Laurence Shafton awoke late to the sound of church bells come alive and
singing hymn tunes. There was something strangely unreal in the sound,
in the utter stillness of the background of Sabbath Valley atmosphere
that made him think, almost, just for an instant, that he had stumbled
somehow into the wrong end of the other world, and come into the fields
of the blessed. Not that he had any very definite idea about what the
fields of the blessed would look like or what would be going on there,
but there was something still and holy between the voices of the bells
that fairly compelled his jaded young soul to sit up and listen.
But at the first attempt to sit up a very sharp very decided twinge of
pain caught him, and brought an assorted list of words which he kept for
such occasions to his lips. Then he looked around and tried to take in
the situation. It was almost as if he had been caught out of his own
world and dropped into another universe, so different was everything
here, and so little did he remember the happenings of the night before.
He had had trouble with his car, something infernal that had prevented
his going farther--he recalled having to get out and push the thing
along the road, and then two loutish men who made game of him and sent
him here to get his car fixed. There had been a man, a queer man who
gave him bread and butter instead of wine--he remembered that--and he
had failed to get his car fixed, but how the deuce did he get landed
on this couch with a world of books about him and a thin muslin curtain
blowing into the room, and fanning the cheeks of a lovely rose in a long
stemmed clear glass vase? Did he try to start and have a smash up? No,
he remembered going down the steps with the intention of starting, but
stay! Now it was coming to him. He fell off the porch! He must have had
a jag on or he never would have fallen. He did things to his ankle in
falling. He remembered the gentle giant picking him up as if he had
been a baby and putting him here, but where was _here_? Ah! Now he
remembered! He was on his way to Opal Verrons. A bet. An elopement
for the prize! Great stakes. He had lost of course. What a fool! If it
hadn't been for his ankle he might have got to a trolley car or train
somehow and made a garage. Money would have taken him there in time. He
was vexed that he had lost. It would have been great fun, and he had the
name of always winning when he set out to do so. But then, perhaps it
was just as well--Verrons was a good fellow as men went--he liked him,
and he was plain out and out fond of Opal just at present. It would have
been a dirty shame to play the trick behind his back. Still, if Opal
wanted to run away with him it was up to him to run of course. Opal was
rare sport and he couldn't stand the idea of Smart-Aleck McMarter, or
that conceited Percy Emerson getting there first. He wondered which had
won. It made his fury rise to think of either, and he had promised the
lady neither of them should. What was she thinking of him by now that he
had sent her no word of his delay? That was inexcusable. He must attend
to it at once.
He glanced around the pleasant room. Yes, there on the desk was a
telephone! Could he get to it? He sat up and painfully edged his way
over to the desk.
“Safely through another week,
God has brought us on our way--”
chimed the bells,
“Let us now a blessing seek,
Waiting in His courts to-day--”
But Laurie Shafton had never sung those words in his life and had no
idea what the bells were seeking to get across to him. He took down the
receiver and called for Long Distance.
“Oh day of rest and gladness!”
pealed out the bells joyously,
“Oh day of joy and light!
Oh balm for care and sadness,
Most beautiful, most bright--”
But it meant nothing to Laurie Shafton seeking a hotel in a fashionable
resort. And when he finally got his number it was only Opal's maid who
answered.
“Yes, Mrs. Verrons was up. She was out walking on the beach with a
gentleman. No, it was not Mr. Emerson, nor yet Mr. McMarter. Neither
of those gentlemen had arrived. No, it was not Mr. Verrons. He had just
telegraphed that he would not be at the hotel until tomorrow night.
Yes, she would tell Mrs. Verrons that he had met with an accident. Mrs.
Verrons would be very sorry. Number one-W Sabbath Valley. Yes, she would
write it down. What? Oh! The gentleman Mrs. Verrons was walking with?
No, it was not anybody that had been stopping at the hotel for long, it
was a new gentleman who had just come the night before. She hadn't heard
his name yet. Yes, she would be sure to tell Mrs. Verrons at once when
she came in, and Mrs. Verrons would be likely to call him up!”
He hung up the receiver and looked around the room discontentedly. A
stinging twinge of his ankle added to his discomfort. He gave an angry
snarl and pushed the wavering curtain aside, wishing those everlasting
bells would stop their banging.
