A CONSECRATION.
Among the adherents of uncle Aleck were the Coes, a mild, moony race,
and recently it was understood that Emeline, the only daughter in a
family of eight or nine, a languid, dreamy, verse-making mystic, had
expressed a wish to receive the rite of Christian baptism, at that
time practised by Uncle Aleck and his associates in Northern Ohio.
The ceremony had been postponed on account of the illness of her
mother, and was finally performed on the Sunday following the
incidents last narrated. A meeting was to be holden in the primitive
forest, near Coe's cabin, on the margin of a deep, crystal pool,
formed naturally by the springs that supplied Coe's Creek. Few events
happened in that quiet region, and this was an event. News of it had
circulated widely, and hundreds attended.
The occasion was not without a certain touching interest. The beauty
of the day, the wildness of the scenery under the grand old trees,
with rude rocks, beautiful slopes, and running, pure water, and the
deepening tints of autumn in sky, cloud and foliage,--the warm shafts
of sunshine that here and there lit it all up,--the sincere gravity
that fell as a Sabbath hush on the expectant multitude, who seemed to
realize the presence of a solemn mystery,--carried back an imaginative
mind to an earlier day and a more primitive people, when the early
Christians, in the absence of schism, administered the same rite.
Uncle Aleck, imbued with the sweetest spirit of his Master, seemed
inspired with a sense of the sacredness of the act he was to perform.
Of its divine origin, and sweet and consecrating efficacy, he had not
the slightest doubt. The simple services of his faith he performed in
a way that harmonized entirely with the occasion and its surroundings.
A grand hymn under the old trees was sung by the choir with fine
effect; a short, fervent prayer, the reading of two or three portions
of one of the gospels, and a few words of sweet and simple fervor,
expressive of a great love and sacrifice, and the unutterable hope
and rest of its grateful acknowledgment in the public act about to be
performed, followed; and then the believing, trembling girl was led
into the translucent waters, which for a single instant closed over
her, and was returned, with a little cry of ecstasy, to her friends.
Another hymn, a simple benediction, and the solemnly impressed crowd
broke up into little knots, and left the spot vacant to the silence of
approaching night.
Conspicuous in this gathering, as conspicuous everywhere where he
appeared, was Major Ridgeley, an elder brother of Bart. Slightly
taller, and absolutely straight in the shoulders, with an uppish turn
to his head, the Major was universally pronounced a handsome man. His
large, bright, hazel eye, pure red and white complexion just touched
by the sun, with a world of black curling hair swept carelessly back
from, an open white brow, with well-formed mouth and chin, and his
frank, dashing, manly way, cheery voice, and gay manner, made him a
universal favorite; and, farmer and carpenter though he was, he was
welcomed as an equal by the best people in the community. He had
little literary cultivation, but mixing freely among men, and received
with universal kindness by all women, he had the ready manners of a
man of the world, which, with a shrewd vigor of mind, qualified him
for worldly success.
Bart came upon the ground with his mother, near whom he remained,
and to whom he was very attentive. To him the whole thing was very
impressive. His poetic fancy idealized it, and carried him back till
he seemed to see and hear the dedication of a young, pure spirit to
the sweet sacredness of a holy life, as in the days of the preachings
of the apostles. When the final hymn was given out he stood by
his brother, facing most of the crowd, and for the first time they
recognized in him a nameless something that declared and asserted
itself--something that vaguely hinted of the sheaf of the boy Joseph,
that arose and stood upright, and to which their sheaves involuntarily
did obeisance.
Still very young, and less handsome than his brother, he was yet
more striking, pale and fair, with little color, and a face of boyish
roundness, which began to develop lines of thought and strength. His
brow, not so beautiful, was more ample; his features were regular, but
lacked the light, bright, vivacious expression of Morris; while from
his deep, unwinking eyes men saw calmly looking out a strong, deep
nature, not observed before. He joined his mother and brother in the
last hymn. Everybody knew the Ridgeleys could sing. They carried
the burden of the grand and simple old tune nearly alone. The fine
mezzo-soprano of the mother, the splendid tenor of Morris, and the
rich baritone of Bart, in their united effect, had never been equalled
in the hearing of that assembly. The melody was a sweet and fitting
finale of the day, swelling out and dying away in the high arches of
the forest.
* * * * *
The Coes were objects of the kindness of Mrs. Markham and Julia,
obnoxious as was their religious faith; but Mrs. Markham was tolerant,
and she and her husband and daughter, with most of the State road
people, were present.
While they were waiting for the crowd to disperse, so that they could
reach their carriage, the Ridgeleys, who began to move out, on their
way home, approached, and were pleasantly recognized by the Markhams,
with whom the Major was a great favorite. The two parties joined,
shook hands, and interchanged a pleasant greeting--all but Bart. He
moved a little away, and acknowledged their presence by holding his
hat in his hand, as if unconscious that he was a spectacle for the
eyes of some of them, and without betraying that he could by any
possibility care. It was a sore trial for him.
Mrs. Markham looked at him several times as if she would go to him,
and an expression once or twice came into the sweet and pensive face
of Julia, that seemed to mean that she wished she could say to him,
"I want so much to thank you for your courage and generosity!" Morris
noticed the strange conduct of Barton, and felt an impulse to call to
him, and on their way home he spoke to him about it.
"Why, Bart, what is the matter? I thought you and the Markhams were on
the best of terms; especially you and Julia and Mrs. Markham."
"Well, Major, you see a shrewd man can be mistaken, don't you?"
"What has happened?"
"That which renders it absolutely impossible that I should ever
voluntarily go into the presence of these Markhams, and especially of
Julia."
The voice was low, and full of force, with a little bitterness. Morris
looked at his brother with incredulous amazement.
"Morris," said Bart, "don't ask more about it. Mother guessed
something of it. Pray don't refer to it ever again."
Morris walked forward, with their mother; and when he turned back to
the stricken face of his young brother, there was a great tenderness
in his eye; but his brow gathered and his face darkened into a
momentary frown. He was by nature frank and brave, and could not long
do any one injustice. His nature was hopeful, and bright, and manly.
No girl could always scorn his brother Bart; nor did he believe that
Bart would willingly remain scorned.