COLLECTION
OF
BRITISH AUTHORS
TAUCHNITZ EDITION.
VOL. 1091.
SALEM CHAPEL BY MRS. OLIPHANT.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
TAUCHNITZ EDITION.
By the same Author,
THE LAST OF THE MORTIMERS 2 vols.
MARGARET MAITLAND 1 vol.
AGNES 2 vols.
MADONNA MARY 2 vols.
THE MINISTER'S WIFE 2 vols.
THE RECTOR AND THE DOCTOR'S FAMILY 1 vol.
Chronicles of Carlingford
SALEM CHAPEL
BY
MRS. OLIPHANT.
_COPYRIGHT EDITION._
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LEIPZIG
BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ
1870.
_The Right of Translation is reserved._
SALEM CHAPEL.
CHAPTER I.
Towards the west end of Grove Street, in Carlingford, on the shabby side
of the street, stood a red brick building, presenting a pinched gable
terminated by a curious little belfry, not intended for any bell, and
looking not unlike a handle to lift up the edifice by to the public
observation. This was Salem Chapel, the only Dissenting place of worship
in Carlingford. It stood in a narrow strip of ground, just as the little
houses which flanked it on either side stood in their gardens, except
that the enclosure of the chapel was flowerless and sombre, and showed
at the farther end a few sparsely-scattered tombstones--unmeaning slabs,
such as the English mourner loves to inscribe his sorrow on. On either
side of this little tabernacle were the humble houses--little detached
boxes, each two storeys high, each fronted by a little flower-plot--clean,
respectable, meagre, little habitations, which contributed most largely
to the ranks of the congregation in the Chapel. The big houses opposite,
which turned their backs and staircase windows to the street, took
little notice of the humble Dissenting community. Twice in the winter,
perhaps, the Miss Hemmings, mild evangelical women, on whom the late
rector--the Low-Church rector, who reigned before the brief and
exceptional incumbency of the Rev. Mr. Proctor--had bestowed much of his
confidence, would cross the street, when other profitable occupations
failed them, to hear a special sermon on a Sunday evening. But the Miss
Hemmings were the only representatives of anything which could, by the
utmost stretch, be called Society, who ever patronised the Dissenting
interest in the town of Carlingford. Nobody from Grange Lane had ever
been seen so much as in Grove Street on a Sunday, far less in the
chapel. Greengrocers, dealers in cheese and bacon, milkmen, with some
dressmakers of inferior pretensions, and teachers of day-schools of
similar humble character, formed the _élite_ of the congregation. It is
not to be supposed, however, on this account, that a prevailing aspect
of shabbiness was upon this little community; on the contrary, the grim
pews of Salem Chapel blushed with bright colours, and contained both
dresses and faces on the summer Sundays which the Church itself could
scarcely have surpassed. Nor did those unadorned walls form a centre of
asceticism and gloomy religiousness in the cheerful little town.
Tea-meetings were not uncommon occurrences in Salem--tea-meetings which
made the little tabernacle festive, in which cakes and oranges were
diffused among the pews, and funny speeches made from the little
platform underneath the pulpit, which woke the unconsecrated echoes with
hearty outbreaks of laughter. Then the young people had their
singing-class, at which they practised hymns, and did not despise a
little flirtation; and charitable societies and missionary auxiliaries
diversified the congregational routine, and kept up a brisk succession
of "Chapel business," mightily like the Church business which occupied
Mr. Wentworth and his Sisters of Mercy at St. Roque's. To name the two
communities, however, in the same breath, would have been accounted
little short of sacrilege in Carlingford. The names which figured
highest in the benevolent lists of Salem Chapel, were known to society
only as appearing, in gold letters, upon the backs of those mystic
tradesmen's books, which were deposited every Monday in little heaps at
every house in Grange Lane. The Dissenters, on their part, aspired to no
conquests in the unattainable territory of high life, as it existed in
Carlingford. They were content to keep their privileges among
themselves, and to enjoy their superior preaching and purity with a
compassionate complacence. While Mr. Proctor was rector, indeed, Mr.
Tozer, the butterman, who was senior deacon, found it difficult to
refrain from an audible expression of pity for the "Church folks" who
knew no better; but, as a general rule, the congregation of Salem kept
by itself, gleaning new adherents by times at an "anniversary" or the
coming of a new minister, but knowing and keeping "its own place" in a
manner edifying to behold.
