what became ’em to give. There was my Lady Duchess, she gave ’em all scarlet cloaks, and stuff frocks, as there was some warmth in. That was worth having—given to all alike! No talk of prizes, for what I’d not demean myself to pick up out of the gutter.”
“And look at mine,” proceeded Molly. “My Johnnie’s got a Bible, as if there wasn’t another in the house, let alone Judith’s. His father, he did say he’d pawn it; but Johnnie he cried, and Judith made a work, and hid it for him. But his father, he says he wouldn’t have Johnnie made religious, not for nothing—Judith she’s quite bad enough.”