Part 9 (1/2)

”Yes, indeed,” he replied, pitying more and more the starvation of mind and longing to bring to it floods of light and enrichment.

”I guess I'd LIKE to hear YOU spiel,” and she fell to studying him solemnly.

”You would?” he asked eagerly.

”Is there any more to that story?” she asked, ignoring his question.

”Yes, indeed.”

”Would you read me a little more?” She was very humble now.

”Where thou diest will I die, and there will I be buried; the Lord do so to me and more also, if ought but death part me and thee.'”

Their eyes met. There was a long pause. Suddenly the sharp, sweet notes of the church bell brought John Douglas to his feet with a start of surprise.

”Have you got to go?” Polly asked regretfully.

”Yes, I must; but I'll read the rest from the church. Open the window, Mandy!” And he pa.s.sed out of the door and quickly down the stairs.

Chapter VI

WHEN John Douglas's uncle offered to educate his nephew for the ministry, the boy was less enthusiastic than his mother. He did not remonstrate, however, for it had been the custom of generations for at least one son of each Douglas family to preach the gospel of Calvinism, and his father's career as an architect and landscape gardener had not left him much capital.

Douglas, senior, had been recognised as an artist by the few who understood his talents, but there is small demand for the builder of picturesque houses in the little business towns of the Middle West, and at last he pa.s.sed away, leaving his son only the burden of his financial failure and an ardent desire to succeed at the profession in which his father had fared so badly. The hopeless, defeated look on the departed man's face had always haunted the boy, who was artist enough to feel his father's genius intuitively, and human enough to resent the injustice of his fate.

Douglas's mother had suffered so much because of the impractical efforts of her husband, that she discouraged the early tendencies of the son toward drawing and mathematics and tried to direct his thoughts toward creeds and Bible history. When he went away for his collegiate course, she was less in touch with him; and he was able to steal time from his athletics to devote to his art. He spent his vacations in a neighbouring city before a drawing board in the office of a distinguished architect, his father's friend.

Douglas was not a brilliant divinity student, and he was relieved when at last he received his degree in theology and found himself appointed to a small church in the Middle West.

His step was very bright the morning he first went up the path that led to his new home. His artistic sense was charmed by the picturesque approach to the church and parsonage. The view toward the tree-encircled spire was un.o.bstructed, for the church had been built on the outskirts of the town to allow for a growth that had not materialised. He threw up his head and gazed at the blue hills, with their background of soft, slow-moving clouds. The smell of the fresh earth, the bursting of the buds, the forming of new life, set him thrilling with a joy that was very near to pain.

He stopped half way up the path and considered the advantages of a new front to the narrow-eaved cottage, and when his foot touched the first step of the vine-covered porch, he was far more concerned about a new portico than with any thought of his first sermon.

His speculations were abruptly cut short by Mandy, who bustled out of the door with a wide smile of welcome on her black face, and an unmistakable ambition to take him immediately under her motherly wing.

She was much concerned because the church people had not met the new pastor at the station and brought him to the house. Upon learning that Douglas had purposely avoided their escort, preferring to come to his new home the first time alone, she made up her mind that she was going to like him.

Mandy had long been a fixture in the parsonage. She and her worse half, Hasty Jones, had come to know and discuss the weaknesses of the many clergymen who had come and gone, the deacons, and the congregation, both individually and collectively. She confided to Hasty, that she ”didn't blame de new parson fer not wantin' to mix up wid dat ar crowd.”

In the study that night, when she and Hasty helped Douglas to unpack his many boxes of books, they were as eager as children about the drawings and pictures which he showed them. His mind had gone beyond the parsonage front now, and he described to them the advantage of adding an extra ten feet to the church spire.

Mandy felt herself almost an artist when she and Hasty bade the pastor good night, for she was still quivering from the contagion of Douglas's enthusiasm. Here, at last, was a master who could do something besides find fault with her.

”I jest wan' to be on de groun' de firs' time dat Mars Douglas and dat ere Deacon Strong clinches,” she said to Hasty as they locked the doors and turned out the hall light. ”Did yuh done see his jaw?” she whispered. ”He look laughin' enough NOW, but jes' yuh wait till he done set dat'ere jaw a his'n and afar ain't n.o.body what's goin' ter unsot it.”

”Maybe dar ain't goin' ter be no clinchin',” said Hasty, hoping for Mandy's a.s.surance to the contrary.

”What?” shrieked Mandy. ”Wid dat 'ere sneakin' Widow Willoughby already a-tellin' de deacons how to start de new parson a-goin' proper?”