"Mr. Baily, I never flatter," Mrs. Smily said, gravely. "I don't think
it's right."
And David thought to himself how noble Mrs. Smily was. Indeed, her
nobility was so much in his mind that, strangely enough, he quite
forgot Ellen's exciting afternoon. He remembered it the next morning,
but when he essayed a little joke and a delicate question, the asperity
with which the mild Ellen answered him left him gaping with
astonishment. Evidently Mr. Spangler had not spoken. David would have
been less (or more) than a human brother if he had not smiled a very
little at that. "Ellen expected it," he said to himself. "Well, I did
myself, and so did Mrs. Barkley." It never occurred to him that the
Reverend Mr. Spangler might also have had expectations which left him
disappointed and mortified. Yet when a gentleman of Mr. Spangler's
age--one, too, whose income barely suffices for his own comfort, and
who, added to this, has had his doubts whether the celibacy of the
clergy may not be a sacrament of grace--when such a gentleman does make
up his mind to offer himself--to offer himself, moreover, to a lady no
longer in her first youth, who is pleasing perhaps to the eye, but not,
certainly, excessively beautiful, and whose fortune is merely (and most
meritoriously, of course) in her character and understanding--it is a
blow to pride to be refused. Mr. Spangler found it hard to labor at
the sacred desk that morning; yet no one would have thought it, to see
the fervor with which, as Old Chester said, he "went through his
performances."
But he read the service, hot at heart and hoping that Miss Baily
observed how intensely his attention was fixed on things above. When
he stood in the chancel waiting for the collection-plates, and saying,
in a curious sing-song, absolutely new to Old Chester, "_Zaccheus stood
forth, and said, Behold, Lord--_" his glance, roving over the
congregation, rested once on Ellen Baily, and was as carefully
impersonal as though she were only a part of the pew in which she sat.
Miss Ellen thrilled at that high indifference; it occurred to her that
even had David's circumstances been different, she could scarcely have
dared to accept the hand of this high creature.
"_--the half of all my goods--_" said Mr. Spangler. Yes, it was
inconceivable, considering what he was offering her, that Ellen Baily
could let her brother stand in the way!
All that long, pleasant spring Sunday, Augustus Spangler was very
bitter. All that week he was distinctly angry. He said to himself
that he was glad that Dr. Lavendar was soon to return; he would, after
making his report of the parish, shake the dust of Old Chester from off
his feet as witness against Miss Baily, and depart. By the next Sunday
he had ceased to be angry, but his pride was still deeply wounded. By
Wednesday he had softened to melancholy; he was able to say that it all
came from her sense of duty. Unreasonable, of course, but still duty.
Then, on Thursday, suddenly, he was startled by a question in his own
mind: Was it unreasonable? If she gave up her teaching--"what would
that fellow live on?"
That was a very bad moment to the Reverend Mr. Spangler. Pride
vanished in honest unhappiness. He began to think again about his
income; he had known that to marry a wife meant greater economy; but
sacrifices had not seemed too difficult considering that that wife was
to be Miss Ellen Baily. But if the wife must be Miss Baily
_plus_--"that fellow"!
"It is out of the question," said poor Mr. Spangler, and arose and
paced up and down the study. He was very miserable; and the more
miserable he became, the more in love he knew himself to be. "But it
is madness to think of the matter further," he told himself,
sternly--"madness!"
Yet he kept on thinking of it--or of Miss Ellen's dark eyes, and her
smile, and the way her hair curled in little rings about her temples.
"But it's impossible--impossible!" he said. Then, absently, he made
some calculations: To meet the support of David Baily he would have to
have an increase of so much in his income or a decrease of so much in
his expenses. "Madness!" said Augustus Spangler, firmly. "But how her
eyes crinkle up when she smiles!"
Yet it took another day before the real man conquered. His expenses
should be decreased, _and David should live with them_.
Yes, it would mean undeniable pinching; he must give up this small
luxury and that; his Mary Ann could not broil his occasional
sweetbread; and the occasional new book must be borrowed from the
library, not purchased for his own shelves. He must push about to get
more supplying. He had meant to come down one step when he got
married; well, he would have to come down two--yes, or three. But he
would have Miss Baily. And warmed with this tender thought, he sat
down, then and there, at nearly midnight, and wrote Miss Ellen a
letter. It was a beautiful letter, full of most beautiful sentiments
expressed with great elegance and gentility. It appreciated Miss
Ellen's devotion to her family, and acknowledged that a sense of duty
was a part of the character of a Christian female. It protested that
it was far from the Reverend Mr. Spangler to interfere with that sense
of duty; on the contrary, he would share it; nay more, he would assist
it, for duty was, he hoped, the watchword of his life. If Miss Baily
would consent to become his wife, Mr. Baily, he trusted, would make his
home with his sister.
