The Reverend Dennis Masterman was a bachelor. He came to Shaugh full
of physical energy and certain hazy resolutions to accomplish notable
work among a neglected people. His scholastic career was nugatory, and
his intellect had offered no bar to his profession. He was physically
brave, morally infirm. Therefore his sister, Alice Masterman, came to
support him and share his lot and complement his character. She might
indeed fly from cows, but she would not fly from parochial opposition.
She was strong where he was weak. They were young, sanguine, and of
gentle birth. They enjoyed private means, but were filled with
wholesome ardour to justify existence and leave the world better than
they found it. Dennis Masterman possessed interest, and regarded this,
his first cure, as a stepping-stone to better things.
Shaugh Prior was too small for his natural energies and powers of
endurance--so he told his sister; but she said that the experience
would be helpful. She also suspected that reform might not be a matter
of energy alone.
One evening, a week after their arrival, they were planning the
campaign and estimating the value of lay helpers, when two important
visitors were announced. A maiden appeared and informed the clergyman
that Thomas Gollop and Eliza Gollop desired to see him.
"Show them into the common room," said he; then he twisted a little
bronze cross that he wore at his watchchain and regarded Miss Masterman.
"The parish clerk and his sister--I wonder if you'd mind, Alice?" he
asked.
For answer she put down her work.
"Certainly. Since you saw Joe Voysey alone and, not only engaged him,
but promised he might have a boy for the weeding, I feel--well, you are
a great deal too easy, Dennis. Gollop is a very masterful person,
clearly, and his sister, so I am told, is just the same. You certainly
must not see women alone. They'll get everything they want out of you."
"Of course, one wishes to strike a genial note," he explained. "First
impressions count for such a lot with common people."
"Be genial by all means; I say nothing against that."
"Let's tackle them, then. Gollop's a tremendous Conservative, but we
must get Liberal ideas into him, if we can--in reason."
Dennis Masterman was tall, square-shouldered and clean-shaven. He
regarded himself as somewhat advanced, but had no intention of sowing
his opinions upon the parish before the soil was prepared. He
considered his character to be large-minded, tolerant, and sane; and
for a man of eight-and-twenty he enjoyed fair measure of these virtues.
His sister was plain, angular, and four years older than Dennis. She
wore double eyeglasses and had a gruff voice and a perceptible beard.
The Gollops rose as the vicar and his sister appeared. Miss Gollop was
shorter and stouter than her brother, but resembled him.
"Good evening, your reverence; good evening, miss," said the parish
clerk. "This is my sister, Miss Eliza. For faith, hope, and charity
she standeth. In fact, a leading light among us, though I say it as
should not."
Mr. Masterman shook hands with the woman; his sister bowed only.
"And what does Miss Gollop do?" asked Dennis.
"'Twould be easier to say what she don't do," answered Thomas. "She's
butt-woman to begin with, or as you would call it, 'pew-opener.' Then
she's sick-nurse to the parish, and she's midwife, and, when free,
she'll do chores or cook for them as want her. And she's got a
knowledge and understanding of the people round these parts as won't be
beaten. She was Mr. Valletort's right hand, wasn't you, Eliza?"
"So he said," answered Miss Gollop. She was not self-conscious, but
bore herself as Fame's familiar and one accustomed to admiration. She
had estimated the force of the clergyman's character from his first
sermon, and judged that her brother would be a match for him. Now she
covertly regarded Miss Masterman, and perceived that here must lie any
issue of battle that might arise.
"Do you abide along with your brother, miss, or be you just settling
him into the vicarage?" she asked.
"I live with him."
Miss Gollop inclined her head.
"And I'm sure I hope, if I can serve you any way at any time, as you'll
let me know."
"Thank you. Everybody can serve us: we want help from one and all,"
said Mr. Masterman.
"Ezacally so!" said Thomas. "And you must larn each man's value from
those that know it--not by bitter experience. Likewise with the women.
My sister can tell you, to threepence a day, what any female in this
parish be good for; and as to the men, you'll do very well to come to
me. I know 'em all--old and young--and their characters and their
points--good and bad, crooked and odd. For we've got some originals
among us, and I'm not going to deny it, haven't us, Eliza?"
"Every place have," she said.
"Might we sit down?" asked the man. "We'm of the bungy breed, as you
see, and not so clever in our breathing as we could wish. But we'm
here to go through the whole law and the prophets, so to speak, and we
can do it better sitting."
"Please sit down," answered Dennis. Then he looked at his watch. "I
can give you an hour," he said. "But I'm going to ride over to
Bickleigh at nine o'clock, to see the vicar there."
"And a very nice gentleman you'll find him," declared Thomas. "Of
course, Bickleigh be but a little matter beside Shaugh Prior. We bulk
a good deal larger in the eyes of the nation, and can hold our heads so
much the higher in consequence; but the Reverend Coaker is a very good,
humble-minded man, and knows his place in a way that's a high example
to the younger clergymen."
Miss Masterman cleared her throat, but her voice was none the less
gruff.