Across the velvet stretch of lawn the stone church nestled among
the trees, with a background of mountains, and a studding of white
gravestones beyond its wide front steps. It was astonishingly beautiful,
and startlingly close for a church. He had not been so near to a church
except for a wedding in all his young life. Dandy place for a wedding
that would be, canopy over the broad walk from the street, charming
architecture, he liked the line of the arched belfry and the slender
spire above. The rough stone fitted well into the scenery. The church
seemed to be a thing of the ages placed there by Nature. His mind
trained to detect a sense of beauty in garments, rugs, pictures, and
women, appreciated the picture on which he was gazing. Where was this
anyway? Surely not the place with the absurd name that he remembered now
on the mountain Detour. Sabbath Valley! How ridiculous! It must be the
home of some wealthy estate, and yet there seemed a rustic loveliness
about it that scarcely established that theory.
The bells had ceased. He heard the roll of a deep throated organ
skillfully played.
And now, his attention was suddenly attracted to the open window of the
church where framed in English ivy a lovely girl sat at the organ. She
was dressed in white with hair of gold, and a golden window somewhere
back of her across the church, made a background of beaten gold against
which her delicate profile was set like some young saint. Her white
fingers moving among the keys, and gradually he came to realize that it
was she who had been playing the bells.
He stared and stared, filled with admiration, thrilled with this new
experience in his blase existence. Who would have expected to find a
beauty like that in a little out of the way place like this? His
theory of a great estate and a rich man's daughter with a fad for music
instantly came to the front. What a lucky happening that he should have
broken down close to this church. He would find out who the girl was and
work it to get invited up to her house. Perhaps he was a fortunate loser
of his bet after all.
As he watched the girl playing gradually the music entered his
consciousness. He was fond of music, and had heard the best of the world
of course. This was meltingly lovely. The girl had fine appreciation and
much expression, even when the medium of her melody was clumsy things
like bells. She had seemed to make them glad as they pealed out their
melodies. He had not known bells could sound like happy children, or
like birds.
His meditations were interrupted by a tap on the door, followed by the
entrance of his host bearing a tray:
“Good-morning,” he said pleasantly, “I see you're up. How is the sprain?
Better? Would you like me to dress it again?”
He came over to the desk and set down the tray on which was beautifully
brown buttered toast, eggs and coffee:
“I've brought you just a bite. It's so late you won't want much, for we
have dinner immediately after church. I suppose you wouldn't feel like
going over to the service?”
“Service?” the young man drawled almost insolently.
“Yes, service is at eleven. Would you care to go over? I could assist
you.”
“Naw, I shouldn't care to go,” he answered rudely, “I'm pulling out of
here as soon as I can get that machine of mine running. By the way, I've
been doing some telephoning”--he slung a ten dollar note on the desk. “I
didn't ask how much it was, guess that'll cover it. Now, help me to the
big chair and I'll sample your breakfast.”
The minister picked up the young man easily and placed him in the big
chair before the guest realized what was doing, and then turned and took
the ten dollar bill between his thumb and finger and flipped it down in
the young man's lap.
“Keep it,” he said briefly, “It's of no consequence.”
“But it was long distance,” explained the guest loftily, “It'll be quite
a sum. I talked overtime.”
“No matter,” said the minister pulling out a drawer of the desk and
gathering a few papers and his Bible. “Now, would you like me to look at
that ankle before I go, or will you wait for the doctor? He's likely to
be back before long, and I've left a call for him.”
“I'll wait for the doctor,” the young man's tone approached the insolent
note again, “and by the way, I wish you'd send for a mechanician. I've
got to get that car running.”
“I'm sorry,” said Severn, “I'm afraid you'll have to wait. The only one
in this region that would be at all likely to help you out with those
bearings is Carter. He has a car, or had one, of that make. He might
happen to have some bearings, but it is not at all likely. Or, he could
tow you ten miles to Monopoly. But Carter is not at home yet.”
The young man fairly frothed at the mouth: “Do you mean to tell me that
there is no one can mend a broken machine around this forsaken dump?
Where's your nearest garage? Send for a man to come at once. I'm willing
to pay anything,” he flourished a handful of bills.