Such was the state of affairs when old Mr. Tufton declined in
popularity, and impressed upon the minds of his hearers those
now-established principles about the unfitness of old men for any
important post, and the urgent necessity and duty incumbent upon old
clergymen, old generals, old admirals, &c.--every aged functionary,
indeed, except old statesmen--to resign in favour of younger men, which
have been, within recent years, so much enforced upon the world. To
communicate this opinion to the old minister was perhaps less difficult
to Mr. Tozer and his brethren than it might have been to men more
refined and less practical; but it was an undeniable relief to the
managers of the chapel when grim Paralysis came mildly in and gave the
intimation in the manner least calculated to wound the sufferer's
feelings. Mild but distinct was that undeniable warning. The poor old
minister retired, accordingly, with a purse and a presentation, and
young Arthur Vincent, fresh from Homerton, in the bloom of hope and
intellectualism, a young man of the newest school, was recognised as
pastor in his stead.
A greater change could not possibly have happened. When the interesting
figure of the young minister went up the homely pulpit-stairs, and
appeared, white-browed, white-handed, in snowy linen and glossy clerical
apparel, where old Mr. Tufton, spiritual but homely, had been wont to
impend over the desk and exhort his beloved brethren, it was natural
that a slight rustle of expectation should run audibly through the
audience. Mr. Tozer looked round him proudly to note the sensation, and
see if the Miss Hemmings, sole representatives of a cold and unfeeling
aristocracy, were there. The fact was, that few of the auditors were
more impressed than the Miss Hemmings, who _were_ there, and who talked
all the evening after about the young minister. What a sermon it was!
not much in it about the beloved brethren; nothing very stimulating,
indeed, to the sentiments and affections, except in the youth and good
looks of the preacher, which naturally made a more distinct impression
upon the female portion of his hearers than on the stronger sex. But
then what eloquence! what an amount of thought! what an honest entrance
into all the difficulties of the subject! Mr. Tozer remarked afterwards
that such preaching was food for _men_. It was too closely reasoned out,
said the excellent butterman, to please women or weak-minded persons:
but he did not doubt, for his part, that soon the young men of
Carlingford, the hope of the country, would find their way to Salem. Under
such prognostications, it was fortunate that the young minister
possessed something else besides close reasoning and Homerton eloquence
to propitiate the women too.
Mr. Vincent arrived at Carlingford in the beginning of winter, when
society in that town was reassembling, or at least reappearing, after
the temporary summer seclusion. The young man knew very little of the
community which he had assumed the spiritual charge of. He was almost as
particular as the Rev. Mr. Wentworth of St. Roque's about the cut of his
coat and the precision of his costume, and decidedly preferred the word
clergyman to the word minister, which latter was universally used by his
flock; but notwithstanding these trifling predilections, Mr. Vincent,
who had been brought up upon the 'Nonconformist' and the 'Eclectic
Review,' was strongly impressed with the idea that the Church
Establishment, though outwardly prosperous, was in reality a profoundly
rotten institution; that the Nonconforming portion of the English public
was the party of progress; that the eyes of the world were turned upon
the Dissenting interest; and that his own youthful eloquence and the
Voluntary principle were quite enough to counterbalance all the
ecclesiastical advantages on the other side, and make for himself a
position of the highest influence in his new sphere. As he walked about
Carlingford making acquaintance with the place, it occurred to the young
man, with a thrill of not ungenerous ambition, that the time might
shortly come when Salem Chapel would be all too insignificant for the
Nonconformists of this hitherto torpid place. He pictured to himself
how, by-and-by, those jealous doors in Grange Lane would fly open at his
touch, and how the dormant minds within would awake under his influence.
It was a blissful dream to the young pastor. Even the fact that Mr.
