Part 13 (1/2)

”You 've always understood me better than any one, and--and I wish you knew what it has meant to me, and that I could thank you somehow.”

”'Sh, my boy. It 's thanks enough to hear them words from you. Now you jest calm yoreself, an' when Sunday comes--I don't know as I 'd ought to say it this way, but I mean it all in a Christian sperrit--when Sunday comes, Freddie, my boy, you jest go in an' give 'em fits.”

The two parted with another pressure of the hand, and it must be confessed that the old man looked a little bit sheepish when his wife hoped he had been giving Fred good advice.

”You don't reckon, Hester, that I 'd give him any other kind, do you?”

”Not intentionally, 'Liphalet; but when it comes to advice, there 's p'ints o' view.” Mrs. Hodges seemed suspicious of her husband's capabilities as an adviser.

”There 's some times when people 'd a good deal ruther have sympathy than advice.”

”An' I reckon, 'cordin' to yore way o' thinkin' this is one o' them.

Well, I intend to try to do my dooty in this matter, as I 've tried to do it all along.”

”Hester, yore dooty 'll kill you yit. It 's a wonder you don't git tired a-lookin' it in the face.”

”I ain't a-goin' to s.h.i.+rk it, jest to live in pleasure an' ease.”

”No need o' s.h.i.+rkin', Hester, no need o' s.h.i.+rkin'; but they 's some people that would n't be content without rowin' down stream.”

”An' then, mind you, 'Liphalet, I ain't a-exchangin' words with you, fur that 's idleness, but there 's others, that would n't row up stream, but 'ud wait an' hope fur a wind to push 'em.” These impersonalities were as near ”spatting” as Mr. and Mrs. Hodges ever got.

Through all the community that cl.u.s.tered about Mr. Simpson's church and drew its thoughts, ideas, and subjects of gossip therefrom, ran like wildfire the news that at last they were to have a chance to judge of young Brent's merits for themselves. It caused a stir among old and young, and in the days preceding the memorable Sunday little else was talked of.

When it reached the ears of old Dan'l Hastings, who limped around now upon two canes, but was as acrimonious as ever, he exclaimed, tapping the ground with one of his sticks for emphasis, ”What! that young Brent preachin' in our church, in our minister's pulpit! It 's a shame,--an'

he the born son of old Tom Brent, that all the town knows was the worst sinner hereabouts. I ain't a-goin' to go; I ain't a-goin' to go.”

”Don't you be afeared to go, Dan'l: there ain't no danger that his docterns air a-goin' to be as strong as his father's whisky,” said his old enemy.

”Oh, it 's fur the likes o' you, Thomas Donaldson, to be a-talkin' o'

docterns an' whisky in the same breath. You never did have no reverence,” said the old man, testily.

”An' yet, Dan'l, I 've found docterns an' whisky give out by the same breath.”

Mr. Hastings did not think it necessary to notice this remark. He went on with his tirade against the prospective ”supply:” ”Why can't Elder Simpson preach hisself, I 'd like to know, instead o' puttin' up that young upstart to talk to his betters? Why, I mind the time that that boy had to be took out o' church by the hand fur laffin' at me,--at _me_, mind you,” the old man repeated, shaking his stick; ”laffin' at me when I was expoundin' the word.”

”That 's ter'ble, Dan'l; fur, as fur as I kin ricollec', when you 're a-expoundin' the word it ain't no laffin' matter.”

”I tell you, Thomas Donaldson, the world 's a-goin' down hill fast: but I ain't a-goin' to help it along. I ain't a-goin' to hear that Brent boy preach.”

This declaration, however, did not prevent the venerable Dan'l from being early in his seat on the following Sunday morning, sternly, uncompromisingly critical.

As might have been expected, the church was crowded. Friends, enemies, and the merely curious filled the seats and blocked the aisles. The chapel had been greatly enlarged to accommodate its growing congregation, but on this day it was totally inadequate to hold the people who flocked to its doors.

The Rev. Mr. Simpson was so far recovered from his indisposition as to be able to be present and a.s.sist at the service. Elizabeth was there, looking proud and happy and anxious. Mrs. Hodges was in her accustomed place on the ladies' side of the pulpit. She had put new strings to her bonnet in honour of the occasion. Her face wore a look of great severity. An unregenerate wag in the back part of the church pointed her out to his companions and remarked that she looked as if she 'd spank the preacher if he did n't do well. ”Poor fellow, if he sees that face he 'll break down, sure.” Opposite, in the ”amen corner,” the countenance of the good Eliphalet was a study in changing expressions.

It was alternately possessed by fear, doubt, anxiety, and exultation.

Sophy Davis sat in a front seat, spick and span in a new dress, which might have been made for the occasion. People said that she was making eyes at her young fellow-salesman, though she was older than he. Mrs.

Martin and her friend whispered together a little farther back.

A short time before the service began, Brent entered by a side door near the pulpit and ascended to his place. His entrance caused a marked sensation. His appearance was impressive. The youthful face was white and almost rigid in its lines. ”Scared to death,” was the mental note of a good many who saw him. But his step was firm. As Elizabeth looked at him, she felt proud that such a man loved her. He was not handsome. His features were irregular, but his eyes were clear and fearless. If a certain cowardice had held him back from this ordeal, it was surely not because he trembled for himself. The life he had lived and the battles he had fought had given a compression to his lips that corrected a natural tendency to weakness in his mouth. His head was set squarely on his broad shoulders. He was above medium height, but not loosely framed.