The minister looked at his watch anxiously: “I'm sorry,” he said again,
“I've got to go to the service now. There is a garage at Monopoly and
their number is 97-M. You can phone them if you are not satisfied. I
tried them quite early this morning while you were still sleeping, but
there was nothing doing. The truth is the people around this region are
a little prejudiced against working seven days out of the week, although
they will help a man out in a case like yours when they can, but it
seems the repair man, the only one who knows about bearings, has gone
fifty miles in another direction to a funeral and won't be back till
to-morrow morning. Now, if you're quite comfortable I'll have to leave
you for a little while. It is time for my service to begin.”
The young man looked at his host with astonishment. He was not used to
being treated in this off-hand way. He could hardly believe his ears.
Throw back his money and lay down the law that way!
“Wait!” he thundered as the door was about to close upon the departing
minister.
Severn turned and regarded his guest quietly, questioningly:
“Who's that girl over there in the window playing the organ?” He pulled
the curtain aside and revealed a glimpse of the white and gold saint
framed in the ivy. Severn gave a swift cold glance at the insolent youth
and then answered with a slightly haughty note in his courteous voice,
albeit a quiver of amusement on his lip:
“That is my daughter.”
Laurence Shafton dropped the curtain and turned to stare at his host,
but the minister had closed the door and was already on his way to
church. Then the youth pulled back the curtain again and regarded the
lady. The man's daughter! And playing like that!
The rich notes of the organ were rolling out into the summer day, a
wonderful theme from an old master, grandly played. Yes, she could play.
She had been well taught. And the looks of her! She was wonderful at
this distance. Were these then wealthy people perhaps summering in this
quiet resort? He glanced about at the simple furnishings. That was a
good rug at his feet, worn in places, but soft in tone and unmistakably
of the Orient. The desk was of fumed oak, somewhat massive and dignified
with a touch of hand carving. The chairs were of the same dark oak with
leather cushions, and the couch so covered by his bed drapery that he
could not see it, but he remembered its comfort. There was nothing showy
or expensive looking but everything simple and good. One or two fine old
pictures on the wall gave evidence of good taste. The only luxury seemed
books, rows and rows of them behind glass doors in cases built into the
wall. They lined each space between windows and doors, and in several
spots reached to the ceiling. He decided that these people must have had
money and lost it. These things were old and had perhaps been inherited.
But the girl! She teased his curiosity. She seemed of a type entirely
new, and most attractive. Well, here was good luck again! He would stay
till church was out and see what she might be like at nearer view. It
might amuse him to play the invalid for a day or two and investigate
her. Meantime, he must call up that garage and see what could be done
for the car. If he could get it patched up by noon he might take the
girl out for a spin in the afternoon. One could judge a girl much better
getting her off by herself that way. He didn't seem to relish the
memory of that father's smile and haughty tone as he said “My daughter.”
Probably was all kinds of fussy about her. But if the girl had any pep
at all she surely would enjoy getting away from oversight for a few
hours. He hoped Opal would call before they got back from their service.
It might be awkward talking with them all around.
But the organ was suddenly drowned in a burst of song:
“Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the
Holy Ghost, As it was in the beginning, is now and
ever shall be--world without end, Amen!”
Somehow the words struck him with a strange awe, they were so distinct,
and almost in the room with him. He looked about half feeling that the
room was filled with people, and felt curiously alone. There was an
atmosphere in the little house of everybody being gone to church. They
had all gone and left him alone. It amused him. He wondered about this
odd family who seemed to be under the domination of a church service.
They had left him a stranger alone in their house. The doors and windows
were all open. How did they know but he was a burglar?
Some one was talking now. It sounded like the voice of his host. It
might be a prayer. How peculiar! He must be a preacher. Yet he had been
sent to him to fix his car. He did not look like a laboring man. He
looked as if he might be,--well almost anything--even a gentleman. But
if he was a clergyman, why, that of course explained the ascetic type,
the nun-like profile of the girl, the skilled musician. Clergymen were
apt to educate their children, even without much money. The girl would
probably be a prude and bore, but there was a chance that she might be a
princess in disguise and need a prince to show her a good time. He would
take the chance at least until after dinner.
So he ate his delicate toast, and drank his delicious coffee, and wished
he had asked that queer man to have his flask filled at the drug store
before he went to his old service, but consoled himself with numerous
cigarettes, while he watched the face of the musician, and listened idly
to the music.
