Читать книгу David Fleming's Forgiveness - Margaret M. Robertson - Страница 11

The event of the summer to the people of Gershom was the coming of the new minister. It is not to be supposed that with a population of a good many hundreds there was uniformity of opinion in religious matters in the town. To say nothing of the North Gore people, the people of Gershom generally believed in the right of private judgment, and exercised it to such purpose that, within the limits of the township, at least a half dozen denominations were represented. The greater number of these, however, had not had much success in establishing their own peculiar form of worship, except for a little while at a time, and the greater part of the people were at this time more or less closely identified with the village corporation. So that it is scarcely an exaggeration to say, that all Gershom was moved to welcome the Reverend William Maxwell among them.

Never, except perhaps in their most confidential whispers among themselves, did the wise men of Gershom confess that they were disappointed in their minister. They had not expected perfection, or they said they had not, but each and every one of them had expected some one very different from the silent, sallow, heavy-eyed young man whom Jacob Holt, at whose home he was for the present to live, introduced to them.

Something had been said of the getting up of a monster tea-meeting to welcome him, but uncertainty in the time of his coming, because of illness, had prevented this, and as soon as he was seen there was a silent, but general decision among those in authority that this would not have been a successful measure. So he was conducted from house to house by Jacob Holt, or some other of the responsible people, and he was praised to his flock, and his flock were praised to him, but there was not much progress made toward acquaintance for a while, and even the least observing of them could see that there were times when contact with strangers, to say nothing of the necessity of making himself agreeable to them, was almost more than the poor young man could bear.

Still, nobody confessed to disappointment. On the contrary, Jacob Holt and the rest of the leaders of public opinion declared constantly that he was “the right man in the right place.” Of Scottish parentage, brought up from his boyhood in Canada, and having received his theological education in the United States, if he were not the man to unite the various contending national elements in Gershom society, where was such a man to be found?

No man could have every gift, it was said, and whatever Mr. Maxwell might seem to lack as to social qualities, he was a preacher. All agreed that his sermons were wonderful. It was the elaborately prepared discourses of his seminary days, that the young man moved by a vague, but awful dread of breaking down, gave to his people first. It was well that the learned professor’s opinion of them and of their author had come to Gershom before him. There could be no doubt as to the sermons after that testimony, so it was no uncertain sound that went forth about his first pulpit efforts.

They were clear, they were logical, they were profound. Above all, they were pronounced by the orthodox North Gore people to be “sound.” It is true he read them, but even that did not spoil them; and it was a decided proof that these people were sincere in their admiration, and in earnest in their desire for union and “the healing of breaches” that this was the case. In old times, that is, in the time of old Mr. Grant, and old Mr. Sangster, to be a “proper minister” was in their opinion to be a “dumb dog that could not bark,” and such a one had ever been an object of compassion, not to say of contempt among them. But Mr. Maxwell’s sermons were worth reading, they said, and they waited. And so the first months were got safely over.

Safely, but, alas! not happily, for the young minister; scarcely recovered from severe illness, weak in body and desponding in mind, he had no power to accommodate himself to the circumstances toward which all the preparation and discipline of his life had been tending. Over a time of sickness and suffering he looked back to days of congenial occupation and companionship, with a regret so painful that the future seemed to grow aimless and hopeless in its presence. As men struggle in dreams with unseen enemies, so he struggled with the sense of unfitness for the work he had so joyfully chosen, and for which he had so earnestly prepared, with the fear that he had mistaken his calling, and that he might dishonour, by the imperfect fulfillment of his duty, the Master that he loved.

He despised himself for the weakness which made it a positive pain for him to come in contact with strangers with whom he had no power to make friends. He began to regard the hopes that had sustained him during the time of preparation, the pleasure he had taken in such remnants of other people’s work in the way of preaching as had fallen to him as a student; and the encouragement which had been given to him as to his gifts and talents, as so many temptations of Satan. It was this sense of unfitness for his work that made him fall back at first on the sermons of his student days, and which made the pulpit services, praised by his hearers, seem to him like a mockery. It was a miserable time to him. He distrusted himself utterly, and at all points; which would not have been so bad a thing if he had not also distrusted his Master.

But such a state of things could not continue long. It must become either worse or better, and better it was to be. As Mr. Maxwell’s health improved, he became less despondent, and more capable of enjoying society. Clifton Holt was at home again, but no one, not even Miss Elizabeth, could have anticipated that he would be almost the first one in Gershom to put the minister for the moment at his ease.

Clifton had gone back to his college examinations at the appointed time; and had so far retrieved his character for steadiness and scholarship, that he was permitted to start fair another year, the last in his college course. He was now at home for the regular vacation, and was proving the sincerity and strength of his good resolutions to his sister’s satisfaction, by remaining in Gershom, and contenting himself with the moderate enjoyments of such pleasures as village society, and the neighbouring woods and streams afforded.

