glanced about anxiously and was much relieved to see no one near.
Personally, he did not care if he had been seen, but he knew that
Duncan Polite's happiness would be at an end if he knew his nephew had
been fighting the minister. With a heavy heart he walked slowly back
to where the boys were pitching quoits. He was equally enraged at
himself for starting the fight and for not insisting upon finishing it,
yes, even though all the congregation of Glenoro Presbyterian Church,
elders included, had been watching. But above all, the sense of the
disgrace he had brought upon himself and all that his uncle held dear
weighed upon the boy's heart. Jessie was at leisure now, standing with
a group of girls near the swing, but he could not go and ask her to
swing with him after what he had done. He was tormented by the thought
that she might blame him if she knew. So he turned and wandered off
alone into the depths of the woods, farther down the river, full of
anger and misery.
The first tables were being filled when he returned. He found an
excited group gathered around one of them.
"Mr. Egerton's sick!" cried Wee Andra, as Donald approached; "Watson
took him home."
"I wonder if it was a sunstroke, poor young man!" exclaimed Mrs.
McNabb, bustling about with motherly anxiety. "I'm going to run home
and see, and if he isn't any better I'll not come back. Liza, you and
Mrs. Johnstone'll have to 'tend to those sandwiches. Dear, dear, isn't
it a dreadful pity!"
Mrs. Fraser was already on her way to the afflicted one, and in the
bustle and consternation Donald was able to hide his perturbation. He
was filled with compunction at the havoc he had unwittingly wrought,
for he knew the minister's disfigured face prevented his appearance in
public.
A gloom seemed to be thrown over the whole festivity. The minister's
sudden affliction was the one subject of conversation at the tea-table.
The usual mirth and jollity gave place to a quiet gravity which might
have satisfied even Splinterin' Andra. The schoolmaster did not
return, so the original programme was dropped altogether. Instead of
the grand-march and chorus which was to open the exercises, they sang
the twenty-third psalm, and Mr. Ansdell led in prayer, adding a fervent
petition that the young pastor might speedily be restored to health.
Then there were some speeches after all. Sim Basketful, who was always
ready, and old Andrew Johnstone, as was his unfailing custom, gave
long, earnest addresses, and they sang the Doxology and went home.
Mrs. Fraser returned just before the assembly broke up with the news
that Mr. Egerton was not ill, but had had a nasty accident. Mr. Watson
said that he had stumbled and fallen when they were running through the
woods, and had cut his face upon a stone. Mrs. Fraser considered it a
mercy that he was not killed. Poor young man! In the midst of life
they were in death, and likely Providence had sent this as a warning to
the young people who were careless about their future state.
Miss Cotton didn't know what in the world the minister wanted to go
tearing through the bush like that for, anyhow. It wasn't very
becoming, she thought, and it was likely if Providence meant any kind
of a warning it was for himself.
VIII
BURSTING OF THE STORM
Duncan Polite stepped out of the little gate one Sabbath afternoon,
late in July, and joined his old friend on his way to Sabbath school.
To-day the service was to be of unusual interest, for Mr. Egerton was
to pay his first visit to the Sabbath school. Though he had been some
months in Glenoro, he had never had such an opportunity before, on
account of the afternoon service at his other charge. But to-day the
service at the Tenth was to be taken by a visiting clergyman, and the
superintendent of the Sabbath school was looking forward grimly to his
pastor's visitation.
A few months previous this event would have been hailed by Duncan as a
blessing from on high, but he had learned to expect much less from his
pastor than in the early days of his ministry. He still hoped and
prayed for great results, for to confess, even to himself, that the
young man was a failure seemed like pronouncing his own doom. Still,
it was being slowly but surely borne in upon him that Mr. McAlpine's
grandson was neither a prophet like his relative nor a shepherd like
his predecessor. Duncan's hopes for his valley were beginning to wane.
What better were they now than four months ago? What better was
Donald? And at the thought of his nephew, Duncan's heart ached. What
was the matter with his boy? Some strange, unpleasant change seemed to
have come over him; he never went to church, and it was whispered so
loudly that it was heard even in the Watchman's exclusive little shanty
that Donald Neil and the minister had quarrelled, and that Jessie
Hamilton was the cause. Just how badly fate was using his boy Duncan
could not know. In his honest endeavours to guard the young minister
from the rumours afloat regarding the picnic Donald fell under his
sweetheart's suspicion. It was their first quarrel, nothing serious at
first, but Donald withdrew indignantly and devoted himself to his farm
work. Full of repentance Jessie watched and waited for his return, and
finally, as a means of hastening him to her side, she accepted
cordially the kindly attentions of the minister.