It was plain that the young organist was also the choir leader, for her
expressive face was turned toward the singers, and her lovely head kept
time. Now and then a motion of the hand seemed to give a direction or
warning. And the choir too sang with great sweetness and expression.
They were well trained. But what a bore such a life must be to a girl.
Still, if she had never known anything else--! Well, he would like
to see her at closer range. He lit another cigarette and studied her
profile as she slipped out of the organ bench and settled herself nearer
the window. He could hear the man's voice reading now. Some of the words
drew his idle attention:
“All the ways of a man are clean in his own eyes; but
the Lord weigheth the spirits.”
Curious sentence that! It caught in his brain. It seemed rather true.
From the Bible probably of course, though he was not very familiar with
that volume, never having been obliged to go to Sunday School in his
childhood days? But was it true? Were all a man's ways clean in his
own eyes? Take, for instance, his own ways? He always did about as he
pleased, and he had never asked himself whether his ways were clean or
not. He hadn't particularly cared. He supposed some people would
think they were not--but in his own eyes, well--was he clean? Take for
instance this expedition of his? Running a race to get another man's
wife,--an alleged friend's wife, too? It did seem rather despicable
when one thought of it after the jag was off. But then one was not quite
responsible for what one did with a jag on, and what the deuce did the
Lord have to do with it anyway? How could the Lord weigh the spirit?
That meant of course that he saw through all subterfuges. Well, what of
it?
Another sentence caught his ear:
“When a man's ways please the Lord, he maketh even his
enemies to be at peace with him.”
How odd, the Lord,--if there was a Lord, he had never thought much about
it--but how odd, if there was a Lord for Him to care about a man's ways.
If he were Lord he wouldn't care, he'd only want them to keep out of his
way. He would probably crush them like ants, if he were Lord. But the
Lord--taking any notice of men's ways, and being pleased by them and
looking out to protect him from enemies! It certainly was quaint--a
quaint idea! He glanced again at the reverent face of the girl, the down
drooped eyes, the lovely sensitive mouth. Quaint, that was the word for
her, quaint and unusual. He certainly was going to enjoy meeting her.
“Ting-aling-ling-ling!” burst out the telephone bell on the desk. He
frowned and dropped the curtain. Was that Opal? He hobbled to the desk
painfully, half annoyed that she had called him from the contemplation
of this novel scene, not so sure that he would bother to call up that
garage yet. Let it go till he had sampled the girl.
He took down the receiver and Opal's voice greeted him, mockingly,
tauntingly from his own world. The little ivy leaved church with its
Saint Cecilia at the organ, and its strange weird message about a God
that cared for man's ways, dropped away like a dream that was past.
When he hung up the receiver and turned back to his couch again the girl
had closed the window. It annoyed him. He did not know how his giddy
badinage had clashed in upon the last words of the sermon.
It seemed a long time after the closing hymn before the little throng
melted away down the maple lined street. The young man watched them
curiously from behind his curtain, finding only food for amusement in
most of them. And then came the minister, lingering to talk to one
here and there, and his wife--it was undoubtedly his wife, even the
hare-brained Laurie knew her, in the gray organdie, with the white at
her neck, and the soft white hat. She had a pleasant light in her eyes,
and one saw at once that she was a lady. There was a grace about her
that made the girl seem possible. And lastly, came the girl.
She stepped from the church door in her white dress and simple white
hat, white even to her little shoes, and correct in every way, he could
see that. She was no country gawk! She came forth lightly into the
sunshine which caught her hair in golden tendrils around her face as if
it loved to hide therein, and she was immediately surrounded by half
a dozen urchins. One had brought her some lilies, great white starry
things with golden hearts, and she gathered them into her arms as if she
loved them, and smiled at the boys. One could see how they adored her.
She lingered talking to them, and laid her hand on one boy's shoulder,
he walking like a knight beside her trying to act as if he did not know
her hand was there. His head was drooped, but he lifted it with a grin
at last and gave her a nod which seemed to make her glad, for her face
broke forth in another smile:
“Well, don't forget, to-night,” she called as they turned to go, “and
remember to tell Billy!”
Then she came trippingly across the grass, a song on her lips. Some
girl! Say! She certainly was a stunner!