Part 20 (1/2)
”I didn't think so, but I am. I put myself in mind of the old feller that stood all day a smelling of a rose bush when the weeds were choking his corn. In my wheat field the tares are coming up, now that I am away, and I ought to be there to pull them up by the roots.”
”But you need a vacation. Ail preachers take vacations. Why, in the cities, they--”
”Yes, ma'm,” he broke in. ”Sometimes they shut up their churches, I know, and they go away from their desks and their pulpits; but they are learned men, bristling with sharp points against the man who attacks their creed. I am not armed that way. I can't argue; I can't defend the church against the smart men that Satan has hired. All I can do is to preach in my rough way and go about and beg men to do as near right as they can.”
”And St. Paul could not have done more, Mr. Reverend.”
”Ah,” he said, bowing low, and then looking up at her. ”I am afraid of St. Paul. He was a great scholar and in his hands the gospel was a dazzling thing. But with poor, ignorant Peter it was simple; and I choose Peter for my master because I am not afraid of him.”
Below them Tom and Lou sat on a rock. The game young fellow was still shy. Sometimes he looked as if he despaired of ever recovering his wonted nerve, for in this girl, so modest and so shrinking, he knew that there lay asleep the wildcat's fearful spirit. Bold by nature he longed at times to see this spirit blaze, but her soft eyes pleaded with him and gentleness made him afraid.
”Come right in,” said Margaret as they appeared at the door. ”Have this cheer, Miz Mayfield?”
”No, thank you I'll sit over here.” She sat down near the table, and Jim took a seat opposite to her and resumed his silent gaze. ”We have had a delightful stroll,” said Mrs. Mayfield, taking off her gloves; and Lou who stood behind her peeped around lovingly into her eyes.
”Stroll,” cried Tom. ”I call it a chase. And you could catch a deer almost as easily as to keep up with Miss Lou.”
”Why, Mr. Tom, I didn't walk fast.”
”Oh,” he rejoined, ”you didn't walk at all. You flitted.”
His aunt looked at him. ”Tom, dear, don't be extravagant.”
”Extravagant! That's the reason father let me come up here. So I couldn't be extravagant.”
”He is determined to be literal,” she said with a sigh.
Lou gathered up a handful of flowers that lay in Mrs. Mayfield's lap.
”Let me have these,” and she began to weave them into the city woman's hair.
”Why, daughter,” cried Margaret, ”don't do that. She mout not like it.”
”Oh, don't stop her, please,” Mrs. Mayfield replied, and then to Jim she added: ”Did you ever have a fawn touch you with its velvety lip? The thrill of innocence, the--”
”Auntie, don't be extravagant,” Tom broke in, and Lou gave him a look of tender reproof. ”I wish you'd hush, Mr. Tom. I like to hear her talk.”
”Why--why don't you like to hear me talk?”
”I do except when you interrupt her.”
He hung his head. ”Thank you. Wishes should be sacred when set to music.”
”A very pretty speech,” said Mrs. Mayfield, nodding Tom a compliment, and Margaret, not to be left behind, declared: ”Oh, he couldn't be pearter if he tried.”
”There,” exclaimed the girl, patting Mrs. Mayfield's head, ”you are in bloom.”
”She was the moment you said so,” Tom replied.
”Do you think so?”