Part 32 (2/2)

”Which of the books do you like best?” asked the clergyman.

”The story of the Pilgrim's Progress is a glorious thing for a lonesome and fainting traveler on the same road, like me!” exclaimed Job. ”But I had read that before, and got it pretty well by heart. Now, this _Barnes' Notes_ interests me as much as anything; there was so many things in the Testament I wanted to have explained.”

”I am delighted to think you are comforted by any of the books,” said the old clergyman, warmly.

”Oh, I get a world of good out of this one, especially. Wife sometimes tells me 't an't no use to read it; but,” said Job, with a gleaming intelligence in his queer face, as the sunset glow deepened upon it, ”what do you think I tell her?”

Father Brighthopes knew some pleasant sally was coming, and encouraged him to proceed.

”I tell her,” said Job, quietly chuckling, ”the study of _Barnes_ makes my faith _stable_.”

This little jest appealed to the sympathies of the farmers, and they honored it with a laugh. Job was radiant with joy.

”I wish the _Notes_ was condensed into half the number of volumes,” he proceeded, under this encouragement. ”If I had time to read them, the more the better. But I find them like the waters of a deep stream.”

Father Brighthopes saw a joke in Job's twinkling eyes, and asked him to explain the comparison.

”Ha! ha!” Job laughed, in spite of himself. ”It's a little conundrum I made to amuse my good woman, in one of her bad turns. Why are Barnes'

Notes like the waters of a deep stream? _Answer_,--because one would find them easier to get _over_, if they were a-_bridged_.”

The company laughed again; and the clergyman thought it best that they should take leave at the moment when Job was elated with his brilliant success.

”It was in the year 'seventeen,” spoke up the grandmother, rousing from her dreams, as they were going away; ”I remember it as well as if 'twas yesterday.”

”Poor woman!” muttered Job, with feeling, ”I've no doubt but she remembers it a great deal better, whatever it is.”

”Come again, and I'll tell ye all about it,” proceeded the old lady, with a shrill laugh. ”I actually gi'n that creatur' three pecks of inions and a pan of dried apples; and she never said so much as _thank'e_, to this day! I might have expected it, though; for she was a Dudley on her mother's side, and everybody knowed how mean that race of Dudleys always was, partic'larly the women folks. Airly in March, in the year 'seventeen.”

She relapsed again into her dreams; Mrs. Bowen bid the visitors a hoa.r.s.e and melancholy _good-evening_; and Job stumped to the door on his wooden leg to see them off.

XXVII.

”OLD FOLKS” AND ”YOUNG FOLKS.”

”Now, then, about the new meeting-house,” remarked Father Brighthopes, in a spirited tone, carrying his hat in his hand.

The sun was down, the fiery glow was fading from the clouds, and, as the dying light fell upon his large pale forehead and thin white locks of hair, tinging them faintly with gold, Mr. Corlis thought he had never seen so striking a picture of beautiful and venerable age.

”We hear you,” said Deacon Dustan.

”Well,” proceeded the old man, ”my notion is simply this: if your society can afford to build a new meeting-house, build it, by all means.”

”There's wisdom for you!” cried the deacon, triumphantly. ”My own ideas simplified and expressed in three words, _If we can afford to build_; and who will say we cannot afford so much?”

”What is it, to afford?” asked Mr. Royden, perplexed by the old clergyman's decision.

”Have you the means to spare for the purpose?” suggested Mr. Corlis.

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