Judgments in Vacation

by Sir Edward Abbott Parry

One of the sights of the rectory was the kitchen. It was a bright example of cleanliness, comfort, and hospitable warmth. In it was the only musical instrument in the house, an harmonium, and here, of an evening, the rector came to play over the Welsh hymns which he and his servants loved to sing. The rector was always rather in fear of his housekeeper and spoke of her with the affectionate awe that a capable domestic rightly inspires in a confirmed old bachelor. I have no doubt that his habit of friendliness with all the children of the parish who visited the rectory freely, and at their own moments, made dirt and trouble for the household authorities, whose views of children were more practical than the rector’s, and born of a wider and different experience of their ways and habits.

I remember him telling me, one Sunday evening, a story that, I think, must have been very characteristic of the man and his methods with the little ones about his gate. The story arose quite naturally, and he told it with pleasure, but without the least suspicion that it was in any way a story to his own credit.

“Did you see that young fellow at the church door this morning with a top-hat and a black coat, and a gold watch-chain?” he asked.

“I did not notice him,” I said.

“Dear me! I must tell you this,” he said. “Have I never told you of ‘Schoni-bach’?”

The name “Schoni-bach”—the “Sch” was soft, and the “o” moderately long—was, I felt sure, a Welsh equivalent for Little Johnny, and I waited with interest to hear more about him.

“It is a long time ago,” continued the rector, “since Schoni’s father died. You know the thatched cottage on the shore! Well, he lived there. He was the strongest man in the parish, and he could get underneath a cart, a big farm cart, and lift it on his back. On market day, he would go to Holyhead and make bets he could lift a cart, and he would win a lot of money, as much as half-a-crown or three shillings sometimes. But he was not a temperate man, and one day he had been drinking in Holyhead, and they got him to lift a cart, when he slipped, and the cart broke his back, and he died. Well, his widow had three little children, and Schoni-bach was the eldest. And they wanted her to go to the workhouse, but she would not go. And they were very poor, for she was not strong, poor woman, and there was very little work for her to do, and the little children were often starving. They were wild, naked, shy little things, and would never come near anyone. The poor mother had frightened them by telling them that they would be taken to the workhouse, and if a stranger came near the house, they ran up to the mountain-side and hid among the heather. However, one day I found little Schoni on the hillside near the rectory. He looked very thin and starved, so I brought him down the hill, and gave him a slice of bread and some butter-milk, and he ate it like a dog, I tell you. I told him to come down again, but I was out next day, and he came with his wet, bare feet into the kitchen, and my housekeeper sent him off, I think. However, the day after, I was writing my sermon, and there came a tap at my own side-door—a very gentle, little tap—and I went to the door, and there was Schoni-bach, a little ragged, yellow-haired urchin with bare feet. So I went round to the kitchen, and got a loaf and some butter-milk, for the housekeeper was in the laundry, and the coast was clear. So I asked him where his little brother and sister were, and he went behind the laurel bush and dragged them out. For there they were in hiding all the time, more like little wild foxes than children. Well, indeed, after that, Schoni-bach would always bring them down and tap at my side-door, and he always found out when the housekeeper was away; but how he did it I don’t know. He must often have been lying hid about the house, waiting for an hour or more, but he was good friends with my dog, Gelert, who never barked at him at all. But he was very frightened of the housekeeper, who had scolded him for his dirty feet.

“Well, in the summer, they did not come so often, for there were bilberries and blackberries to gather, and more chances of work and food, and before winter came Schoni’s uncle, who was a farmer in Canada, sent for him and paid his passage out, and a little after that he sent for his mother and the other children, and so they went away, and a very good thing it was, too, for all of them.

“Well, all this was many years ago. And last Thursday I was writing my sermon, and I heard old Gel start up and growl, and there was quite a gentle little tap at my side-door. I went to the door, for my housekeeper was out, and there was a big fellow with a top-hat and a black coat, and a gold watch-chain. I knew what he would be after, so I said to him, ‘It is no use coming here to sell cattle spice and patent foods and gold watches, for we don’t want them, indeed, in Rhoscolyn!’