Tozer was a butterman, and the other managers of the chapel equally
humble in their pretensions, did not disconcert him in that flush of
early confidence. All he wanted--all any man worthy of his post
wanted--was a spot of standing-ground, and an opportunity of making the
Truth--and himself--known. Such, at least, was the teaching of Homerton
and the Dissenting organs. Young Vincent, well educated and enlightened
according to his fashion, was yet so entirely unacquainted with any
world but that contracted one in which he had been brought up, that he
believed all this as devoutly as Mr. Wentworth believed in Anglicanism,
and would have smiled with calm scorn at any sceptic who ventured to
doubt. Thus it will be seen he came to Carlingford with elevated
expectations--by no means prepared to circulate among his flock, and say
grace at Mrs. Tozer's "teas," and get up _soirees_ to amuse the
congregation, as Mr. Tufton had been accustomed to do. These secondary
circumstances of his charge had little share in the new minister's
thoughts. Somehow the tone of public writing has changed of late days.
Scarcely a newspaper writer condescends now to address men who are not
free of "society," and learned in all its ways. The 'Times' and the
Magazines take it for granted that all their readers dine out at
splendid tables, and are used to a solemn attendant behind their chair.
Young Vincent was one of those who accept the flattering implication. It
is true, he saw few enough of such celestial scenes in his college-days.
But now that life was opening upon him, he doubted nothing of the
society that must follow; and with a swell of gratification listened
when the advantages of Carlingford were discussed by some chance
fellow-travellers on the railway; its pleasant parties--its nice
people--Mr. Wodehouse's capital dinners, and the charming
breakfasts--such a delightful novelty!--so easy and agreeable!--of the
pretty Lady Western, the young dowager. In imagination Mr. Vincent saw
himself admitted to all these social pleasures; not that he cared for
capital dinners more than became a young man, or had any special
tendencies towards tuft-hunting, but because fancy and hope, and
ignorance of the real world, made him naturally project himself into
the highest sphere within his reach, in the simple conviction that such
was his natural place.
With these thoughts, to be asked to Mrs. Tozer's to tea at six o'clock,
was the most wonderful cold plunge for the young man. He shrugged his
shoulders, smiled to himself over the note of invitation, which,
however, was very prettily written by Phoebe, Mrs. Tozer's blooming
daughter, on paper as pink as Lady Western's, and consented, as he could
not help himself. He went out from his nice lodgings a little after six,
still smiling, and persuading himself that this would be quite a
pleasant study of manners, and that of course he could not do less than
patronise the good homely people in their own way, whatever that might
be. Mr. Vincent's rooms were in George Street, at what the Grange Lane
people called _the other end_, in an imposing house with a large door,
and iron extinguishers fixed in the railing, which had in their day
quenched the links of the last century. To cross the street in his
evening coat, and walk into the butter-shop, where the two white-aproned
lads behind the counter stared, and a humble member of the congregation
turned sharply round, and held out the hand, which had just clutched a
piece of bacon, for her minister to shake, was a sufficiently trying
introduction to the evening's pleasure; but when the young pastor had
been ushered up-stairs, the first aspect of the company there rather
took away his breath, as he emerged from the dark staircase. Tozer
himself, who awaited the minister at the door, was fully habited in the
overwhelming black suit and white tie, which produced so solemnising an
effect every Sunday at chapel; and the other men of the party were, with
a few varieties, similarly attired. But the brilliancy of the female
portion of the company overpowered Mr. Vincent. Mrs. Tozer herself sat
at the end of her hospitable table, with all her best china tea-service
set out before her, in a gown and cap which Grange Lane could not have
furnished any rivals to. The brilliant hue of the one, and the flowers
and feathers of the other, would require a more elaborate description
than this chronicle has space for. Nor indeed in the particular of dress
did Mrs. Tozer do more than hold her own among the guests who surrounded
her. It was scarcely dark, and the twilight softened down the splendours
of the company, and saved the dazzled eyes of the young pastor. He felt
the grandeur vaguely as he came in with a sense of reproof, seeing that
he had evidently been waited for. He said grace devoutly when the tea
arrived and the gas was lighted, and with dumb amaze gazed round him.
