THE NEW MINISTER.
The little stir and buzz which went round the assembly at this news was
delightful. Not one but moved excitedly on her seat, and then settled
herself for an unwonted good time. For the new minister was
undiscovered ground; an unexamined possession; unexplored treasure. One
Sunday and two sermons had done no more than whet the appetite of the
curious. Nobody had made up his mind, or her mind, on the subject, in
regard to any of its points. So there were eyes enough that from Mrs.
Starling's windows watched the minister as he dismounted and tied his
horse to the fence, and then opened the little gate and came up to the
house. Diana had returned to the room to bid the company out to supper;
but finding all heads turned one way, and necks craned over, and eyes
on the stretch, she paused and waited for a more auspicious moment. And
then came a step in the passage and the door opened.
Mr. Hardenburgh, each lady remembered, used to make the circuit of the
company, giving every one a several clasp of the hand and an individual
word of civility. Here was a change! The new minister came into the
midst of them and stood still, with a bright look and a cheery "Good
afternoon!" It was full of good cheer and genial greeting; but what
lady could respond to it? The greeting was not given to _her_. The
silence was absolute; though eyes said they had heard, and were
listening.
"I have been down at Elmfield," the new-comer went on, not at all
disturbed by his reception; "and some one informed me I should find a
large circle of friends if I came here; so I came. And I find I was
told truly."
"I guess we'd most given you up," said the mistress of the house,
coming out of her corner now.
"I don't know what reason you had to expect me! Nobody asked me to
come."
"We're real glad to see you. Take a chair," said Mrs. Starling, setting
one for his acceptance as she spoke.
"Mr. Hardenburgh allays used to come to our little meetin's," said Mrs.
Mansfield.
"Thank you!--And you expect me to do all that Mr. Hardenburgh did?"
There was such a quaint air of good-fellowship and simplicity in the
new minister's manner, that the little assembly began to stir anew with
gratification and amusement. But nobody was forward to answer. In fact,
they were a trifle shy of him. The late Mr. Hardenburgh had been heavy
and slow; kind, of course, but stiff; you knew just what he would do
and how he would speak beforehand. There was a delightful freshness and
uncertainty about this man. Nothing imposing, either; a rather small,
slight figure; with a face that might or might not be called handsome,
according to the fancy of the speaker, but that all would agree was
wonderfully attractive and winning. A fine broad brow; an eye very
sweet; with a build of the jaw and lines of the mouth speaking both
strength and the absolutest calm of the mental nature.
"I was afraid I should be late," he went on, looking at his
watch,--"but the roads are good. How far do you call it from Elmfield?"
"All of five miles," said Mrs. Starling.
"Yes; and one hill to cross. Well! I came pretty well. The long June
afternoon favoured me."
"Mr. Hardenburgh used to drive a buggy," remarked Miss Barry.
"Yes. Is that one of the things you would like me to do as he did?"
"Well, none of our ministers ever went such a venturesome way before,"
said the timid little old lady.
"As I do? But if _I_ had been in a buggy, Miss Barry, this afternoon, I
am afraid you would have got through supper and been near breaking up
before I could have joined your society."
"How long was you comin', then?" she asked, looking startled.
"And there's another thing, Mr. Masters," said Mrs. Mansfield; "why
_do_ the days be so much longer in summer than in winter? I asked Mr.
Hardenburgh once, but I couldn't make out nothin' from what he told me?"
Sly looks and suppressed laughter went round the room, for some of Mrs.
Mansfield's neighbours were better informed than she in all that lay
above the level of practical farming; but Mr. Masters quite gravely
assured her he would make it all clear the first time he had a quiet
chance at her house.
"And will you walk out to supper, friends?" said Mrs. Starling. "Here's
Di been standin' waitin' to call us this half hour."