And this was the condition of affairs at a time when Duncan Polite had
hoped to see the two young men in perfect sympathy over a common
cause--that of raising the spiritual life of his glen. The old
Watchman's eyes grew deeper and more mournful every day over the fading
of his cherished hopes. His promise to his father was not being kept.
The covenant the founder of Glenoro had made, and which his son had
renewed, was forgotten, and often in the distress of his soul the cry
of Job came to Duncan's lips, "Oh that I might have my request and that
God would grant me the thing I long for!"
But in the presence of Andrew Johnstone, the peacemaker was careful to
hide his fears. He knew that his friend's dissatisfaction with the
young minister was smouldering ominously and he watched Splinterin'
Andra with ever-increasing anxiety.
On this Sabbath, Andrew was in such a sour frame of mind that the
peacemaker's task was an especially difficult one. He plunged into the
dangerous subject as soon as Duncan joined him.
"We're to hae oor bit meenister the day," he announced sourly. "We
need na expec' ony great thing though, Ah'm thinkin'," he added
soberly. "Ah suppose Ah'll ask him to take the Bible class."
"Oh, that will be a fine thing," said Duncan, with a great show of
hopefulness. "The young man will be knowing his Bible well, and he
will jist be giving the young folk some grand thoughts. Oh yes,
indeed."
"Mebby." Andrew Johnstone's voice was anything but hopeful. "He could
learn them plenty aboot fit-ball and croquet better, though."
Duncan saw the danger and hastened into the breach with soothing words.
"It would be too soon to look for results," he declared. They must be
patient. He managed to guide the conversation into smoother channels,
and by the time they reached the church the danger of an outburst had
been once more averted.
Mr. Egerton taught the Bible class in a most kindly and pleasant manner
considering the ungracious way the superintendent requested his
services. But Jessie Hamilton sat in one corner of it, her sweet face
half hidden beneath her wide drooping hat, and that may have partially
accounted for the feeling of pleasure with which he undertook the task.
During the remainder of the exercises he sat with the pupils, a silent
spectator of old Andrew's methods. The superintendent was more
impressively solemn than usual, and to the young minister, accustomed
mostly to city Sabbath schools where the average boy conducted himself
with considerable freedom, the place was oppressively rigid. He was
amazed at the solemn silence. The children were unusually well
behaved; even Mr. Hamilton's class was exemplary, for beside the usual
terror of Splinterin' Andra, the presence of the minister demanded the
very best conduct.
But the atmosphere of the place was oppressive to the bright,
high-spirited young man. The bare severity of the building was bad
enough in church, he felt, but in Sunday school it was disastrous. It
should be a bright place, full of light and life. He made up his mind
he would set Miss Cotton and the Ladies' Aid to redouble their efforts
towards improving the place. When the service ended with a long,
slowly-droned psalm and the children filed quietly out, whispering even
on the doorstep, the minister drew a deep breath of relief.
He found himself walking up the hill with old John Hamilton and Peter
McNabb. Behind them came the superintendent and Duncan Polite. Mr.
Hamilton turned to include them in their conversation.
"And what do ye think o' oor Sabbath school, Maister Egerton?" he was
saying. "Maister Johnstone here has made us a fine superintendent for
mony a lang year."
"It's very good indeed," answered the young man heartily; "fine
attendance, and the order is better than I ever saw it. But don't you
think children need a little more brightness and life in their service
to keep them interested?" He turned to his sour-faced elder with a
charming air of deference which would have disarmed any man but
Splinterin' Andra. But the elder's stick was already waving
threateningly behind him, like the tail of a lion aroused. The young
man did not notice the ominous sign and hastened on to his doom.
"I believe your Sabbath school to be a most exemplary one, Mr.
Johnstone, but I hope you do not mind my saying that I believe the
children should take a more active part in the exercises. They should
feel it is theirs. A few good rousing hymns, now, in which they are
interested, and--" he hesitated a moment, and then remembering how
often the young people had begged him to open the subject of a musical
instrument to Splinterin' Andra, and feeling that he was doing well,
and now was his opportunity, continued--"and perhaps the use of an
organ to help the music would aid greatly and add brightness and
interest to the school."
