Part 6 (1/2)
”I'd go if I was thee, Peggy. Thou'lt hev thysen to talk about there, and thou'lt not be tempted to say things about t' Cravens thou wont be able to stand up to.”
”I'd hev some human nature in me, Ezra Dixon, if I was thee. To think o' this being t' first murder as iver was i' Hallam! and thou talking as if I ought to buckle up my tongue about it.”
”Thou ought; but 'oughts' stand for nothing. To be sure thou'll talk about it; but go and talk i' thy cla.s.s-meeting wi' Josiah Banks looking i' thy face, and then thou'll talk wi' a kind heart. Do as I tell thee.”
”Nay, I'll not do it.”
”Thou nivver will disappoint t' devil, Peggy.”
Peggy did not answer; she was too much interested in the rector's proceedings. He was actually crossing the road and joining the ladies and the preacher.
”Now, then! Dost ta see that, Ezra? Whativer's coming to folk? Why-a!
They're a' going on together!”
”Why not? T' rector's a varry good man. It 'ud be strange if he didn't feel for poor Martha as well as ivery other kind heart. Her trouble hes made a' maks o' Christians feel together.”
”If Martha was n.o.bbut a Church o' England woman.”
”Dost ta really think that t' rector is cut on that sort o' a pattern?
Not he. A man may be a Christian, Peggy, even if he isn't a Wesleyan Methody. Them's my principles, and I'm not a bit 'shamed o' them.”
It was quite true; the rector had joined the girls and the preacher, and they walked on together as far as the park gates, talking of Martha and her great sorrow and great faith. Then the preacher turned back, carrying with him to his little chapel the strength that comes from real Christian sympathy and communion.
”What clear prophetic eyes that Mr. North has,” said the rector, as they walked thoughtfully under the green arches of the elms.
”He lives very near to the other world,” said Phyllis; ”I think his eyes have got that clear far-off look with habitually gazing into eternity. It is a great privilege to talk to him, for one always feels that he is just from the presence of G.o.d.”
”I have heard that you are a Dissenter, Miss Fontaine.”
”O no, I am not. I am a Methodist.”
”That is what I meant.”
”But the two are not the same. I am quite sure that the line between Dissent and Methodism has been well defined from the beginning.”
The rector smiled tolerantly down at Phyllis's bright thoughtful face, and said: ”Do young ladies in America study theological history?”
”I think most of them like to understand the foundation upon which their spiritual faith is built. I have found every side study of Methodism very interesting. Methodism is a more charitable and a more spiritual thing than Dissent.”
”Are you sure of that?”
”Yes. Dissenters began every-where with showing how fallen was the Church, how unworthy were her ministers; but Methodism began every-where with showing her hearers how fallen they themselves were, and how utterly unworthy. Dissent was convinced that Episcopacy was wrong; Methodism sprang from a sense of personal guilt. Dissent discussed schemes of church government, as if the salvation of the world depended upon certain forms; Methodism had one object, to save souls and inculcate personal holiness. Dissent boldly separated herself from the Church; Methodism clung with loving affection to her mother.
Her separation was gradual, and accompanied with fond regrets.”
”I like that reasoning, Miss Fontaine.”
”Do not give me credit for it; it comes from those who have authority to speak upon such matters. But ought not a young lady to know as much about the origin and const.i.tution of her Church as of her country?”
”I suppose she ought. What do you say, Miss Hallam?”