The supper was laid on a long table in the lean-to, which was used as a
kitchen; but now the fire was out, and the tea-kettle had been boiled
and was kept boiling in some unknown region. Doors and windows stood
open, letting the sweet air pass through; and if the floor was bare and
the chairs were wooden, both one and the other were bright with
cleanliness; and the long board was bright in another way. Yet the word
is not misapplied. Such piles of snowy bread and golden cake, such
delicate cheeses and puffy biscuits, and such transparencies of
rich-coloured preserves, were an undoubted adornment to Mrs. Starling's
deal table, and might have been to any table in the world. The deal was
covered, however, with white cloths. At the upper end the hostess took
her place behind a regiment of cups and saucers, officered by great tin
pots which held the tea and coffee. Diana waited.
Everybody had come expecting a good supper and primed for enjoyment;
and now the enjoyment began. Mrs. Starling might smile grimly to
herself as she saw her crab-apples and jellies disappear, and the piles
of biscuits go down and get heaped up again by Diana's care. Nobody was
at leisure enough to mark her.
"Eat when you can, Mr. Masters," said Mrs. Boddington; "you won't get
hot biscuits anywhere in Pleasant Valley but here."
"Why not?" said Mr. Masters.
"It ain't the fashion--that's all."
"I s'pose you've seen the fashions to-day down at Elmfield, Mr.
Masters," said Mrs. Salter. "They don't think as we hev' no fashions,
up here in the mountains."
"Their fashions is ridiculous!" said Mrs. Flandin. "Do you think it's
becomin', Mr. Masters, for Christian women to go and make sights of
themselves?"
"In what way, Mrs. Flandin?"
"Why, goodness! you've seen 'em. Describin's impossible. Euphemie
Knowlton, she came into church last Sabbath three yards in extent, ef
she was a foot. It beat me, how she was goin' to get in. Why, there
warn't room for but three of 'em in the slip, and it took 'em somethin'
like half an hour to get fixed in their places. I declare I was
ashamed, and I had to look, for all."
"So had I," assented Miss Carpenter. "I couldn't fairly keep my eyes
off of 'em."
"And I'm certain she couldn't go agin the wind, with her bonnet; it
stuck just right up from her face, and ended in a pint, and she had a
hull garden in the brim of it, _I_ think ministers had ought to preach
about such doin's."
"And you don't know what ministers are good for if they don't?" said
Mr. Masters.
"Did _you_ ever see a minister that could get the better of 'em?" said
Mrs. Boddington. "'Cos, if you did, I would like to go and sit under
his preachin' a spell, and see what he could do for me."
"Does that express the mind of Pleasant Valley generally?" asked the
minister, and gravely this time.
"La! we ain't worse than other folks," said Mrs. Salter. "There's no
harm in dressin' one's self smart now and then, is there? And we want
to know how, to be sure."
"I hope you don't think Euphemie Knowlton knows how? 'Tain't a quarter
as becomin' as the way we dress in Pleasant Valley. There ain't the
least bit of prettiness or gracefulness in a woman's bein' three yards
round; anyhow we don't think so when it's nature." So Mrs. Salter.
"What do you think o' lettin' your hair down over the shoulders, as if
you were goin' to comb it?" said Mrs. Boddington; "and goin' to church
so?"
"But how ever _did_ she make it stand out as it did," asked Miss
Carpenter. "It was just like spun glass, nothin' smooth or quiet about
it. Such a yellow mop I never did see. And it warn't a child neither.
Who is she anyhow?"
"Not she. It is a grown woman," said Mrs. Flandin; "and she looked like
a wild savage. Don't the minister agree with me, that it ain't becomin'
for Christian women to do such things?"
It was with a smile and a sigh that the minister answered. "Where are
you going to draw the line, Mrs. Flandin?"
"Well! with what's decent and comfortable."
"And pretty?"
"La! yes," said Mrs. Salter. "Do let us be as nice as we kin."
"I think people had ought to make themselves as nice-lookin' as they
can," echoed one of the younger ladies of the party; and there was a
general chorus of agreeing voices.
"Well!" said the minister; "then comes the question, what is
nice-looking? I dare say the young lady with the flowing tresses
thought she was about right."
"She thought she was the only one," said Mrs. Boddington.