Mr. Spangler may have been addicted to petticoats (in his own toilet)
and given to candles and other emblems of the Scarlet Woman, but his
letter, beneath its stilted phrase, was an honest, manly utterance, and
Ellen Baily read it, thrilling with happiness and love.
That was Friday, and she had only time to read those thin, blue pages
and thrust them into the bosom of her dress, when it was time to go to
school and hear her girls declare that the Amazon was the largest river
in South America; but we might have said it was the largest river in
Pennsylvania, and Miss Ellen would have gone on smiling at us. At
recess we poured out into the garden, eager to say, "Goodness! do you
suppose he's popped?" The older girls were especially excited, but
they took their usual furtive look about the garden before sitting down
on the steps to eat their luncheons. Alas, He was not there!
"Perhaps," said Lydia Wright, "he has gone to the tomb."
This, for the moment, was deliciously saddening; but, after all, real
live love-making, even of very old people, is more fascinating than
dead romance. Through the open window we could see Miss Ellen sitting
at her desk, writing. There were some sheets of blue paper spread out
in front of her, and she would glance at them, and then write a little,
and then glance back again, and smile, and write. But she did not look
troubled, or "cross," as the girls called it; so we knew it could not
be an exercise that she was correcting. But when she came out to us,
and said, in a sweet, fluttered voice, "Children, will one of you take
this letter to the post-office?" we knew what it meant--for it was
addressed to the Reverend Mr. Spangler. How we all ran with it to the
post-office!--giggling and palpitating and sighing as our individual
temperaments might suggest. In fact, I know one girl who squeezed a
tear out of each eye, she was so moved. When we came back, there was
Miss Baily still sitting at her desk, her cheek on one hand, her
smiling eyes fastened on those sheets of blue paper. "Gracious," said
the girls, "what a long recess!" and told each other to be quiet and
not remind her to ring the bell.
Then suddenly something happened....
An old carry-all came shambling along the road; there were two people
in it, and one of them leaned over from the back seat and said to the
driver: "This is my house. Stop here, please." The girls, clustering
like pigeons on the sunny doorstep, began to fold up their
luncheon-boxes, and look sidewise, with beating hearts, towards the
gate--for it was _He_! How graceful he was--how elegant in his
manners! Ah, if our mothers had bidden us have manners like Mr.
David!--but they never did. They used to say, "Try and behave as
politely as Miss Maria Welwood," or, "I hope you will be as modest in
your deportment as Miss Sally Smith." And there was this model before
our eyes. It makes my heart beat now to remember how He got out of
that rattling old carriage and turned and lifted his hat to a lady
inside, and gave her his hand (ah, me!) and held back her skirts as she
got out, and bowed again when she reached the ground. She was not much
to look at; she was only the lady who was visiting at the
Stuffed-Animal House, and she was dressed in black, and her bonnet was
on one side. They stood there together in the sunshine, and Mr. David
felt slowly in all his pockets; then he turned to us, sitting watching
him with beating hearts.
"Little girls," he said--he was near-sighted, and, absorbed as he
always was with sorrow, we never expected him to know our
names--"little girls, one of you, go in and ask my sister for two coach
fares, if you please."
We rose in a body and swarmed back into the school-room--just as Miss
Ellen with a start looked at the clock and put out her hand to ring the
bell. "Mr. David says, please, ma'am, will you give him money for two
coach fares?"
Miss Ellen, rummaging in her pocket for her purse, said: "Yes, my love.
Will you take this to my brother?" Just why she followed us as we ran
out into the garden with her purse perhaps she hardly knew herself.
But as she stood in the doorway, a little uncertain and wondering, Mr.
David led the shabby, shrinking lady up to her.
"My dear Ellen," he said, "I have a present for you--a _sister_."
Then the little, shabby lady stepped forward and threw herself on Miss
Ellen's shoulder.
"A sister?" Ellen Baily said, bewildered.
"We were married this morning in Upper Chester," said Mr. David, "and I
have brought her home. Now we shall all be so happy!"
V
That evening Dr. Lavendar came home. Of course all the real Old
Chester was on hand to welcome him.
When the stage came creaking up to the tavern steps, the old white head
was bare, and the broad-brimmed shabby felt hat was waving tremulously
in the air.
"Here I am," said Dr. Lavendar, clambering down stiffly from the
box-seat. "What mischief have you all been up to?"
