Two years have ripened Patty from the girl to the woman. If Kike is
happy in his self-abnegation, Patty is not happy in hers. Pride has
no balm in it. However powerful it may be as a stimulant, it is poor
food. And Patty has little but pride to feed upon. The invalid
mother has now been dead a year, and Patty is almost without
companionship, though not without suitors. Land brings
lovers--land-lovers, if nothing more--and the estate of Patty's
father is not her only attraction. She is a young woman of a certain
nobility of figure and carriage; she is not large, but her bearing
makes her seem quite commanding. Even her father respects her, and
all the more does he wish to torment her whenever he finds
opportunity. Patty is thrifty, and in the early West no attraction
outweighed this wifely ordering of a household. But Patty will not
marry any of the suitors who calculate the infirm health of her
father and the probable division of his estate, and who mentally
transfer to their future homes the thrift and orderliness they see in
Captain Lumsden's. By refusing them all she has won the name of a
proud girl. There are times when out of sight of everybody she
weeps, hardly knowing why. And since her mother's death she reads
the prayer-book more than ever, finding in the severe confessions
therein framed for us miserable sinners, and the plaintive cries of
the litany, a voice for her innermost soul.
Captain Lumsden fears she will marry and leave him, and yet it angers
him that she refuses to marry. His hatred of Methodists has assumed
the intensity of a monomania since he was defeated for the
legislature partly by Methodist opposition. All his love of power
has turned to bitterest resentment, and every thought that there may
be yet the remotest possibility of Patty's marrying Morton afflicts
him beyond measure. He cannot fathom the reason for her obstinate
rejection of all lovers; he dislikes her growing seriousness and her
fondness for the prayer-book. Even the prayer-book's earnestness has
something Methodistic about it. But Patty has never yet been in a
Methodist meeting, and with this fact he comforts himself. He has
taken pains to buy her jewelry and "artificials" in abundance, that
he may, by dressing her finely, remove her as far as possible from
temptations to become a Methodist. For in that time, when fine
dressing was not common and country neighborhoods were polarized by
the advent of Methodism in its most aggressive form, every artificial
flower and every earring was a banner of antagonism to the new sect;
a well-dressed woman in a congregation was almost a defiance to the
preacher. It seemed to Lumsden, therefore, that Patty had
prophylactic ornaments enough to save her from Methodism. And to all
of these he added covert threats that if any child of his should ever
join these crazy Methodist loons, he would turn him out of doors and
never see him again. This threat was always indirect--a remark
dropped incidentally; the pronoun which represented the unknown
quantity of a Methodist Lumsden was always masculine, but Patty did
not fail to comprehend.
[Illustration: THE CONNECTICUT PEDDLER.]
One day there came to Captain Lumsden's door that out-cast of New
England--a tin-peddler. Western people had never heard of Yale
College or any other glory of Connecticut or New England. To them it
was but a land that bred pestilent peripatetic peddlers of tin-ware
and wooden clocks. Western rogues would cheat you out of your horse
or your farm if a good chance offered, but this vile vender of Yankee
tins, who called a bucket a "pail," and said "noo" for new, and
talked nasally, would work an hour to cheat you out of a "fipenny
bit." The tin-peddler, one Munson, thrust his sharpened visage in at
Lumsden's door and "made bold" to _in_quire if he could git a night's
lodging, which the Captain, like other settlers, granted without
charge. Having unloaded his stock of "tins" and "put up" his horse,
the Connecticut peddler "made bold" to ask many leading questions
about the family and personal history of the Lumsdens, collectively
and individually. Having thus taken the first steps toward
acquaintance by this display of an aggravating interest in the
welfare of his new friends, he proceeded to give elaborate and
truthful accounts--with variations--of his own recent adventures, to
the boundless amusement of the younger Lumsdens, who laughed more
heartily at the Connecticut man's words and pronunciation than at his
stories. He said, among other things, that he had ben to
Jinkinsville t'other day to what the Methodis' called a "basket
meetin'." But when he had proceeded so far with his narrative, he
prudently stopped and made bold to _in_quire what the Captain thought
of these Methodists. The Captain was not slow to express his
opinion, and the man of tins, having thus reassured himself by taking
soundings, proceeded to tell that they was a dreffle craoud of folks
to that meetin'. And he, hevin' a sharp eye to business, hed went
forrard to the mourner's bench to be prayed fer. Didn't do no
pertik'ler harm to hev folks pray fer ye, ye know. Well, ye see, the
Methodis' they wanted to _in_courage a seeker, and so they all bought
some tins. Purty nigh tuck the hull load offen his hands! (And here
the peddler winked one eye at the Captain and then the other at
Patty.) Fer they was seen a dreffle lot of folks there. Come to
hear a young preacher as is 'mazin' elo'kent--Parson Goodwin by name,
and he was a _good one_ to preach, sartain.