A subject was started now which was fruitful enough to keep all tongues
busy; and whether biscuits or opinions had the most lively circulation
for some time thereafter it would be hard to say. Old and young, upon
this matter of town and country fashions, and fashion in general, "gave
tongue" in concert; proving that Pleasant Valley knew what was what as
well as any place in the land; that it was doubtful what right Boston
or New York had to dictate to it; at the same time the means of getting
at the earliest the mind of Boston or New York was eagerly discussed,
and the pretensions of Elmfield to any advantage in that matter as
earnestly denied. The minister sat silent, with an imperturbable face
that did him credit. At last there was a rush of demands upon him for
his judgment. He declared that so much had been said upon the subject,
he must have time to think it over; and he promised to give them some
at least of his thoughts before long in a sermon.
With this promise, highly satisfied, the assembly broke up. Mrs.
Starling declared afterwards to her daughter, that if there had been
any more fashions to talk about they would never have got done supper.
But now bonnets were put on, and work put up, and one after another
family party went off in its particular farm waggon or buggy. It was
but just sundown; the golden glory of the sky was giving a mellow
illumination to all the land, as one after another the horses were
unhitched, the travellers mounted into their vehicles, and the wheels
went softly rolling off over the smooth road. The minister stood by the
gate, helping the ladies to untie and mount, giving pleasant words
along with pleasant help, and receiving many expressions of pleasure in
return.
"Dear me, Mr. Masters!" said Miss Barry, the last one, "ain't you
afraid you'll catch cold, standing there with no hat on?"
"Cold always attacks the weakest part, Miss Barry. My head is safe."
"Well, I declare!" said Miss Barry. "I never heerd that afore."
And as she drove off in her little green waggon, the minister and
Diana, who had come down to the gate to see the last one off, indulged
in a harmless laugh. Then they both stood still by the fence a moment,
resting; the hush was so sweet. The golden glory was fading; the last
creak of Miss Barry's wheels was getting out of hearing; the air was
perfumed with the scents which the dew called forth.
"Isn't it delicious?" said the minister, leaning on the little gate,
and pushing his hair back from his forehead.
"The stillness is pleasant," said Diana.
"Yet you must have enough of that?"
"Yes--sometimes," said the girl. She was a little shy of speaking her
thoughts to the minister; indeed, she was not accustomed to speak them
to anybody, not knowing where they could meet entertainment. She
wondered Mr. Masters did not go like the rest; however, it was pleasant
enough to stand there talking to him.
"What do you do for books here?" he went on.
"O, I have all my father's books," said Diana. "My father was a
minister, Mr. Masters; and when he died his books came to me."
"A theological library!" said Mr. Masters.
"Yes. I suppose you would call it so."
"Have you it _here?_"
"Yes. I have it in my room up-stairs. All one end of the room full."
"Do you read these books?"
"Yes. They are all I have to read. I have not read the whole of them."
"No, I suppose not. Do you not find this reading rather heavy?"
"I don't know. Some of the books are rather heavy; I do not read those
much."
"You must let me look at your library some day, Miss Diana. It would be
certain to have charms for me; and I'll exchange with you. Perhaps I
have books that you would not find heavy."
Diana's full grey eyes turned on the minister with a gleam of gratitude
and pleasure. Her words were not needed to say that she would like that
kind of barter.
"So your father was a clergyman?" Mr. Masters went on.
"Yes. Not here, though. That was when I was quite little. We lived a
good way from here; and I remember very well a great many things about
all that time, till father died, and then mother came back here."
"Came _back_,--then your mother is at home in Pleasant Valley?"
"O, we're both at home here--I was so little when we came; but mother's
father lived where Nick Boddington does, and owned all this valley--I
don't mean Pleasant Valley, but all this hollow; a good large farm it
was; and when he died he left mother a nice piece of it, with this old
house."
"Mr. Boddington,--is he then a relation of yours?"