The red rag had been shaken in the bull's face! Shaken very politely
and gently it is true, but a maddening challenge nevertheless. Had the
minister only left out the organ the presence of Duncan Polite might
have restrained his friend from violence, but an organ stood for
everything that was frivolous and worldly. And now that this man who
had been the Joshua of his hopes, who was to lead the young people into
the promised land of righteousness after their old leader had gone up
to his rest, now that he had come out avowedly the promoter of
instability and the apostle of fashion, it was too much for Splinterin'
Andra. He had loved and revered the young man so long, in spite of his
many failures, that his resentment was now in proportion to his former
confidence.
Peter McNabb saw the danger, and burst in with a not altogether
irrelevant remark about there being thunder in the air; but he was too
late; already Splinterin' Andra's stick had darted from its place like
a sword from its scabbard.
"Man!" he exclaimed, turning a face of righteous wrath upon the
well-meaning young clergyman, "man! It's ma' opeenion, that wi' an
instrument o' wund in the pulpit, we're no in great need o' anither in
the congregation!" and sweeping a clattering shower of stones down the
hill, he tramped away ahead, leaving consternation and dismay in his
wake.
Duncan Polite walked by his friend's side in silence. He sympathised
deeply with Andrew's feelings, but this new disaster was like to break
the old man's heart. But Andrew Johnstone was not done.
"An organ!" He repeated the words with all the bitterness of his
disappointed soul. "An organ! The Lord peety the kirk that has a fule
for a meenister!"
"Oh, you must not be saying that, Andra," said Duncan Polite. "The
Lord will be a better judge than man----"
But old Andrew interrupted him tempestuously.
"Man, Duncan, Ah've kept it tae ma'sel for mony a day, but Ah jist
canna bide it ony mair! Him an' his organ! Aye, he's after some bit
balderdash a' the time. Ah tell ye the buddy's no got the root o' the
matter in him! He can preach, aye, Ah'll no deny yon, but what's the
gude o' what he's haverin' aboot? This mornin' he preached jist half
an oor, aye, an' twenty meenits o' it taken up in provin' that Paul was
a gude man, a thing that no the biggest fule in the Glen would gainsay,
no, not even oor Andra'," he concluded sombrely.
Duncan sighed. He had noticed that the sermons were steadily growing
shorter. Indeed, from the first Sabbath of his pastorate the young
minister had deliberately set himself to abbreviate the church service,
commencing with the sermon. He had done it so gradually that he
flattered himself it was unnoticed, but no one could depart one jot or
one tittle from the ancient ways without the argus eye of the ruling
elder spying out the offence.
"Oh well, indeed," said Duncan Polite, "it would be a clever sermon,
Andra, and I would be thinking he gave us some fine thoughts on Paul."
"Paul!" cried the other with withering scorn. "Paul! and who sent out
meenisters to preach Paul?"
Duncan could not answer. John McAlpine Egerton was a clever speaker
certainly, with much of his grandfather's fire, but to the brilliant
discourses on the heroes of the Bible which had constituted his sermons
lately Duncan had listened with a remote ache in his heart. For though
Paul was a great apostle, and David the Lord's anointed King, who were
they to the King of Kings and Lord of Lords?
Old Andrew was still talking, his stick waving furiously. "It's
railin' agen this, and rowin' agen that: it's Socialism and Anarchism
and some other rubbishy ism every Sabbath. Man, why can the crater no
preach the Gospel? Aye, an' we had a half an oor o' havers aboot
infidelity last Sabbath. Tod! Naebody in the Glen kenned what
infidelity was till he cam' except mebby yon lad o' Silas Todd's, an'
the crater's no wise onyway!"
Duncan made a feeble attempt to stem the tide. "But these societies,
maybe they will be doing good, whatever."
This was only fuel to the fire. "His societies! Man, wi' his Y. P. S.
C. E. an' his Y. M. C. A. an' his X. Y. Z., fowk's heids are fair
turned! Jist sparkin' bees, every ane o' them! An' him the biggest
spark o' them a'! A Chreestian Endeavour Society! Man, where's he
gaun to get it, wi' oot the Chreestians? Our Andra an' yon natral o'
Silas Todd's, an' thae huzzies o' John Hamilton's, an' yon nephew o'
yours! _A Chreestian Endeavour_! Eh, man, does the buddy no ken he
canna mak' bricks wi'oot straw?"