Could these be the veritable womankind of Salem Chapel? Mr. Vincent saw
bare shoulders and flower-wreathed heads bending over the laden
tea-table. He saw pretty faces and figures not inelegant, remarkable
among which was Miss Phoebe's, who had written him that pink note, and
who herself was pink all over--dress, shoulders, elbows, cheeks, and
all. Pink--not red--a softened youthful flush, which was by no means
unbecoming to the plump full figure which had not an angle anywhere. As
for the men, the lawful owners of all this feminine display, they
huddled all together, indisputable cheesemongers as they were, quite
transcended and extinguished by their wives and daughters. The pastor
was young and totally inexperienced. In his heart he asserted his own
claim to an entirely different sphere; but, suddenly cast into this
little crowd, Mr. Vincent's inclination was to join the dark group of
husbands and fathers whom he knew, and who made no false pretences. He
was shy of venturing upon those fine women, who surely never could be
Mrs. Brown of the Devonshire Dairy, and Mrs. Pigeon, the poulterer's
wife; whereas Pigeon and Brown themselves were exactly like what they
always were on Sundays, if not perhaps a trifle graver and more
depressed in their minds.
"Here's a nice place for you, Mr. Vincent--quite the place for you,
where you can hear all the music, and see all the young ladies. For I do
suppose ministers, bein' young, are like other young men," said Mrs.
Tozer, drawing aside her brilliant skirts to make room for him on the
sofa. "I have a son myself as is at college, and feel motherlike to
those as go in the same line. Sit you down comfortable, Mr. Vincent.
There ain't one here, sir, I'm proud to say, as grudges you the best
seat."
"Oh, mamma, how could you think of saying such a thing!" said Phoebe,
under her breath; "to be sure, Mr. Vincent never could think there was
anybody anywhere that would be so wicked--and he the minister."
"Indeed, my dear," said Mrs. Pigeon, who was close by, "not to affront
Mr. Vincent, as is deserving of our best respects, I've seen many and
many's the minister I wouldn't have given up my seat to; and I don't
misdoubt, sir, you've heard of such as well as we. There was Mr. Bailey
at Parson's Green, now. He went and married a poor bit of a governess,
as common a looking creature as you could see, that set herself up above
the people, Mr. Vincent, and was too grand, sir, if you'll believe me,
to visit the deacons' wives. Nobody cares less than me about them vain
shows. What's visiting, if you know the vally of your time? Nothing but
a laying up of judgment. But I wouldn't be put upon neither by a chit
that got her bread out of me and my husband's hard earnins; and so I
told my sister, Mrs. Tozer, as lives at Parson's Green."
"Poor thing!" said the gentler Mrs. Tozer, "it's hard lines on a
minister's wife to please the congregation. Mr. Vincent here, he'll have
to take a lesson. That Mrs. Bailey was pretty-looking, I must allow----"
"Sweetly pretty!" whispered Phoebe, clasping her plump pink hands.
"Pretty-looking! I don't say anything against it," continued her mother;
"but it's hard upon a minister when his wife won't take no pains to
please his flock. To have people turn up their noses at you ain't
pleasant----"
"And them getting their livin' off you all the time," cried Mrs. Pigeon,
clinching the milder speech.
"But it seems to me," said poor Vincent, "that a minister can no more
be said to get his living off you than any other man. He works hard
enough generally for what little he has. And really, Mrs. Tozer, I'd
rather not hear all these unfortunate particulars about one of my
brethren----"
"He ain't one of the brethren now," broke in the poulterer's wife. "He's
been gone out o' Parson's Green this twelvemonths. Them stuck-up ways
may do with the Church folks as can't help themselves, but they'll never
do with us Dissenters. Not that we ain't as glad as can be to see you,
Mr. Vincent, and I hope you'll favour my poor house another night like
you're favouring Mrs. Tozer's. Mr. Tufton always said that was the
beauty of Carlingford in our connection. Cheerful folks and no display.
No display, you know--nothing but a hearty meetin', sorry to part, and
happy to meet again. Them's our ways. And the better you know us, the
better you'll like us, I'll be bound to say. We don't put it all on the
surface, Mr. Vincent," continued Mrs. Pigeon, shaking out her skirts and
expanding herself on her chair, "but it's all real and solid; what we
say we mean--and we don't say no more than we mean--and them's the kind
of folks to trust to wherever you go."
Poor Vincent made answer by an inarticulate murmur, whether of assent or
dissent it was impossible to say; and, inwardly appalled, turned his
eyes towards his deacons, who, more fortunate than himself, were
standing all in a group together discussing chapel matters, and wisely
leaving general conversation to the fairer portion of the company. The
unlucky minister's secret looks of distress awoke the interest and
sympathy of Phoebe, who sat in an interesting manner on a stool at her
mother's side. "Oh, mamma," said that young lady, too bashful to address
himself directly, "I wonder if Mr. Vincent plays or sings? There are
some such nice singers here. Perhaps we might have some music, if Mr.
