Part 47 (1/2)

”We had quite a touching little sermon this morning,” she went on, untying her bonnet strings, and taking off that una.s.suming head-gear--”It was just a homely simple, kind talk. Our parson's sorry to be going away, but he hopes to be back with us at the beginning of April, fit and well again. He's looking badly, poor soul! I felt a bit like crying when he wished us all a bright Christmas and happy New Year, and said he hoped G.o.d would allow him to see us all again.”

”Who is going to take charge of the parish in his absence?” asked Reay.

”A Mr. Arbroath. He isn't a very popular man in these parts, and I can't think why he has volunteered to come here, seeing he's got several parishes of his own on the other side of Dunster to attend to. But I'm told he also wants a change--so he's got some one to take his duties, and he is coming along to us. Of course, it's well known that he likes to try a new parish whenever he can.”

”Has he any reason for that special taste?” enquired Reay.

”Oh yes!” answered Mary, quietly--”He's a great High Churchman, and he wants to introduce Ma.s.s vestments and the confessional whenever he can.

Some people say that he receives an annual payment from Rome for doing this kind of work.”

”Another form of the Papal secret service!” commented Reay, drily--”I understand! I've seen enough of it!”

Mary had taken a clean tablecloth from an oaken press, and was spreading it out for dinner.

”Well,” she said, smilingly, ”he won't find it very advantageous to him to take the duties here. For every man and woman in the village intends to keep away from Church altogether if he does not give us our services exactly as we have always been accustomed to them. And it won't be pleasant for him to read prayers and preach to empty seats, will it?”

”Scarcely!”

And Angus, standing near the fire, bent his brows with meditative sternness on the glowing flames. Then suddenly addressing Helmsley, he said--”You asked me a while ago, David, why I didn't go to Church. I told you I wished I could go, as I used to do with my father every Sunday. For, when I was a boy, our Sundays were real devotional days--our preachers _felt_ what they preached, and when they told us to wors.h.i.+p the great Creator 'in spirit and in truth,' we knew they were in earnest about it. Now, religion is made a mere 'party' system--a form of struggle as to which sect can get the most money for its own purposes.

Christ,--the grand, patient, long-suffering Ideal of all goodness, is gone from it! How can He remain with it while it is such a Sham! Our bishops in England truckle to Rome--and, Rome itself is employing every possible means to tamper with the integrity of the British const.i.tution.

The spies and emissaries of Rome are everywhere--both in our so-called 'national' Church and in our most distinctly _un_-national Press!”

Helmsley listened with keen interest. As a man of business, education, observation, and discernment, he knew that what Reay said was true,--but in his a.s.sumed role of a poor and superannuated old office clerk, who had been turned adrift from work by reason of age and infirmities, he had always to be on his guard against expressing his opinion too openly or frankly.

”I don't know much about the newspapers,”--he said, mildly--”I read those I can get, just for the news--but there isn't much news, it appears to me----”

”And what there is may be contradicted in an hour's time,”--said Angus--”I tell you, David, when I started working in journalism, I thought it was the finest profession going. It seemed to me to have all the responsibilities of the world on its back. I considered it a force with which to educate, help, and refine all peoples, and all cla.s.ses.

But I found it was only a money speculation after all. How much profit could be made out of it? That was the chief point of action. That was the mainspring of every political discussion--and in election times, one side had orders to abuse the other, merely to keep up the popular excitement. By Jove! I should like to take a select body of electors 'behind the scenes' of a newspaper office and show them how the whole business is run!”

”You know too much, evidently!” said Mary smiling--”I don't wonder you were dismissed!”

He laughed--then as suddenly frowned.

”I swear as I stand here,” he said emphatically, ”that the press is not serving the people well! Do you know--no, of course you don't!--but I can tell you for a fact that a short time ago an offer was made from America through certain financial powers in the city, to buy up several of the London dailies, and run them on American lines![1] Germany had a finger in the pie, too, through her German Jews!”

Helmsley looked at his indignant face with a slight imperceptible smile.

”Well!” he said, with a purposely miscomprehending air.

”Well! You say 'Well,' David, as if such a proposition contained nothing remarkable. That's because you don't understand! Imagine for a moment the British Press being run by America!”

Helmsley stroked his beard thoughtfully.

”I _can't_ imagine it,”--he said.

”No--of course you can't! But a few rascally city financiers _could_ imagine it, and more than that, were prepared to carry the thing through. Then, the British people would have been led, guided, advised, and controlled by a Yankee syndicate! And the worst of it is that this same British people would have been kept in ignorance of the 'deal.'

They would actually have been paying their pennies to keep up the shares of a gang of unscrupulous rascals whose sole end and object was to get the British press into their power! Think of it!”

”But did they succeed?” asked Helmsley.