Part 19 (2/2)
I breathed freer. I privately hoped that all the hitch-ropes at the farm were rotten.
Griz stands perfectly well without hitching, I said as we drove home, Why do you force an issue?
I didnt. She did. Shes beaten me. If I dont hitch her now, sh.e.l.l know shes master.
Oh, dear! I sighed. Let her _be_ master! Wheres the harm? Its just your vanity.
Perhaps so, said Jonathan.
When he agrees with me like that I know its hopeless.
The next night he wheeled in at the big gate bearing about his shoulders a coil of heavy rope.
It looks like a s.h.i.+ps cable, I said.
Yes, he responded, leaning his bicycle against his side, and swinging the coil over his head. I want it for mooring purposes. Think itll moor Griz?
Jonathan! I exclaimed, you wont!
Watch me, said Jonathan, and he proceeded to explain to me the working of the tackle.
One end had a ring in it, and as nearly as I remember, the plan was to put the rope around her body, under what would be her arm-pits if she had arm-pits,horses joints are never called what one would expect, of course,run the end through the ring, then forward between her legs and through the bit-ring.
Then, when she sets back, it cuts her in two, he concluded cheerfully.
But you dont _want_ her in two, I protested.
She wont set back, he responded; at least, not more than once.
To-morrows Sunday; Ill have to hitch her at church.
I hoped it would rain, so we neednt go, but we were having a drought and the morning dawned cloudless. We reached the church just on the last stroke of the bell. The women were all within; the men and boys lounging in the vestibule were turning reluctant feet to follow them.
You go right in, said Jonathan, Ill be in soon.
I turned to protest, but he was already driving round to the side, and a hush had fallen over the congregation within that made it embarra.s.sing to call. Besides, one of the deacons stood holding open the door for me.
I slipped into a pew near the back, with the apologetic feeling one often has in an old country churcha feeling that one is making the ghosts move along a little. They did move, of course,probably ghosts are always polite when one really meets them,and I sat down. Indeed, I was thinking very little of ghosts that day, or of the minister either. My ears were c.o.c.ked to catch and interpret all the noises that came in through the open windows on my left. My eyes wandered in that direction, too, though the clear panes revealed nothing more exciting than flickering maple leaves and a sky filmed over by veils of cloud.
The moralists tell us that what we get out of any experience depends upon what we bring to it. What I brought to it that morning was a mind agog, attuned to receive these expected outside sounds. To all such sounds the service within was merely a backgrounda background which didnt know its place, since it kept pus.h.i.+ng itself more or less importunately into the foreground. I sat there, of course, with perfect propriety of demeanor, but my reactions were something like this:
_Hymn 912_ seven stanzas! horrors! oh! _omit the 3d, 5th, and 6th_well, I should hope so! I cant hear a thing while this is going on! He hasnt come in yet! _Scripture reading for to-day_why cant he give us the pa.s.sage and let us read it for ourselves?well, his voice is rather high and uneven, I think I could make out Jonathans through the loopholes in it. There! What was that, I wonder! Sounded like shouting,oh, why cant he talk softly! _Let us unite in prayer._ Ah! now well have a long, quiet time, anyway! if only he wouldnt pray quite so loud! Why pray aloud at all, anyway? I like the Quaker way best: a good long strip of silence, where your thoughts can wash around in any fas.h.i.+on thatThere!
Noyesnoits just people going by on the road. Maybe hes in the back of the church now, waiting for the close of the prayer. Seems as if I had to look. Well, he isnt. _For thy names sake, amen._
And then the collection, with an organ voluntary the whilenow why an organ voluntary? Why not leave people to their thoughts some of the time?
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