Vincent----"
"I don't perform at all," said that victim,--"not in any way; but I am
an exemplary listener. Let me take you to the piano."
The plump Phoebe rose after many hesitations, and, with a simper and a
blush and pretty air of fright, took the minister's arm. After all, even
when the whole company is beneath a man's level, it is easier to play
the victim under the _supplice_ inflicted by a pretty girl than by two
mature matrons. Phoebe understood pretty well about her _h_'s, and did
not use the double negative; and when she rose up rustling from her low
seat, the round, pink creature, with dimples all about her, was not an
unpleasant object of contemplation. Mr. Vincent listened to her song
with decorous interest. Perhaps it was just as well sung as Lucy
Wodehouse, in Grange Lane, would have sung it. When Phoebe had
concluded, the minister was called to the side of Mrs. Brown of the
Devonshire Dairy, who had been fidgeting to secure him from the moment
he approached the piano. She was fat and roundabout, good woman, and had
the aspect of sitting upon the very edge of her chair. She held out to
the distressed pastor a hand covered with a rumpled white glove, which
did not fit, and had never been intended to fit, and beckoned to him
anxiously. With the calmness of despair Mr. Vincent obeyed the call.
"I have been looking so anxious to catch your eye, Mr. Vincent," said
Mrs. Brown; "do sit you down, now there's a chance, and let me talk to
you a minnit. Bless the girl! there's Miss Polly Pigeon going to play,
and everybody can use their freedom in talking. For my part," said Mrs.
Brown, securing the vacant chair of the performer for her captive,
"that's why I like instrumental music best. When a girl sings, why, to
be sure, it's only civil to listen--ain't it now, Mr. Vincent? but
nobody expects it of you, don't you see, when she only plays. Now do you
sit down. What I wanted to speak to you was about that poor creetur in
Back Grove Street--that's the lane right behind the chapel. She do
maunder on so to see the minister. Mr. Tozer he's been to see her, and I
sent Brown, but it wasn't a bit of use. It's you, Mr. Vincent, she's
awanting of. If you'll call in to-morrow, I'll show you the place
myself, as you're a stranger; for if you'll excuse me saying it, I am as
curious as can be to hear what she's got to say."
"If she has got anything to say, she might prefer that it was not
heard," said Vincent, with an attempt at a smile. "Is she ill--and who
is she? I have never heard of her before."
"Well, you see, sir, she doesn't belong rightly to Salem. She's a
stranger here, and not a joined member; and she ain't ill either, as I
can see--only something on her mind. You ministers," said Mrs. Brown,
with a look of awe, "must have a deal of secrets confided to you. Folks
may stand out against religion as long as things go on straight with
them, but they're sure to want the minister as soon as they've got
something on their mind; and a deal better to have it out, and get a
little comfort, than to bottle it all up till their latter end, like old
Mrs. Thompson, and let it out in their will, to drive them as was
expecting different distracted. It's a year or two since that happened.
I don't suppose you've heerd tell of it yet. But that's what makes old
Mrs. Christian--I dare to say you've seen her at chapel--so
uncomfortable in her feelins. She's never got over it, sir, and never
will to her dying day."
"Some disappointment about money?" said Mr. Vincent.
"Poor old folks! their daughter did very well for herself--and very well
for them too," said Mrs. Brown; "but it don't make no difference in Mrs.
Christian's feelins: they're living, like, on Mr. Brown the solicitor's
charity, you see, sir, instead of their own fortin, which makes a deal
o' difference. It would have been a fine thing for Salem too," added
Mrs. Brown, reflectively, "if they had had the old lady's money; for
Mrs. Christian was always one that liked to be first, and stanch to her
chapel, and would never have been wanting when the collecting-books went
round. But it wasn't to be, Mr. Vincent--that's the short and the long
of it; and we never have had nobody in our connection worth speaking of
in Carlingford but's been in trade. And a very good thing too, as I tell
Brown. For if there's one thing I can't abear in a chapel, it's one set
setting up above the rest. But bein' all in the way of business, except
just the poor folks, as is all very well in their place, and never
interferes with nothing, and don't count, there's nothing but brotherly
love here, which is a deal more than most ministers can say for their
flocks. I've asked a few friends to tea, Mr. Vincent, on next Thursday,
at six. As I haven't got no daughters just out of a boarding-school to
write notes for me, will you take us in a friendly way, and just come
without another invitation? All our own folks, sir, and a comfortable
evening; and prayers, if you'll _be_ so good, at the end. I don't like
the new fashion," said Mrs. Brown, with a significant glance towards
Mrs. Tozer, "of separatin' like heathens, when all's of one connection.