Miss Elizabeth had seconded Jacob’s rather awkward attempts to bring her brother and the young minister together, taking a vague comfort in the idea that the intercourse must do Clifton good. But as a general thing Clifton kept aloof a little more decidedly than she thought either kind or polite, so that it was a surprise to her, as well as a pleasure, when one night they came in together; and they had not been long in the house, before she saw that whether the minister was to do her brother good or not, her brother had already done good to the minister. They were dripping wet from a summer shower, that had overtaken them; but Mr. Maxwell looked a good deal more like other people, Miss Elizabeth thought, than ever she had seen him look before.

“Mr. Maxwell was in despair at the thought of venturing with muddy boots into Mrs. Jacob’s ‘spick and span’ house, so I brought him here,” said Clifton. “We have been down at the Black Pool, and I have been taking a lesson in fly-fishing. We have earned our tea, and we are ready for it.”

“And you shall have it. But I thought we were to—well, never mind. Go up-stairs and make yourselves comfortable, and tea will be ready when you come down.”

“No one knows how to do things quite so well as Lizzie,” said Clifton to himself, when they came down to find the tea-table laid, not in the great chilly dining-room, but in the smaller sitting-room, on the hearth of which a bright wood-fire was burning. The old squire had been examining their fish, and listened with almost boyish interest to his son’s description of their sport. In the effort he made to entertain the old gentleman Mr. Maxwell looked still more like other people, and Clifton’s coat, which he wore, helped to the same effect.

“I stumbled over him lying on his face in Finlay’s grove,” said Clifton to his sister. “He would have run away, if I had not been too much for him. We borrowed Joe Finlay’s rod, and he went fishing with me. It is a great deal better for him than being stunned by women’s talk at Mrs. Jacob’s.”

“Yes, the sewing-circle!” said Elizabeth, “What will Mrs. Jacob say? Did he forget it? Of course he was expected home.”

“He said nothing about it, nor did I. Jacob asked me to go over in the evening. Why are you not there?”

“I have been there all the afternoon. I came home to make father’s tea. I told Mrs. Jacob I would go back. I am afraid Mr. Maxwell’s coming here to-night will offend her.”

“Of course, but what if it does?”

“And do you like him? Does he improve on acquaintance?”

“He turns out to be flesh and blood, not a skin stuffed with logic, and the odds and ends of other people’s theological opinions. He is a dyspeptic being, homesick and desponding, but he is a man. And look here, Lizzie; if you really want to do a good work, you must take him in hand, and not let Mrs. Jacob, and the deacons, and all the rest of them sit on him.”

“How am I to help it, if such be their pleasure?”

“I have helped it to-night. Don’t say a word about the sewing-circle, lest his conscience should take alarm. I hope I shall see Mrs. Jacob’s face when she hears that he has spent the evening here.”

“I don’t care for Mrs. Jacob, but I am afraid the people may be disappointed.” For in Gershom the ladies met week by week in each other’s houses to sew for the benefit of some good cause, and their husbands and brothers came to tea in the evening, and there was to be a more than usually large gathering on this occasion, Elizabeth knew. “However, I am not responsible,” thought she.

So she said nothing, and her father in a little while said rather querulously, that he hoped she was not going out again.

“Not if you want me, father. It will not matter much, I suppose.”

“You will not be missed,” said her brother.

Mr. Maxwell did not seem to think it was a matter with which he had anything to do. He made no movement to go away when tea was over, and Elizabeth put away all thought of the disappointment of the people assembled, and of her sister-in-law’s displeasure, and enjoyed the evening. Mr. Maxwell seemed to enjoy it too, though he did not say much. Clifton kept himself within bounds, and was amusing without being severe or disagreeable in his descriptions of some of the village customs and characters, and though he said some things to the minister that made his sister a little anxious and uncomfortable for the moment, she could see that their interest in each other increased as the evening wore on.

It came out in the course of the conversation that Mr. Maxwell had made the acquaintance of Ben Holt in his rambles, but he had never been at the Hill-farm, and had very vague ideas as to the Hill Holts or their circumstances, or as to their relationship to the Holts of the village. Clifton professed to be very much surprised.

“Has not Mrs. Jacob introduced you to Cousin Betsey? Has she not told you how many excellent qualities Cousin Betsey has? Only just a little set in her ways,” said Clifton, imitating so exactly Mrs. Jacob’s voice and manner, that no one could help laughing.

“Cousin Betsey is rather set in her ways, and not always agreeable in her manners to Mrs. Jacob,” said Elizabeth. “But you are not to make Mr. Maxwell suppose that there is any disagreement between them.”

“By no means. They are the best of friends when they keep apart, and they don’t meet often. Mrs. Jacob has company when the sewing-circle is to meet at the Hill, and when it meets at Mrs. Jacob’s, Betsey has a great soap-making to keep her at home, or a sick headache, or something. To tell the truth, Cousin Betsey does not care a great deal about any of her village relations, except the squire. But she is a good soul, and a pillar in the church, though she says less about it than some people. I’ll drive you over to the farm some day. Cousin Betsey will put you through your catechism, I can tell you, if she happens to be in a good humour.”