"No, not exactly; he's the son of grandpa's second wife; we're really
no relations, but we call each other cousin. Grandpa left the most of
his land to his wife; but mother's got enough to manage, and nice land."
"It's a beautiful place!" said the minister. "There is a waggon coming;
I wonder if any of our friends have forgotten something? That is--yes,
that _is_ farmer Babbage's team; isn't it? What is the matter?"
For something unusual in the arrangements of the vehicle, or the
occupants of it, was dimly yet surely to be discerned through the
distance and the light, which was now turning brown rather than grey.
Nothing could be seen clearly, and yet it came as no waggon load had
gone from that door that evening. The minister took his hand from the
gate, and Diana stepped forward, as the horses stopped in front of the
lean-to; and a voice called out:
"Who's there to help? Hollo! Lend a hand."
The minister sprang down the road, followed by Diana. "What do you want
help for?" he asked.
"There's been an accident--Jim Delamater's waggon--we found it
overturned in the road; and here's Eliza, she hasn't spoke since. Have
you got no more help?"
"Where's Jim?" asked Mrs. Starling, coming herself from the lean-to.
"Staid with his team; about all he was up to. Now then,--can we get her
in? Where's Josiah?"
But no more masculine help could be mustered than what was already on
hand. Brains, however, can do much to supplement muscular force. The
minister had a settee out from the house in two minutes and by the side
of the waggon; with management and care, though with much difficulty,
the unconscious girl was lifted down and laid on the settee; and by the
aid of the women carried straight into the lean-to, the door of which
was the nearest. There, by the same energetic ordering, well seconded
by Diana, a mattress was brought and laid on the long table, which Mrs.
Starling's diligence had already cleared since supper; and there they
placed the girl, who was perfectly helpless and motionless in their
hands.
"There is life yet," said the minister, after an examination during
which every one stood breathless around. "Loose everything she has on,
Miss Diana; and let us have some hartshorn, Mrs. Starling, if you have
got any. Well, brandy, then, and cold water; and I'll go for the
doctor."
But Mr. Babbage represented that he must himself 'go on hum,' and would
pass by the doctor's door; so if the minister would stay and help the
women folks, it would be more advisable. Accordingly the farmer's
waggon wheels were soon heard departing, and the little group in the
lean-to kitchen were left alone. Too busy at first to think of it, they
were trying eagerly every restorative and stimulant they could think of
and command; but with little effect. A little, they thought; but
consciousness had not returned to the injured girl, when they had done
all they knew how to do, and tried everything within their reach. Hope
began to fade towards despair; still they kept on with the use of their
remedies. Mrs. Starling went and came between the room where they were
and the stove, which stood in some outside shed, fetching bottles of
hot water; I think, between whiles, she was washing up her cups and
saucers; the other two, in the silence of her absences, could feel the
strange, solemn contrasts which one must feel, and does, even in the
midst of keener anxieties than those which beset the watchers there.
The girl, a fair, rather pretty person, pleasant-tempered and generally
liked, lay still and senseless on the table round which she and others
a little while ago had been seated at supper. Very still the room was
now, that had been full of voices; the smell of camphor and brandy was
about; the table was wet in one great spot with the cold water which
had been applied to the girl's face. And through the open door and
windows came the stir of the sweet night air, and the sound of insects,
and the gurgle of a brook that ran a few yards off; peaceful, free,
glad, as if all were as it had been last night, or nature took no
cognizance of human affairs. The minister had been very active and
helpful; bringing wood and drawing water and making up the fire, as
well as anybody, Mrs. Starling said afterwards; he had taken his part
in the actual nursing, and better than anybody, Diana thought. Now the
two stood silent and grave by the long table, while they still kept up
the application of brandy to the face and heat to the extremities, and
rubbing the hands and wrists of the patient.
"Did you know Miss Delamater well?" asked the minister.
"Yes--as I know nearly all the girls," Diana answered.
"Do you think she is ready for the change--if she must make it?"
Diana hesitated. "I never heard her speak on the subject," she said.
"She wasn't a member of the church."
