Part 15 (1/2)
”Don't worry, Mrs. Stickles,” was the rea.s.suring reply. ”Midnight will go, and I will hold the reins. Come, Dan, the horse, quick.”
As Midnight drew up to the door a few minutes later, Parson John came out of the house and affectionately patted the sleek neck of the n.o.ble animal.
”Remember, Midnight,” he said, ”you must do your best to-day. It's for the sake of the little la.s.s, and she was getting hay for you. Don't forget that.”
Chapter XIII
For the Sake of a Child
Night had shut down over the land as Midnight, with her long, swinging strides, clipped through the lighted streets of the prosperous little railway town of Bradin, and drew up at old Doctor Leeds' snug house. A fast express had just thundered shrieking by. A strong, cutting wind racing in from the Northeast was tearing through the sinuous telegraph wires with a buzzing sound, the weird prelude of a coming storm.
The worthy doctor was at home, having only lately returned from a long drive into the country. He and his wife, a kindly-faced little woman, were just sitting down to their quiet meal. Seldom could they have an evening together, for the doctor's field was a large one and his patients numerous.
”You have no engagement for to-night, I hope, Joseph,” remarked his wife, as she poured the tea.
”No, dear,” was the reply. ”I expect to have one evening at home, and I'm very glad of it, too. I'm weary to-night, and am longing for my arm-chair, with my papers and pipe.”
A sharp knock upon the door aroused them, and great was their surprise to see the venerable Rector of Glendow enter.
”Parson John!” cried the doctor, rus.h.i.+ng forward and grasping his old friend's hand. ”It's been months since I've seen you. What lucky event brought you here to-night? Did you miss the train? If so, I'm glad. My chessmen are moulding for want of use.”
But the parson shook his head and briefly told of the accident in the barn.
”And so the little la.s.s is in trouble, hey? More worry for Mrs. Stickles.”
”And you will be able to go to-night, Doctor?”
”Certainly. Sweepstakes hasn't been on the road for two days, and is keen for a good run.”
”But, my dear,” remonstrated Mrs. Leeds, ”are you able to go? You have been driving all day, and must be very tired. Why not rest a little first?”
”And let the poor child suffer that much longer! Not a bit of it.”
”I have heard doctors say,” remarked the parson, as he and Dan sat down to their supper, ”that they get so hardened to suffering that at last it does not affect them at all. I am glad it is not true with you.”
”The older I get,” replied the doctor thoughtfully, stirring his tea, ”the more my heart aches at the pains and sufferings of others, especially in little children. As soon as I hear of someone in distress I can never rest until I reach his or her side. There always comes to me a voice urging me to make haste. Even now I seem to hear that child calling to me. She is a sweet, pretty la.s.s, and how often have I patted her fair little head, and to think of those blue eyes filled with tears, that tiny face drawn with pain, and her whole body writhing in agony. However, you know all about this, Parson, so what's the use of my talking.”
”But I am glad to hear you speak as you do, Doctor. Over thirty years have I been in Glendow, and I become more affected by suffering the older I get.”
The doctor looked keenly into Mr. Westmore's face, as if trying to read his inmost thoughts.
”Do you ever become weary of your work?” he at length asked. ”Do you not long for a more congenial field?”
”I have often been asked that question, Doctor,” the parson slowly replied, ”but not so much of late. I am getting old now, and young men are needed, so I am somewhat forgotten. However, I am glad that this is so.
Years ago when a tempting offer came to me from some influential parish, though I always refused, it disturbed me for days, until the matter was finally settled. Now I do not have such distractions, and am quite happy.
In the quiet parish of Glendow I find all that the heart can desire. The labour to me becomes no more monotonous than the work of parents with their children. They often are weary in their toil for their little ones, but not weary of it. The body gives out at times, but not the love in the heart. And so I always find something new and fresh in my work which gives such a relish to life. I have baptized most of the young people in this parish, I have prepared them for Confirmation, given them their first Communion, and in numerous cases have joined their hands in holy wedlock.