This startled Patty and the Captain.
"Goodwin?" said the Captain; "Morton Goodwin?"
"The identikle," said the peddler.
"Raised only half a mile from here," said Lumsden, "and we don't
think much of him."
"Neither did I," said the peddler, trimming his sails to Lumsden's
breezes. "I calkilate I could preach e'en a'most as well as he does,
myself, and I wa'n't brought up to preachin', nother. But he's got a
good v'ice fer singin'--sich a ring to't, ye see, and he's got a
smart way thet comes the sympathies over the women folks and
weak-eyed men, and sets 'em cryin' at a desp'ate rate. Was brought
up here, was he? Du tell! He's powerful pop'lar." Then, catching
the Captain's eye, he added: "Among the women, I mean."
"He'll marry some shouting girl, I suppose," said the Captain, with a
chuckle.
"That's jist what he's going to do," said the peddler, pleased to
have some information to give. Seeing that the Captain and his
daughter were interested in his communication, the peddler paused a
moment. A bit of gossip is too good a possession for one to part
with too quickly.
"You guessed good, that time," said the tinware man. "I heerd say as
he was a goin' to splice with a gal that could pray like a angel
afire. An' I heerd her pray. She nearly peeled the shingles off the
skewl-haouse. Sich another _ex_citement as she perjuced, I never did
see. An' I went up to her after meetin' and axed a interest in her
prayers. Don't do no harm, ye know, to git sich lightnin' on yer own
side! An' I took keer to git a good look at her face, for preachers
ginerally marry purty faces. Preachers is a good deal like other
folks, ef they do purtend to be better, hey? Well, naow, that Ann
Elizer Meacham _is_ purty, sartain. An' everybody says he's goin' to
marry her; an' somebody said the presidin' elder mout tie 'em up next
Sunday at Quartily Meetin', maybe. Then they'll divide the work in
the middle and go halves. She'll pray and he'll preach." At this
the peddler broke into a sinister laugh, sure that he had conciliated
both the Captain and Patty by his news. He now proposed to sell some
tinware, thinking he had worked his audience up to the right state of
mind.
Patty did not know why she should feel vexed at hearing this bit of
intelligence from Jenkinsville. What was Morton Goodwin to her? She
went around the house as usual this evening, trying to hide all
appearance of feeling. She even persuaded her father to buy
half-a-dozen tin cups and some milk-buckets--she smiled at the
peddler for calling them _pails_. She was not willing to gratify the
Captain by showing him how much she disliked the scoffing "Yankee."
But when she was alone that evening, even the prayer-book had lost
its power to soothe. She was mortified, vexed, humiliated on every
hand. She felt hard and bitter, above all, toward the sect that had
first made a division between Morton and herself, and cordially
blamed the Methodists for all her misfortunes.
It happened that upon the very next Sunday Russell Bigelow was to
preach. Far and wide over the West had traveled the fame of this
great preacher, who, though born in Vermont, was wholly Western in
his impassioned manner. "An orator is to be judged not by his
printed discourses, but by the memory of the effect he has produced,"
says a French writer; and if we may judge of Russell Bigelow by the
fame that fills Ohio and Indiana even to this day, he was surely an
orator of the highest order. He is known as the "indescribable."
The news that he was to preach had set the Hissawachee Settlement
afire with eager curiosity to hear him. Even Patty declared her
intention of going, much to the Captain's regret. The meeting was
not to be held at Wheeler's, but in the woods, and she could go for
this time without entering the house of her father's foe. She had no
other motive than a vague hope of hearing something that would divert
her; life had grown so heavy that she craved excitement of any kind.
She would take a back seat and hear the famous Methodist for herself.
But Patty put on all of her gold and costly apparel. She was
determined that nobody should suspect her of any intention of
"joining the church." Her mood was one of curiosity on the surface,
and of proud hatred and quiet defiance below.