Silence followed, and they were two grave faces still that bent over
the table; but there was the difference between the shadow on a
mountain lake where there is not a ripple, and the dark stir of
troubled waters. Diana's eye every now and then glanced for an instant
at the face of her companion; it was very grave, but the broad brow was
as quiet as if all its questions were answered, and the mouth was sweet
and at rest in its stillness. She wished he would speak again; there
was something in him that provoked her curiosity. He did speak
presently.
"This shows us what the meaning of life is," he said.
"No," said Diana, "it doesn't--to me. It is just a puzzle, and as much
a puzzle here as ever. I _don't_ see what the use of life is, or what
we all live for; I don't see what it amounts to."
"What do you mean?" asked her companion, but not as if he were
startled, and Diana went on.
"I shouldn't say so if people were always having a good time, and if
they were just right and did just right. But they are not, Mr. Masters;
you know they are not; even the best of them, that I see; and things
like _this_ are always happening, one way or another. If it isn't here,
it is somewhere else; and if it isn't one time, it is another; and it
is all confusion. I don't see what it all comes to."
"That is the thought of a moment of pain," said the minister.
"No, it is not," said Diana. "I think it often. I think it all the
while. Now this very afternoon I was sitting at the door here,--you
know what sort of a day it has been, Mr. Masters?"
"I know. Perfect. Just June."
"Well, I was looking at it, and feeling how lovely it was; everything
perfect; and somehow all that perfection took a kind of sharp edge and
hurt me. I was thinking why nothing in the world was like it, or agreed
with it; nothing in human life, I mean. This afternoon, when the
company was here and all the talk going on--_that_ was like nothing out
of doors all the while; and _this_ is not like it."
There was a sigh, deep drawn, that came through the minister's lips;
then he spoke cheerfully--"Ay, God's works have parted company somehow."
"Parted--?" said Diana curiously.
"Yes. You remember surely that when he had made all things at first, he
beheld them very good."
"Well, they are not very good now; not all of them."
"Whose fault is that?"
"I know," said Diana, "but that does not help me with my puzzle. Why
does the world go on so? what is the use of my living, or anybody's?
What does it amount to?"
"That's your lesson," the minister answered, with a quick glance from
his calm eyes. Not a bit of sentiment or of speculative rhapsody there;
but downright, cool common sense, with just a little bit of authority.
Diana did not know exactly how to meet it; and before she had arranged
her words, they heard wheels again, and then the doctor came in.
The doctor approved of what had been done, and aided in renewed
application of the same remedies. After a time, these seemed at last
successful; the girl revived; and the doctor, after administering a
little tea and weak brandy and water, ordered that she should be kept
quiet where she was, the room be darkened when daylight came on, the
windows kept open, and handkerchiefs wet with cold water be laid on her
head. And then he took his departure; and Diana went to communicate to
her mother the orders he had left.
"Keep her there!" echoed Mrs. Starling. "In the lean-to! She'd be a
deal better in her bed."
"We must make her bed there, mother."
"There! On the table do you mean? Diana Starling, you are a baby!"
"She mustn't be stirred, mother, he says."
"That's the very thing!" exclaimed Mrs. Starling. "She had ought to ha'
been carried into one of the bed-chambers at the first; and I said so;
and the new minister, he would have it all his own way."
"But she must have all the air she could, mother, you know."
"Air!" said Mrs. Starling. "Do you s'pose she would smother in one of
the chambers, where many a one before her has laid, sick and well, and
got along too? Air, indeed! The house ain't like a corked bottle, I
guess."
"Not much," said Diana; "but Mr. Masters said, and the doctor says,
that she cannot have too much air."
"O well! Eggs can't be beat too much, neither; but it don't follow
you're to stand beating 'em for ever. I've no patience. Where am I
going to do my ironing? I should like the minister for to tell me;--or
get meals, or anything else? I don't see what possessed Josiah to go
and see his folks to-night of all nights."
"We have not wanted him, mother, after all, that I see."