Duncan made no reply. He was as utterly crushed as though he were
guilty of all the sins imputed to the minister. His heart was crying
out in its pain and disappointment. Andrew's parting words sounded
like the closing forever of the door of hope. "Aye, an' we thought he
would be anither Mr. McAlpine! The Lord forgie us for oor meeserable
presumption!"
When the first sting of his resentment against the elder was over, John
Egerton was not sorry that the disagreeable affair had occurred. The
quarrel had not been of his seeking, everybody knew that; and the
knowledge that he did not need to be on friendly terms with the
cantankerous old man was a distinct relief. He realised now that the
ruling elder had been something of an encumbrance to him ever since he
came to Glenoro. He represented everything unprogressive in the
church, and he, the minister, had always been under the unpleasant
obligation of conciliating him. He almost drew a breath of relief when
he found it was quite proper for him to take the opposite course.
So the consequence of Andrew Johnstone's hasty words was that the young
minister joined the rising generation in all their risings. Fortified
by his support they soared higher than they had ever dared before and
demanded every innovation that has ever been known since churches began
to follow the fashions. And first of all they set themselves
tenaciously to the getting of a church organ.
They went about it with the wisdom of the serpent, too. The Christian
Endeavour Society went through the congregation, collecting money from
such as were favourable to the project. When they found themselves
with a sufficient sum, their plan was to purchase the coveted
instrument, present it to the session, and they would just like to see
how Splinterin' Andra would prevent their accepting it.
But that was exactly what Splinterin' Andra intended to do; failing
that, he determined to carry his old threat of violence into effect,
rather than allow the desecration. He grew fiercer and more resolute
every day, and yet in spite of his strength it was plain that at last
he was approaching defeat.
Duncan Polite strove to bring about a peaceable settlement. He
counselled yielding.
"It will be a great sin in the Lord's sight, Andra," he said
pleadingly, "these wranglings among his own people. 'Peace be within
thy walls, oh Zion!' that will be the will of the Master and, indeed, I
will be thinking if we would jist all be of the right mind, this organ
would be a source of blessing, and like David's harp that drove the
evil spirits from Saul."
Andrew gave a derisive snort. "If ye can see ony similarity between
David and yon bit, gigglin' light-headed lass o' Donald Fraser's that
thinks she's to play the thing, ye're michty far seein', Duncan. And
ye ken weel if the Gospel does na' touch them, they'll no be converted
by a few bit worldly squeaks from a music-boax. No, it's jist all
vanity, Duncan, jist vanity, an' we'll no hae the thing in Maister
Cameron's church as lang as Ah've gotten the use o' ma' arms!"
But the organ party went on collecting money unheedingly, and Duncan
was in despair. He appealed to Donald, but found very little
satisfaction. Donald was working hard in the harvest fields, and came
to Glenoro very seldom. Duncan could not but guess the reason; the
minister's attentions to Jessie Hamilton were growing more marked every
day. Wherever he looked Duncan could see signs of trouble, which he
was powerless to avert.
The great day arrived when the sum of money was complete. At the next
Endeavour meeting they would make all arrangements for purchasing the
organ. Mr. Egerton preached a very clever and caustic sermon that
Sabbath upon narrow-mindedness, and Duncan Polite's face was drawn with
pain as he listened.
On Monday evening, the night before the final and crucial meeting the
young minister was walking briskly down the road from the Oa. He had
been taking tea with one of his most friendly families and had stayed
rather late playing croquet with the young ladies. As he went along
the winding thoroughfare it suddenly occurred to him that he could save
time if he went over the fields and through the woods, coming out on
the road again just above the Glen. He was over the fence in an
instant and crossing the dusky fields, the sharp stubble of the wheat
clicking against his feet as he walked. Then he crossed a
sweet-scented pasture, with the dim, shadowy outlines of the cows lying
here and there, the stillness broken now and then by the soft tinkle of
a disturbed bell. Next he entered the woods, so dark and still, with
only the light of a few stars peeping through the branches. The young
man forgot Splinterin' Andra and Donald Neil and all his worries as he
moved through the mysterious darkness. The strange, still whisper of
the forest, that gave a sense of life, as if the whole dark
surroundings were some great breathing creature, touched him nearly.
