Reginald's Choir Treat

by H.H. Munro (SAKI)

　　

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"Never," wrote Reginald to his most darling friend, "be apioneer. It's the Early Christian that gets the fattestlion."Reginald, in his way, was a pioneer.None of the rest of his family had anything approachingTitian hair or a sense of humour, and they used primroses asa table decoration.It follows that they never understood Reginald, who came downlate to breakfast, and nibbled toast, and said disrespectfulthings about the universe. The family ate porridge, andbelieved in everything, even the weather forecast.Therefore the family was relieved when the vicar's daughterundertook the reformation of Reginald. Her name was Amabel;it was the vicar's one extravagance. Amabel was accounted abeauty and intellectually gifted; she never played tennis,and was reputed to have read Maeterlinck's Life of the Bee.If you abstain from tennis and read Maeterlinck in a smallcountry village, you are of necessity intellectual. Also shehad been twice to Fecamp to pick up a good French accent fromthe Americans staying there; consequently she had a knowledgeof the world which might be considered useful in dealingswith a worldling.Hence the congratulations in the family when Amabel undertookthe reformation of its wayward member.Amabel commenced operations by asking her unsuspecting pupilto tea in the vicarage garden; she believed in the healthyinfluence of natural surroundings, never having been inSicily, where things are different.And like every woman who has ever preached repentance tounregenerate youth, she dwelt on the sin of an empty life,which always seems so much more scandalous in the country,where people rise early to see if a new strawberry hashappened during the night.Reginald recalled the lilies of the field, "which simply satand looked beautiful, and defied competition.""But that is not an example for us to follow," gasped Amabel."Unfortunately, we can't afford to. You don't know what aworld of trouble I take in trying to rival the lilies intheir artistic simplicity.""You are really indecently vain of your appearance. A goodlife is infinitely preferable to good looks.""You agree with me that the two are incompatible. I alwayssay beauty is only sin deep."Amabel began to realise that the battle is not always to thestrong-minded. With the immemorial resource of her sex, sheabandoned the frontal attack, and laid stress on herunassisted labours in parish work, her mental loneliness, herdiscouragements--and at the right moment she producedstrawberries and cream. Reginald was obviously affected bythe latter, and when his preceptress suggested that he mightbegin the strenuous life by helping her to supervise theannual outing of the bucolic infants who composed the localchoir, his eyes shone with the dangerous enthusiasm of aconvert.Reginald entered on the strenuous life alone, as far asAmabel was concerned. The most virtuous women are not proofagainst damp grass, and Amabel kept her bed with a cold.Reginald called it a dispensation; it had been the dream ofhis life to stage-manage a choir outing. With strategicinsight, he led his shy, bullet-headed charges to the nearestwoodland stream and allowed them to bathe; then he seatedhimself on their discarded garments and discoursed on theirimmediate future, which, he decreed, was to embrace aBacchanalian procession through the village. Forethought hadprovided the occasion with a supply of tin whistles, but theintroduction of a he-goat from a neighbouring orchard was abrilliant afterthought. Properly, Reginald explained, thereshould have been an outfit of panther skins; as it was, thosewho had spotted handkerchiefs were allowed to wear them,which they did with thankfulness. Reginald recognised theimpossibility, in the time at his disposal, of teaching hisshivering neophytes a chant in honour of Bacchus, so hestarted them off with a more familiar, if less appropriate,temperance hymn. After all, he said, it is the spirit of thething that counts. Following the etiquette of dramaticauthors on first nights, he remained discreetly in thebackground while the procession, with extreme diffidence andthe goat, wound its way lugubriously towards the village.The singing had died down long before the main street wasreached, but the miserable wailing of pipes brought theinhabitants to their doors. Reginald said he had seensomething like it in pictures; the villagers had seen nothinglike it in their lives, and remarked as much freely.Reginald's family never forgave him. They had no sense ofhumour.

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