There was much laughing and hand-shaking, and Dr. Lavendar, blinking
very hard, and flourishing his red silk pocket-handkerchief, clapped
Mr. Spangler on the shoulder.
"Didn't I tell you about 'em? Didn't I tell you they were the best
people going? But we mustn't let 'em know it; makes 'em vain," said
Dr. Lavendar, with great show of secrecy. "And look here, Sam Wright!
You fellows may congratulate yourselves. Spangler here has had a fine
business offer made him, haven't you, Mr. Spangler? and it's just your
luck that you got him to supply for you before he left this part of the
country. A little later he wouldn't have looked at Old Chester. Hey,
Spangler?"
"Oh, that's settled," Mr. Spangler said. "I declined--"
"Oh," said Dr. Lavendar, "have you? Well, I'm sorry for 'em."
And Augustus Spangler smiled as heartily as anybody. He had a letter
crushed up in his hand; he had read it walking down from the
post-office to the tavern, and now he was ready to say that Old Chester
was the finest place in the world. He could hardly wait to get Dr.
Lavendar to himself in the rectory before telling him his great news
and giving him a little three-cornered note from Ellen Baily which had
been enclosed in his own letter.
"Well, well, _well_," said Dr. Lavendar.
He had put on a strange dressing-gown of flowered cashmere and his
worsted-work slippers, and made room for his shaggy old Danny in his
leather chair, and lighted his pipe. "Now tell us the news!" he said.
And was all ready to hear about the Sunday-school teachers, and the
choir, and Sam Wright's Protestantism, and many other important things.
But not at all:--
"_I'm engaged to be married._"
"Well, well, well," said Dr. Lavendar, blinking and chuckling with
pleasure; then he read Ellen's little note. "I had to tell you
myself," Ellen wrote him, "because I am so happy." And then there were
a dozen lines in which her heart overflowed to this old friend. "Dear
child, dear child," he murmured to himself. To no one but Dr.
Lavendar--queer, grizzled, wrinkled old Dr. Lavendar, with never a
romance or a love-affair that anybody had ever heard of--could Miss
Ellen have showed her heart. Even Mr. Spangler did not know that heart
as Dr. Lavendar did when he finished Ellen's little letter.--And Dr.
Lavendar didn't tell. "I am so happy," said Miss Ellen. Dr. Lavendar
may have looked at Mr. Spangler and wondered at the happiness. But,
after all, wonder, on somebody's part, is a feature of every
engagement. And if the wonder is caused only by the man's coat, and
not by his character, why be distressed about it? Mr. Spangler was an
honest man; if his mind was narrow, it was at least sincere; if his
heart was timid, it was very kind; if his nature was lazy, it was clean
and harmless. So why shouldn't Ellen Baily love him? And why
shouldn't Dr. Lavendar bubble over with happiness in Ellen's happiness?
"She's the best girl in the world," he told Mr. Spangler. "I
congratulate you. She's a good child--a good child."
Mr. Spangler agreed, in a somewhat solemn manner.
"But David--how about David?"
"My house shall always be open to Mrs. Spangler's relatives," said Mr.
Spangler, with Christian pride.
"You are a good fellow, Spangler," Dr. Lavendar said; and listened,
chuckling, to Mr. Spangler's awkward and correct expressions of bliss.
For indeed he was very happy, and talked about Miss Ellen's virtues
(which so eminently qualified her to become his wife), as fatuously as
any lover could.
"Hi, you, Danny," said Dr. Lavendar, after half an hour of it, "stop
growling."
"There's somebody at the door," said Augustus Spangler, and went into
the entry to see who it was. He came back with a letter, which he
read, standing by the table; then he sat down and looked white. Dr.
Lavendar, joyously, was singing to himself:
"'Ten-cent Jimmy and his minions
Cannot down the Woolly Horse.'
"Spangler, we must drink to your very good health and prospects. Let's
have Mary bring the glasses."
"I fear," said Mr. Spangler--he stopped, his voice unsteady. "I
regret--"
"Hullo!" said Dr. Lavendar, looking at him over his spectacles; "what's
wrong?"
"I'm extremely sorry to say," said poor Mr. Spangler, "that--it can't
be."
"A good glass of wine," said Dr. Lavendar, "never hurt--"
"I refer," said Mr. Spangler, sighing, "to my relations with Miss Ellen
Baily."
Dr. Lavendar looked at him blankly.
"I have just received a letter," the poor man went on, "in which she
informs me that it can never be." His lip trembled, but he held
himself very straight and placed the letter in his breast-pocket with
dignity.
"Spangler, what are you talking about?"