"I have wanted him," said Mrs. Starling. "If he had been home I needn't
to have had queer help, and missed knowing who was head of the house.
Well, go along and fix it,--you and the minister."
"But, mother, I want to get Eliza's things off, and to make her bed
comfortably; and I can't do it without you."
"Well, get rid of the minister then, and I'll come. Him and me is too
many in one house."
The minister would not leave the two women alone and go home, as Diana
proposed to him; but he went to make his horse comfortable while they
did the same for the sick girl. And then he took up his post just
outside the door, in the moonlight which came fitfully through the elm
branches; and he and Diana talked no more that night. He was watchful
and helpful; for he kept up the fire in the stove, and once more
brought wood when it was needed. Moonlight melted away at last into the
dawn; cool clear outlines began to take place of the soft mystery of
night shadows; then the warm glow from the east, behind the house, and
the glint of the sunbeams on the tops of the hills and on the racks of
cloud lying along the horizon. Diana still kept her place by the
improvised bed, and the minister kept his just outside the door. Mrs.
Starling began to prepare for breakfast; and finally Josiah, the
man-of-all-work on the little farm, came from his excursion and from
the barn, bringing the pails of milk. Then the minister fetched his
horse, and came in to shake hands with Diana. He would not stay for
breakfast. She watched him down to the gate, where he threw himself on
his grey steed and went off at a smooth gallop, swift and steady,
sitting as if he were more at home on a horse's back than anywhere
else. Diana looked after him.
"Certainly," she thought, "that is unlike all the other ministers that
ever came to Pleasant Valley."
"He's off, is he?" said Mrs. Starling as her daughter came in. "Now
Diana, take notice; don't you go and take a fancy to this new man;
because I won't favour it, nor have anything of the kind going on. I
tell you beforehand."
"There is very little danger of his taking a fancy to me, mother."
"I don't know about that. He might do worse. But you couldn't; for I'll
never have anything to say to you if you do."
"Why, mother?" inquired Diana in much surprise. "I should think you'd
like him. I should think everybody would. Why don't you like him?"
"He's too masterful for me. Mind what I tell you, Diana."
"It's absurd, mother! Such a one as Mr. Masters never would think of
such a one as I am. He's a very cultivated man, mother; and has been
accustomed to very different society from what he'll find here. I don't
seem to him what I seem to you."
"I hope not!" said Mrs. Starling, "for you seem to me a goose.
Cultivated! Who is cultivated, if you are not? Weren't you a whole year
at school in Boston? I guess my gentleman hasn't been to a better
place. And warn't you for ever reading those musty old books, that make
you out of kilter for all _my_ world. If you don't fit his neither, I'm
sorry. Society indeed! There's no better society than the folks of
Pleasant Valley. Don't you go and set yourself up; nor him neither."
Diana knew better than to carry on the discussion.
Meanwhile the grey horse that bore the minister home kept up that long
smooth gallop for a half mile or so, then slackened it to walk up a
hill.
"That's a very remarkable girl," the minister was saying to himself;
"with much more in her than she knows."
The gallop began again in a few minutes, and was unbroken till he got
home. It was but a piece of a home. Mr. Masters had rooms in the house
of Mrs. Persimmon, a poor widow living among the hills. The rooms were
neat; that was all that could be said for them; little and dark and
low, with bits of windows, and with the simplest of furnishing. The
sitting-room was cheerful with books, however--as cheerful as books can
make a room; and the minister did not look uncheerful, but very grave.
If his brow was neither wrinkled nor lined, the quiet eyes beneath it
were deep with thought. Mr. Masters' morning was spent on this wise.
First of all, for a good half hour, his knees were bent, and his
thoughts, whatever they were, gave him work to do. That work done, the
minister threw himself on his bed and slept, as quietly as he did
everything else, for an hour or two more. Then he rose, shaved and
dressed, took such breakfast as Mrs. Persimmon could give him; mounted
his grey again, and was off to a house at some distance where there was
a sick child, and another house where there dwelt an infirm old man.
Between these two the hours were spent till he rode home to dinner.