Mr. Maxwell laughed. “I have had some experience of that sort of thing already,” said he. “But I fear it has not been a satisfactory affair to any one concerned.”

“Cousin Betsey will manage better,” said Clifton.

They went to the Hill at the time appointed, and the visit, and some others that they made, were so far successful that the minister took real pleasure in them, and that was more than could be said of any visit he had made before. Miss Betsey did not put him through his catechism in Clifton’s presence; that ceremony was reserved for a future occasion. She was rather stiff and formal in her reception of them, but she thawed out and consented to be pleased and interested before the after noon was over. She smiled and assented with sufficient graciousness when Clifton not only bespoke Ben’s company, on an expedition with gun and rod, which he and Mr. Maxwell were going to make further down the river, but he invited himself and the minister to tea on their way home.

“For you know, Cousin Betsey, that Ben and I won’t be very likely to get into mischief in the minister’s company, and you can’t object to our going this time.”

“If anybody doesn’t object to the minister’s going in your company. That is the thing to be considered, I should say,” said Cousin Betsey, smiling grimly.

“Oh, cousin! do you mean that going fishing with me will compromise the minister? No wonder that you are afraid to trust me with Ben. But I say that a day in the woods with Ben and me will do Mr. Maxwell more good than two or three tea-meetings or sewing-circles. Only you have a good supper ready for us, and I will bring him home hungry as a hunter.”

“Which hasn’t happened very often to him of late, if one may judge from his looks,” said Miss Betsey.

“No, he ought to be living here at the Hill. It would suit him better than Jacob’s. And when are you coming to see us? Lizzie wanted to come with us to-day, but she was afraid you wouldn’t be glad to see her. You never come to our house, and she mustn’t do all the visiting. And, besides, you don’t ask her.”

“It aint likely that she’ll be so hard up for something to amuse her, that she’ll want to fall back on a visit to the Hill. But if she should be, she can come along over, and try how it would seem to visit with mother and Cynthy and me. She’ll always find some of us here.”

“All right. I’ll tell her you asked her, and she’ll be sure to come.”

The success of this visit encouraged Clifton to try more in the minister’s company. For a reason that it was not difficult to understand, Jacob in his rounds had not taken him to visit at Mr. Fleming’s, nor had any one else, and Clifton, remembering his own visit there, took the introduction of Mr. Maxwell at Ythan Brae into his own hands, and Elizabeth went with him. They sailed up the river, and went through the woods as he and Ben had done. It was a lovely autumn day, but there were few tokens of decay in the woods and fields through which they took their way, and they lingered in the sweet air with a pleasure that made them unconscious of the flight of time, and the afternoon was far spent before they sat down to rest on the rocky knoll where Clifton in Ben’s company had renewed his acquaintance with the Fleming children. The remembrance of the time and the scene came back so vividly, that he could not help telling his companions about it. Elizabeth’s face clouded as he repeated Katie’s words about “those avaricious Holts” which had brought him to a sense of the indiscretion he was committing in listening.

“The Flemings are hard upon Jacob. Mr. Maxwell might have been more fortunate in his escort,” said she.

“Nonsense, Lizzie! Mrs. Fleming is far too sensible to confound us with Jacob; and, Lizzie, you used to be a pet of hers.”

“Yes,” said Elizabeth, “long ago.”

And as they lingered, she went on to tell them about the Flemings, and their opinions and manner of life, and about the troubles which had fallen on them. She grew earnest as she went on, telling about poor Hugh whom everybody had loved so well, whom she herself remembered as the handsomest, gentlest, and best of all those who had frequented their house, when her brothel Jacob was young and she was a child; and in her earnestness she said some things that surprised her brother as he listened.

“My father and Mr. Fleming were always friendly, and sometimes I went with my father to their house. I did not often see Mr. Fleming, but I remember his coming into the room one day, when I was sitting on a low stool, holding the first baby of his son’s family in my lap. She was a lovely little creature, little Katie, just beginning to coo, and murmur, and smile at me with her bonny blue eyes, and I suppose the child, and my pride and delight in her, must have been a pretty sight to see, for the grandfather sat down beside us, and smiled as he looked and listened, and made some happy, foolish talk with us both. My father was very much surprised, he told me afterward; and in a little while, when I went into another room, I found Mrs. Fleming crying, with her apron over her face. But they were happy tears, for she smiled when she saw us, and clasped and kissed baby and me, with many sweet Scottish words of endearment to us both. It was the first time she had seen her husband smile since their troubles, she said. The dark cloud was lifting, and wee Katie’s smile would bring sunshine again. I was a favourite with her a long time after that, but we have fallen out of acquaintance of late.”

“Which is a great mistake on your part,” said her brother.

“Yes; I hope she will be glad to see us. She will be glad to see you, Mr. Maxwell.”

“She will be glad to see us all,” said Clifton.