Part 45 (2/2)

”Fraid 's a good deal thet way with most uv us. We're Christians up to a cert'in p'int. Fer one thing, I think if a man'll stan' still an' see himself knocked into the nex' world he's a leetle tew good fer this.'

The good lady began to preach and argue. For an hour Uncle Eb sat listening unable to get in a word. When, at last, she left him he came to us a look of relief in his face.

'I b'lieve,' said he, 'if Balaam's a.s.s hed been rode by a woman he never 'd hev spoke.'

'Why not?' I enquired.

'Never'd hev hed a chance,' Uncle Eb added.

We were two weeks at home with mother and father and Uncle Eb. It was a delightful season of rest in which Hope and I went over the sloping roads of Faraway and walked in the fields and saw the harvesting. She had appointed Christmas Day for our wedding and I was not to go again to the war, for now my first duty was to my own people. If G.o.d prospered me they were all to come to live with us in town and, though slow to promise, I could see it gave them comfort to know we were to be for them ever a staff and refuge.

And the evening before we came back to town Jed Feary was with us and Uncle Eb played his flute and sang the songs that had been the delight of our childhood.

The old poet read these lines written in memory of old times in Faraway and of Hope's girlhood.

'The red was in the clover an' the blue was in the sky: There was music in the meadow, there was dancing in the rye; An' I heard a voice a calling to the flocks o' Faraway An' its echo in the wooded hills--Go'day! Go'day! Go'day!

O fair was she--my lady love--an' lithe as the willow tree, An' aye my heart remembers well her parting words t' me.

An' I was sad as a beggar-man but she was blithe an' gay An' I think o' her as I call the flocks Go'day! Go'day! Go'day!

Her cheeks they stole the dover's red, her lips the odoured air, An' the glow o' the morning sunlight she took away in her hair; Her voice had the meadow music, her form an' her laughing eye Have taken the blue o' the heavens an' the grace o' the bending rye.

My love has robbed the summer day--the field, the sky, the dell, She has taken their treasures with her, she has taken my heart as well; An' if ever, in the further fields, her feet should go astray May she hear the good G.o.d calling her Go'day! Go'day! Go'day!

Chapter 41

I got a warm welcome on Monkey Hill. John Trumbull came to dine with us at the chalet the evening of my arrival. McGlingan had become editor-in-chief of a new daily newspaper. Since the war began Mr Force had found ample and remunerative occupation writing the 'Obituaries of Distinguished Persons. He sat between Trumbull and McGlingan at table and told again of the time he had introduced the late Daniel Webster to the people of his native town.

Reciting a pa.s.sage of the immortal Senator he tipped his beer into the lap of McClingan. He ceased talking and sought pardon.

'It is nothing, Force--nothing,' said the Scotchman, with great dignity, as he wiped his coat and trousers. 'You will pardon me if I say that I had rather be drenched in beer than soaked in recollections.

'That's all right,' said Mr Opper, handing him a new napkin. 'Yes, in the midst of such affliction I should call it excellent fun, McClingan added. 'If you ever die, Force, I will preach the sermon without charge.

'On what text?' the obituary editor enquired.

'”There remaineth therefore, a rest for the people of G.o.d,”'quoth McClingan solemnly. 'Hebrews, fourth chapter and ninth verse.

'If I continue to live with you I shall need it,' said Force.

'And if I endure to the end,' said McClingan, 'I shall have excellent Christian discipline; I shall feel like opening my mouth and making a loud noise.

McGlingan changed his garments and then came into my room and sat with us awhile after dinner.

'One needs ear lappers and a rubber coat at that table,' said he.

'And a chest protector,' I suggested, remembering the finger of Force.

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