"Perhaps you will now tell us what you have come for. We are busy
people," she said.
Her brother deprecated this brevity and tried to tone it down, but
Thomas accepted the lady's statement with great urbanity.
"Miss be right," he answered. "Busy as bees, I warrant--same as me and
my own sister here. She don't wear out many chairs, do you, Eliza?"
"Not many," said Miss Gollop. "I always say, 'Let's run about in this
world; plenty of time to sit down in the next.'"
"I may tell you," added Thomas kindly, "that your first sermon went
down very suent. From where I sits, along by the font, I can get a
good look across the faces, and the important people, the Baskervilles
and the Lillicraps and the Luscombes and the Mumfords--one and all
listened to every word, and nodded now and again. You'll be glad to
know that."
"Some thought 'twas a sermon they'd heard afore, however," said Miss
Gollop; "but no doubt they was wrong."
"Quite wrong," declared Dennis warmly. "It was a sermon written only
the night before I preached it. And talking of the font----"
"Yes, of course, you've marked the famous font-cover over the holy
basin, I suppose?" interrupted Mr. Gollop. "'Tis the joy and pride of
the church-town, I assure you. Not another like it in the world, they
say. Learned men come all across England to see it--as well they may."
The famous font-cover, with its eight little snub-nosed saints and the
Abbot elevated in the midst, was a special glory of St. Edward's.
"I meant to speak of that," said the clergyman. "The figure at the top
has got more than his proper vestments on, Gollop. In fact, he's
wrapped up in cobwebs. That is not worthy of us. Please see they are
cleaned off."
"I hadn't noticed them; but since you say so--I'll look to it myself.
Where the vamp-dish be concerned I allow none to meddle. It shall be
done; but I must say again that I haven't noticed any cobwebs--not last
Sunday. Have you, Eliza?" said Thomas.
"No, I have not," answered his sister.
"The dirt has clearly been there for months," remarked Miss Masterman.
There was a painful pause, during which Miss Gollop gazed at the
vicar's sister and then at the vicar.
"'Tis a well-known fact that spiders will spin," she said vaguely, but
not without intention. The other woman ignored her and turned to
Thomas.
"Will you be so good as to proceed?"
"Yes, and gladly, miss," he answered. "And I'll begin with the
Gollops, since they've done as much for this parish as anybody, living
or dead. My father was parish clerk afore me, and a very remarkable
man, wasn't he, Eliza?"
"He was."
"A remarkable man with a large faith in the power of prayer, was
father. You don't see such faith now, worse luck. But he believed
more than even I hold to, or my sister, either. You might say that he
wasn't right always; but none ever dared to doubt the high religious
quality of the man. But there he was--a pillar of the Church and
State, as they say. He used to help his money a bit by the power of
prayer; and they fetched childer sick of the thrush to him; and he'd
tak 'em up the church tower and hold 'em over the battlements, north,
south, east, and west--while he said the Lord's Prayer four times.
He'd get a shilling by it every time, and was known to do twenty of 'em
in a good year, though I never heard 'twas a very quick cure. But
faith moves mountains, and he may have done more good than appeared to
human eyes. And then in his age, he very near let a heavy babby drop
over into the churchyard--just grabbed hold of un by a miracle and
saved un. So that proper terrified the old man, and he never done
another for fear of some lasting misfortune. Not but what a few
devilish-natured people said that if 'twas knowed he let the childer
fall now and again, he'd brisk up his business a hundred per centum.
Which shows the evil-mindedness of human nature."
"I'll have no gross superstition of that sort here," said Mr. Masterman
firmly.
"No more won't I," answered Thomas. "'Other times, other manners,' as
the saying is. Have no fear. The church is very safe with me and
Eliza for watch-dogs. Well, so much for my father. There was only us
two, and we never married--too busy for that. And we've done no little
for Shaugh Prior, as will be better told you in good time by other
mouths than ours."
He stopped to take breath, and Miss Masterman spoke.
"My brother will tell you that with regard to parish clerks the times
are altering too," she said.
"And don't I know it?" he answered. "Why, good powers, you can't get a
clerk for love or money nowadays! They'm regular dying out. 'He'll be
thankful he've got one of the good old sort,' I said to my sister.
'For he'd have had to look beyond Dartymoor for such another as me.'
And so he would."
"That's true," declared Miss Gollop.
"I mean that the congregation takes the place of the clerk in most
modern services," continued Miss Masterman. "In point of fact, we
shall not want exactly what you understand by a 'clerk.' 'Other times,
other manners,' as you very wisely remarked just now."
Mr. Gollop stared.
"Not want a clerk!" he said. "Woman alive, you must be daft!"
"I believe not," answered Miss Masterman. "However, what my brother
has got to say regarding his intentions can come later. For the
present he will hear you."
"If you don't want a clerk, I've done," answered Mr. Gollop blankly.