We might never meet again, Mr. Vincent. In the midst of life, you know,
sir. You'll not forget Thursday, at six."
"But, my dear Mrs. Brown, I am very sorry: Thursday is one of the days I
have specially devoted to study," stammered forth the unhappy pastor.
"What with the Wednesday meeting and the Friday committee----"
Mrs. Brown drew herself up as well as the peculiarities of her form
permitted, and her roseate countenance assumed a deeper glow. "We've
been in the chapel longer than Tozer," said the offended deaconess.
"We've never been backward, in takin' trouble, nor spendin' our
substance, nor puttin' our hands to every good work; and as for makin' a
difference between one member and another, it's what we ain't been
accustomed to, Mr. Vincent. I'm a plain woman, and speak my mind. Old
Mr. Tufton was very particular to show no preference. He always said, it
never answered in a flock to show more friendship to one nor another;
and if it had been put to me, I wouldn't have said, I assure you, sir,
that it was us as was to be made the first example of. If I haven't a
daughter fresh out of a boarding-school, I've been a member of Salem
five-and-twenty year, and had ministers in my house many's the day, and
as friendly as if I were a duchess; and for charities and such things,
we've never been known to fail, though I say it; and as for trouble----"
"But I spoke of my study," said the poor minister, as she paused, her
indignation growing too eloquent for words: "you want me to preach on
Sunday, don't you? and I must have some time, you know, to do my work."
"Sir," said Mrs. Brown, severely, "I know it for a fact that Mr.
Wentworth of St. Roque's dines out five days in the week, and it don't
do _his_ sermons no injury; and when you go out to dinner, it stands to
reason it's a different thing from a friendly tea."
"Ah, yes, most likely!" said Mr. Vincent, with a heavy sigh. "I'll come,
since you wish it so much; but," added the unlucky young man, with a
melancholy attempt at a smile, "you must not be too kind to me. Too much
of this kind of thing, you know, might have an effect----" Here he
paused, inclined to laugh at his own powers of sarcasm. As chance would
have it, as he pointed generally to the scene before them, the little
wave of his hand seemed to Mrs. Brown to indicate the group round the
piano, foremost in which was Phoebe, plump and pink, and full of
dimples. The good mistress of the Devonshire Dairy gave her head a
little toss.
"Ah!" said Mrs. Brown, with a sigh, "you don't know, you young men, the
half of the tricks of them girls that look so innocent. But I don't deny
it's a pleasant party," added the deaconess, looking round on the
company in general with some complacency. "But just you come along our
way on Thursday, at six, and judge for yourself if mine ain't quite as
good; though I have not got no daughters, Mr. Vincent," she concluded,
with severe irony, elevating her double chin and nodding her flowery
head.
The subdued minister made no reply; only deeper and deeper humiliation
seemed in store for him. Was it he, the first prize-man of Homerton, who
was supposed to be already smitten by the pink charms of Phoebe Tozer?
The unfortunate young man groaned in spirit, and, seizing a sudden
opportunity, plunged into the black group of deacons, and tried to
immerse himself in chapel business. But vain was the attempt. He was
recaptured and led back in triumph to Mrs. Tozer's sofa. He had to
listen to more singing, and accept another invitation to tea. When he
got off at last, it was with a sensation of dreadful dwindlement that
poor Vincent crossed the street again to his lonely abode. He knocked
quite humbly at the big door, and, with a sensation of unclerical rage,
wondered to himself whether the policeman who met him knew he had been
out to tea. Ah, blessed Mr. Wentworth of St. Roque's! The young
Nonconformist sighed as he put on his slippers, and kicked his boots
into a corner of his sitting-room. Somehow he had come down in the world
all at once, and without expecting it. Such was Salem Chapel and its
requirements: and such was Mr. Vincent's first experience of social life
in Carlingford.