He felt awed; the trivial things which made up so much of his life
seemed infinitesimal now, in the face of this mysterious wonder. When
he emerged into the grey light of the open fields again, he was both
saddened and uplifted. He climbed the fence into Duncan Polite's
pasture field and made his way round the little shanty, stepping
quietly for fear of disturbing the old man, who might be sleeping. But
as he passed the place a sound arrested his footsteps, a sound of a
human voice full of anguish.
The minister paused and drew nearer. The green paper window-blind was
rolled up a few inches and from beneath it shone the light of a lamp.
He stepped up to the window and peeped in. In the middle of the bare
room knelt Duncan Polite. His Scotch bonnet lay on the floor at his
side and the rays of the little lamp on the table touched his thin
white hair with silver. His pallid face was upturned, his eyes closed.
Collie stood beside him, his head on one side, a look of longing on his
canine face, as though his dog's heart were striving to know and share
his master's grief. He stiffened and bristled at the scent of the
intruder, but Duncan had begun to speak again and the dumb sympathiser
was once more all attention.
"Oh, my Father, my Father!" The words broke from him like a cry of
pain. "Oh, my Father, Thou knowest there will be dissension in Thy
House and trouble in Thy Holy Place! Oh set Ye open unto us the gates
of righteousness! Father, lead us to the light and let not Thine Holy
One be put to shame among us!"
His voice broke, and Collie gave a quivering whine. Then the man's
tones rose again in passionate pleading. He poured out his whole,
great soul in such an anguish-laden prayer for the young man who was
listening, that he stood for a moment overcome. Then, unable to bear
it, he turned and slipped softly around the house and out upon the
road. He stumbled often and he did not walk with his accustomed easy
swing. And as he entered the valley, the lights of the village swam
below in a mist, and the sad drone of the river rose to meet him like
the echo of Duncan Polite's prayer.
IX
THE PRESIDENT OF THE LADIES' AID SOCIETY
Miss Eliza Cotton took her scissors and roll of dress patterns and
started across the street for a day's sewing at the Hamiltons'. She
liked to sew there, for she was fond of the girls in her queer way, and
there was plenty of life and fun. To-day she was particularly pleased
to go to some place where she could pour out the vials of her wrath
upon the minister for the ridiculous way he had acted in refusing to go
on with the organ scheme. Next to the latest news of the
neighbourhood, Miss Cotton loved what she termed "style." Before Mr.
Egerton's advent the Glenoro Church had been utterly devoid of this
saving quality. Since his arrival, however, matters had improved
rapidly. But now, just when they had got a carpet for the pulpit
stairs and matting for the aisles, and were on the eve of purchasing
the long-talked-of organ, the very prompter and head of all the
enterprise must suddenly declare a complete change of front. To Miss
Cotton the loss of his support was an absolute disaster, as it was to
many others, especially those who had to tramp over many miles of
country to return the money they had been at such pains to collect.
Even Mrs. Fraser was disappointed in the minister's action, for she had
been in hopes that Annie would be the organist, and she sighed long and
deeply over the mutability of the young minister. Such sudden changes
of opinion, she declared, denoted an unstable character, and she feared
he would not have a good influence over the wild and unsettled young
men of Glenoro.
Miss Cotton did not care what characteristics were denoted by the
affair. She only knew that in her opinion Mr. Egerton had behaved
outrageously, and she went over to the Hamiltons' prepared to maintain
the same at the point of her sharp tongue.
"Well, 'Liza," said Mrs. Hamilton, as soon as the dressmaker was
settled in her corner of the wide, breezy kitchen surrounded by billows
of light blue silk, "what do you think o' the minister changing his
mind in such a hurry?"
She did not ask because she was seeking information, for Miss Cotton
had left no one in doubt as to her views on the subject, but only as a
pretext for getting launched upon the all-important subject.
Miss Cotton sniffed indignantly. "Mighty queer, that's all I have to
say. He knew as well as we did all along that Splinterin' Andra an' a
whole crowd o' old fogies didn't want an organ, an' to think he'd stand
up at the very last meetin' an' say it would cause trouble--cause
fiddlesticks! I'll bet there's somethin' at the bottom o' all this;
mebby some o' you girls knows more about it than I do. Jessie here
seems to be gettin' awful thick with him." She glanced sharply around
at each young woman, engaged in some household duty.
"That's just to make Don jealous. Jess is awful cute!" said Maggie,
who was making intermittent attempts to wash the breakfast dishes.