"It appears," said Mr. Spangler, "that her brother--"
"Fiddlesticks!" said Dr. Lavendar. "Has Ellen started up some
fantastic conscientiousness? Spangler, women's consciences are
responsible for much unhappiness in this world. But I won't have it in
my parish! I'll manage Ellen; trust me." He pulled at his pipe, which
had gone out in these moments of agitation. "I tell you, sir," he
said, striking a match on the bottom of his chair, "these saintly,
self-sacrificing women do a fine work for the devil, if they only knew
it, bless their hearts."
"You misapprehend," said Mr. Spangler, wretchedly; and then told Miss
Ellen's news. It was brief enough, this last letter; there was no
blame of David; indeed, he had displayed, Miss Baily said, "a true
chivalry; but of course--" "Of course," said Mr. Spangler.
But Dr. Lavendar broke out so fiercely that Danny squeaked and jumped
down out of the chair. "Upon my word; upon my word, Spangler, what
were you thinking of to let it go on? If I had been at home, it would
never--upon my _word_!" This was one of the times that Dr. Lavendar
felt the limitations of his office in regard to language. Mr.
Spangler, his elbows on his knees, his chin on hands, was staring
miserably at the floor.
"I shall, I trust, meet it in the proper spirit," he said.
Dr. Lavendar nodded. "Of course," he said. "Fortunately, she is
dealing with a man who has backbone--perhaps."
Mr. Spangler sighed. "I regret to say that her presence in her school
under the circumstances does seem imperative."
Dr. Lavendar lighted his pipe. "Do you mean on account of money,
Spangler?"
"The support of Mr. David Baily and this--this _female_, must be met, I
suppose, by Miss Baily's school."
"You are not so situated that you--" began Dr. Lavendar, delicately.
"My circumstances," said Augustus Spangler, "are not affluent. I have
my residence in Mercer; and I supply, as you know. But my income
barely suffices for one. Four--would be out of the question."
Dr. Lavendar looked at Ellen's little, happy note, lying half open on
the table. "Poor old jack-donkey of a David!" he groaned.
"His selfishness," said Augustus Spangler, between his teeth, his voice
suddenly trembling with anger, "is perfectly incomprehensible to
me--perfectly incomprehensible! I endeavor always to exercise charity
in judging any human creature; but--really, _really_!"
"It isn't selfishness as much as silliness. David hasn't mind enough
to be deliberately selfish. The poor fellow never thought. He never
has thought. Ellen has always done the thinking for the family. Well,
the harm's done. But, Spangler--" the old man stopped and glanced
sharply at the forlorn and angry man opposite him. Yes, he certainly
seemed very unhappy;--and as for Ellen! Dr. Lavendar could not bear
that thought. "Spangler, I'll stand by you. I won't let her offer you
up as well as herself. There must be some way out."
Mr. Spangler shook his head hopelessly. "The support of four persons
on my small stipend is impossible."
"Spangler, my boy!" said Dr. Lavendar, suddenly, "there is a way out.
What an old fool I am not to have thought of it! My dear fellow"--Dr.
Lavendar leaned over and tapped Mr. Spangler's knee, chuckling
aloud--"_that secretaryship_!"
"Secretaryship?" Mr. Spangler repeated, vaguely.
"You declined it? I know. But I don't believe Brown's got a man yet.
I heard from him on another matter, yesterday, and he didn't say he
had. Anyway, it's worth trying for. We can telegraph him to-morrow,"
said Dr. Lavendar, excitedly.
Mr. Spangler stared at him in bewilderment. "But," he said,
breathlessly, "I--I don't think--I fear I am not fit." He felt as if
caught in a sudden wind; his face grew red with agitation. "I declined
it!" he ended, gasping.
"Fit?" said Dr. Lavendar. "My dear man, what fitness is needed?
There's nothing to it, Spangler, I assure you." Dr. Lavendar was very
much in earnest; he sat forward on the edge of his chair and
gesticulated with his pipe. "Don't be too modest, my boy."
"Business entails such responsibilities," Mr. Spangler began, in a
frightened voice.
"Oh, but this is mere routine," Dr. Lavendar interrupted; "they want a
clergyman--somebody with tact. There's a good deal of church politics
in it, I suppose, and they've got to have somebody who would never step
on anybody's toes."
"I would never do that," said Mr. Spangler, earnestly, "but--"
"No," said Dr. Lavendar, abruptly, his voice changing--"no, Spangler,
you never would." Then he was silent for a moment, pulling on his
pipe, wondering perhaps, in spite of himself, at Ellen. "No, you never
would. You see, you are just the man for the place. Brown said they
wanted somebody who was presentable; he said they didn't need any
particular abil--I mean any particular business ability."