No religious meeting is ever so delightful as a meeting held in the
forest; no forest is so satisfying as a forest of beech; the
wide-spreading boughs--drooping when they start from the trunk, but
well sustained at the last--stretch out regularly and with a steady
horizontalness, the last year's leaves form a carpet like a cushion,
while the dense foliage shuts out the sun. To this meeting in the
beech, woods Patty chose to walk, since it was less than a mile
away.* As she passed through a little cove, she saw a man lying flat
on his face in prayer. It was the preacher. Awe-stricken, Patty
hurried on to the meeting. She had fully intended to take a seat in
the rear of the congregation, but being a little confused and
absent-minded she did not observe at first where the stand had been
erected, and that she was entering the congregation at the side
nearest to the pulpit. When she discovered her mistake it was too
late to withdraw, the aisle beyond her was already full of standing
people; there was nothing for her but to take the only vacant seat in
sight. This put her in the very midst of the members, and in this
position she was quite conspicuous; even strangers from other
settlements saw with astonishment a woman elegantly dressed, for that
time, sitting in the very midst of the devout sisters--for the men
and women sat apart. All around Patty there was not a single
"artificial," or piece of jewelry. Indeed, most of the women wore
calico sunbonnets. The Hissawachee people who knew her were
astounded to see Patty at meeting at all. They remembered her
treatment of Morton, and they looked upon Captain Lumsden as Gog and
Magog incarnated in one. This sense of the conspicuousness of her
position was painful to Patty, but she presently forgot herself in
listening to the singing. There never was such a chorus as a
backwoods Methodist congregation, and here among the trees they sang
hymn after hymn, now with the tenderest pathos, now with triumphant
joy, now with solemn earnestness. They sang "Children of the
Heavenly King," and "Come let us anew," and "Blow ye the trumpet,
blow," and "Arise my soul, arise," and "How happy every child of
grace!" While they were singing this last, the celebrated preacher
entered the pulpit, and there ran through the audience a movement of
wonder, almost of disappointment. His clothes were of that sort of
cheap cotton cloth known as "blue drilling," and did not fit him. He
was rather short, and inexpressibly awkward. His hair hung unkempt
over the best portion of his face--the broad projecting forehead.
His eyebrows were overhanging; his nose, cheek-bones and chin large.
His mouth was wide and with a sorrowful depression at the corners,
his nostrils thin, his eyes keen, and his face perfectly mobile. He
took for his text the words of Eleazar to Laban,--"Seeking a bride
for his master," and, according to the custom of the time, he first
expounded the incident, and then proceeded to "spiritualize" it, by
applying it to the soul's marriage to Christ. Notwithstanding the
ungainliness of his frame and the awkwardness of his postures, there
was a gentlemanliness about his address that indicated a man not
unaccustomed to good society. His words were well-chosen; his
pronunciation always correct; his speech grammatical. In all of
these regards Patty was disappointed.
* I give the local tradition of Bigelow's text, sermon, and the
accompanying incident.
But the sermon. Who shall describe "the indescribable"? As the
servant, he proceeded to set forth the character of the Master. What
struck Patty was not the nobleness of his speech, nor the force of
his argument; she seemed to see in the countenance that every divine
trait which he described had reflected itself in the life of the
preacher himself. For none but the manliest of men can ever speak
worthily of Jesus Christ. As Bigelow proceeded he won her famished
heart to Christ. For such a Master she could live or die; in such a
life there was what Patty needed most--a purpose; in such a life
there was a friend; in such a life she would escape that sense of the
ignobleness of her own pursuits, and the unworthiness of her own
pride. All that he said of Christ's love and condescension filled
her with a sense of sinfulness and meanness, and she wept bitterly.
There were a hundred others as much affected, but the eyes of all her
neighbors were upon her. If Patty should be converted, what a
victory!
And as the preacher proceeded to describe the joy of a soul wedded
forever to Christ--living nobly after the pattern of His life--Patty
resolved that she would devote herself to this life and this Saviour,
and rejoiced in sympathy with the rising note of triumph in the
sermon. Then Bigelow, last of all, appealed to courage and to
pride--to pride in its best sense. Who would be ashamed of such a
Bridegroom? And as he depicted the trials that some must pass
through in accepting Him, Patty saw her own situation, and mentally
made the sacrifice. As he described the glory of renouncing the
world, she thought of her jewelry and the spirit of defiance in which
she had put it on. There, in the midst of that congregation, she
took out her earrings, and stripped the flowers from the bonnet. We
may smile at the unnecessary sacrifice to an over-strained
literalism, but to Patty it was the solemn renunciation of the
world--the whole-hearted espousal of herself, for all eternity, to
Him who stands for all that is noblest in life. Of course this
action was visible to most of the congregation--most of all to the
preacher himself. To the Methodists it was the greatest of triumphs,
this public conversion of Captain Lumsden's daughter, and they showed
their joy in many pious ejaculations. Patty did not seek
concealment. She scorned to creep into the kingdom of heaven. It
seemed to her that she owed this publicity. For a moment all eyes
were turned away from the orator. He paused in his discourse until
Patty had removed the emblems of her pride and antagonism. Then,
turning with tearful eyes to the audience, the preacher, with
simple-hearted sincerity and inconceivable effect, burst out with,
"Hallelujah! I have found a bride for my Master!"
_CHAPTER XXIV_