"But I'll make bold to think you can't ezacally mean that. Us'll leave
it, and I'll tell my tale about the people. The Lillicraps be a
harmless folk, and humble and fertile as coneys. You'll have no
trouble along with them. The Baskervilles be valuable and powerful;
and Mr. Humphrey and his son is Church, and Mr. Vivian and his family
is Church also, and his darters sing in the choir."
"We shall manage without women in the choir," said Miss Masterman.
"You may think so, but I doubt it," answered Eliza Gollop almost
fiercely. "You'll have to manage without anybody in the church also,
if you be for up-turning the whole order of divine service!" She was
excited, and her large bosom heaved.
"Not up-turning--not up-turning," declared the clergyman. "Call it
reorganisation. Frankly, I propose a surpliced choir. I have the
bishop's permission; he wishes it. Now, go on."
"Then the Lord help you," said Thomas. "We'd better be going, Eliza.
We've heard almost enough for one evening."
"Be reasonable," urged Miss Masterman with admirable self-command. "We
are here to do our duty. We hope and expect to be helped by all
sensible people--not hindered. Let Mr. Gollop tell us what he came to
tell us."
"Well--as to reason--I ask no more, but where is it?" murmured Thomas.
"'Twas the Baskervilles," he continued, wiping his forehead. "The
other of 'em--Nathan--be unfortunately a chapel member; and if you be
going to play these here May games in the House of the Lord, I'm very
much afeared he'll draw a good few after him. They won't stand
it--mark me."
"Where do the people at Undershaugh worship? I did not see Mrs.
Lintern and her family last Sunday."
"They'm all chapel too."
Mr. Masterman nodded.
"Thank you for these various facts. Is there anything more?"
"I've only just begun. But I comed with warnings chiefly. There be
six Radicals in this parish, and only six."
"Though the Lord knows how many there will be when they hear about the
choir," said Eliza Gollop.
"I'm an old-fashioned Liberal myself," declared the vicar. "But I hope
your Radicals are sound churchmen, whatever else they may be."
"Humphrey Baskerville is--and so's his son."
"Is that young Mark Baskerville?"
"Yes--tenor bell among the ringers. A very uneven-minded man. He's a
wonderful ringer and wrapped up in tenor bell, as if 'twas a heathen
idol. In fact, he'm not the good Christian he might be, and he'll ring
oftener than he'll pray. Then Saul Luscombe to Trowlesworthy
Warren--farmer and rabbit-catcher--be a very hard nut, and so's his
man, Jack Head. You won't get either of them inside the church. They
say in their wicked way they ain't got no need for sleeping after
breakfast of a Sunday--atheists, in fact. The other labouring man from
Trowlesworthy is a good Christian, however. He can read, but 'tis
doubtful whether he can write."
"You'll have to go to keep your appointment, Dennis," remarked his
sister.
"Plenty of time. Is there anything more that's particularly important,
Gollop?"
"Lots more. Still, if I'm to be shouted down every minute---- I comed
to encourage and fortify you. I comed to tell you to have no fear,
because me and sister was on your side, and always ready to fight to
the death for righteousness. But you've took the wind out of our
sails, in a manner of speaking. If you ban't going to walk in the old
paths, I'm terrible afraid you'll find us against you."
"This is impertinence," said Miss Masterman.
"Not at all," answered the clerk's sister. "It's sense. 'Tis a free
country, and if you'm going to set a lot of God-fearing, right-minded,
sensible people by the ears, the sin be on your shoulders. You'd best
to come home, Thomas."
Mr. Masterman looked helplessly at his watch.
"We shall soon arrive at--at--a _modus vivendi_," he said.
"I don't know what that may be, your reverence," she answered; "but if
'tis an empty church, and sour looks, and trouble behind every hedge,
then you certainly will arrive at it--and even sooner than you think
for."
"He's going to give ear to the Radicals--'tis too clear," moaned
Thomas, as he rose and picked up his hat.
"I can only trust that you two good people do not represent the
parish," continued the vicar.
"You'll terrible soon find as we do," said Miss Gollop.
"So much the worse. However, it is well that we understand one
another. Next Sunday I shall invite my leading parishioners to meet me
in the schoolroom on the following evening. I shall then state my
intentions, and listen to the opinions and objections of every man
among you."
"And only the men will be invited to the meeting," added Miss Masterman.
"'Tis a parlous come-along-of-it," moaned the parish clerk. "I meant
well. You can bear me out, Eliza, that I meant well--never man meant
better."
"Good evening," said Miss Masterman, and left them.
"Be sure that we shall soon settle down," prophesied the vicar. "I
know you mean well, Gollop; and I mean well, too. Where sensible
people are concerned, friction is reduced to a minimum. We shall very
soon understand one another and respect one another's opinions."
"If you respect people's opinions, you abide by 'em," declared Miss
Gollop.
"Us shan't be able to keep the cart on the wheels--not with a
night-gowned choir," foretold her brother.
Then Dennis saw them to the door; they took their leave, and as they
went down the vicarage drive, their voices bumbled together, like two
slow, shard-borne beetles droning on the night.