"But," said Mr. Spangler, "to give up my sacred calling--"
"Spangler, come now! you don't 'call' very loudly, do you? There, my
dear boy, let an old fellow have his joke. I merely mean you don't
preach as often as if you had a regular parish. And you can supply,
you know, there just as well as here."
"The Master's service is my first consideration," said Augustus
Spangler.
Dr. Lavendar looked at him over his spectacles. "Mr. Spangler, the
Christian business-man serves the Master just as well as we do."
"I should wish to reflect," said Mr. Spangler.
"Of course."
"Miss Baily would, I fear, object to going so far away."
"If the place is still open, I'll manage Ellen," said Dr. Lavendar; but
he looked at Mr. Spangler narrowly. "And your own entreaties will, of
course, weigh with her if you show determination. I think you told me
you were pretty determined?"
"I have," said Mr. Spangler, "an iron will; but that would not justify
me in insisting if Miss Baily--" His voice trailed off; it rose before
him--the far-off, bustling city, the office, the regular hours, the
people whose toes must not be stepped upon, the letters to write and
read, the papers to file, all the exact minutiae the position involved.
And his comfortable old house? his leisure? his ease? And Mary Ann?
Mary Ann would never consent to go so far! "I--I really--" he began.
Dr. Lavendar frowned. "Mr. Spangler, I would not seem to urge you.
Ellen is too dear to us for that. But if you appreciate her as I
suppose you do--"
"I do indeed!" broke in poor Augustus Spangler, fervently.
"The way is probably open to you."
"But--" said Mr. Spangler, and then broke out, with marked agitation;
"I--I really don't see how I could possibly--" Yet even as he spoke he
thought of Ellen's sweet eyes. "Good Heavens!" said Mr. Spangler,
passionately; "what shall I do?"
But Dr. Lavendar was silent. Mr. Spangler got up and began to walk
about.
"My affection and esteem," he said, almost weeping, "are unquestioned.
But there are other considerations."
Dr. Lavendar said nothing.
"It is a cruel situation," said Mr. Spangler.
Dr. Lavendar looked down at his pipe.
There was a long silence. Augustus Spangler walked back and forth.
Dr. Lavendar said never a word.
"A man must consider his own fitness for such a position," Mr. Spangler
said, pleadingly.
"Perhaps," Dr. Lavendar observed, mildly, "Ellen's affections are not
very deeply engaged? It will be better so."
"But they are!" cried Mr. Spangler. "I assure you that they are! And
I--I was so happy," said the poor man; and sniffed suddenly, and tried
to find the pocket in his coat-tails.
Dr. Lavendar looked at him out of the corner of his eye.
Mr. Spangler stood stock-still; he opened and shut his hands, his lips
were pressed hard together. He seemed almost in bodily pain, for a
slight moisture stood out on his forehead. He was certainly in
spiritual pain. The Ideal of Sacrifice was being born in Mr.
Spangler's soul. His mild, kind, empty face grew almost noble;
certainly it grew very solemn.
"Dr. Lavendar," he said, in a low voice, "_I will do it._"
Dr. Lavendar was instantly on his feet; there was a grip of the hand,
and, for a moment, no words.
"I'll telegraph Mr. Brown," said Mr. Spangler, breathlessly.
"So will I!" said Dr. Lavendar.
Mr. Spangler was scarlet with heroism. "It means giving up my house
and my very congenial surroundings, and I fear Mary Ann will feel too
old to accompany me; but with--with Ellen!"
"She's worth six Mary Anns, whoever Mary Ann may be," said Dr. Lavendar.
"You may have thought me hesitant," said Mr. Spangler, "but I felt that
I must weigh the matter thoroughly."
"Why, certainly, man. It was your duty to think what was best for
Ellen."
"Exactly," Mr. Spangler said, getting his breath again, and beginning
to feel very happy. "And duty is, I hope, my watchword; but I had to
reflect," he ended, a little uncomfortably.
But Dr. Lavendar would not let him be uncomfortable. They sat down
again, and Dr. Lavendar filled another pipe, and until long after
midnight they talked things over--the allowance to be made to David and
his bride, the leasing of the house in Mercer, the possible obduracy of
Mary Ann, and, most of all, the fine conduct of the Reverend Mr.
Spangler.
But when they had said good-night, Dr. Lavendar sat awhile longer by
his fireside, his pipe out, his old white head on his breast.
"The minute I get back," he said to himself after a while,
sheepishly--"the minute I get back I poke my finger into somebody
else's pie. But I think 'twas right: Ellen loves him; and he's not a
bad man.--And Brown don't want brains."
Then he chuckled and got up, and blew out the lamp.