PARSON LORRIMER'S WHITE HORSE.
"And now for the story of the minister's horse," Mollie Elliot said,
when Miss Ruth's company of workers had assembled on the next Wednesday
afternoon. "I suppose he was an awfully good horse, which set an example
to all the other horses in the parish to follow. Say, Auntie, wasn't
he?"
"When my grandmother was a little girl," Ruth Elliot began, "she lived
with her father and mother in a small country town among the New
Hampshire hills: and of all the stories she told in her old age about
the quiet simple life of the people of Hilltown, the one her
grandchildren liked best to hear was
THE STORY OF PARSON LORRIMER'S WHITE HORSE.
"Parson Lorrimer had lived thirty years in Hilltown before he owned a
horse. He began to preach in the big white meeting-house when he was a
young man, and, as neither he nor his people wanted a change, when he
was sixty years old he was preaching there still. It was a scattered
parish, with farm-houses perched on the hill-sides and nestled in the
valleys; and the minister, in doing his work, had trudged over every
mile of it a great many times. He made nothing of walking five miles to
a meeting on a December evening, with the thermometer below zero, or of
climbing the hills in a driving snow-storm to visit a sick parishioner.
He was a tall, spare man, healthy and vigorous, with iron-gray hair, a
strong kind face, and a smile in his brown eyes that made every baby in
Hilltown stretch out its arms to him to be taken.
"Not a chick or child had Parson Lorrimer of his own. He had never
married, but lived in the old parsonage, a stately mansion, with rooms
enough in it to accommodate a big family, with only an elderly widow and
her grown-up son to minister to his wants and to keep him company. His
study was at the back of the house, and looked out upon the garden and
orchard, so that the smell of his pinks and roses came to him as he
wrote, and the same robins, year by year, built their nests within reach
of his hand in the branches of the crooked old apple-tree that shaded
his window.
"The minister was fond of caring for living creatures, both small and
great, and every domestic animal about the place knew it. The cat
jumped fearlessly to his knee, sure of a welcome. The cow lowed after
him if he showed himself at the window. The little chicks fluttered to
his shoulder when he appeared in the door-yard, and the old sow with her
litter of pigs kept close at his heels as he paced the orchard,
pondering next Sunday's sermon.
"He remembered them all. There was always a handful of grain for the
chickens in the pocket of his study-gown, a ripe pumpkin in the shed for
Sukey; and the good man would laugh like a school-boy, as the funny
little baby-pigs rolled and tumbled over each other for the apples he
tossed them. A great, good, gentle man, learned and wise in theology and
knowledge of the Scriptures, with tastes and habits as simple as a
child.
"But I must hurry on with my story, or you will think I am telling you
more about the parson than his horse. The good man realized, one day,
that he was not as young as he used to be, and that climbing Harrison
Hill on a July afternoon and walking five miles in a drizzling rain
after a preaching service were not so easy to do as he had found them a
dozen years before. So he wisely concluded to call in the aid of four
strong legs in carrying on his work, and that is how he came to buy a
horse.
"The people of Hilltown heartily approved of this plan, and several were
anxious to help him.
"Deacon Cowles had a four-year-old colt, raised on the farm, 'a real
clever steady-goin' creetur, that he guessed he could spare--might be
turned in for pew-rent;' and Si Olcott didn't care if he traded off his
gray mare on the same conditions. She was about used up for farm-work,
but had considerable go in her yet--could jog round with the parson for
ten years to come.
"The minister received these offers with politeness, and promised to
think of them; and then one day after a brief absence from home, set
every body in the parish talking, by driving into town seated in an open
wagon, shining with fresh paint and varnish, and drawn by a horse the
like of which had never been seen in Hilltown before.
"He was of a large and powerful build, and most comely and graceful in
proportion, with a small head, slender legs, and flowing mane and tail.
In color, he was milk-white, while his nose and the inside of his
pointed ears were of a delicate pink. He held his head high, stepping
proudly and glancing from side to side in a nervous, excited way; but he
had a kind eye, and the watching neighbors saw him take an apple from
the hand of his new master, after they turned in at the parsonage gate.
In answer to all questions, the parson said he had purchased the horse
at Winterport, of a seafaring man, that he was eight years old, and his
name was Peter. But to neither man nor woman in Hilltown did he ever
tell the sum he paid in yellow gold and good bank-notes for the white
horse,
"A few days after the purchase, Parson Lorrimer attended a funeral, and
when the service at the house was ended, and he had shaken hands all
round with the mourners, and exchanged greetings with neighbors and
friends, he stepped out to the side-yard, where he had fastened his
horse, and drove round the house to take his place before the hearse;
for in Hilltown it was the custom for the minister to lead the
procession to the burying-ground.
"It was Peter's first appearance in an official capacity, and he stepped
with sufficient dignity into the street, where a long line of wagons and
chaises, led off by the mourners' coach and the big black hearse, waited
the signal to start, while in the door-yard and along the sidewalk were
ranged the foot-passengers; for at a funeral in Hilltown everybody went
to the grave.
"A passing breeze caught a piece of paper lying in the road, and
flirted it close to Peter's eyes. He gave a tremendous leap sideways,
and it was a marvel no one was struck by his flying heels, then
gathering himself together he ran. How he did run! The good folks
scattered right and left with amazing quickness, considering their
habits of life; for in the slow little town, every body took things fair
and easy, and the white horse dashed past the string of wagons, the
mourners' equipage, and the tall black hearse. There was a cloud of
dust, a rattling of wheels, a clatter of hoofs, and Peter and the parson
were far down the road. The people gazed after their departing spiritual
guide in speechless astonishment. The mourners' heads were thrust far
out of the coach windows. Even the sleepy farm-horses pricked up their
ears: while old Bill, the sexton's clumsy big-footed beast, which for
fifteen years had carried the dead folks of Hilltown to their graves,
and had never before been known, on these solemn occasions to depart
from his slow walk, made a most astonishing departure; for, taking his
driver unawares, he suddenly started after the flying white steed,
breaking into a lumbering gallop, that set plumes nodding, curtains
flapping, and glasses rattling, and made the huge unwieldly vehicle
lurch and bob about in a way to threaten a shocking catastrophe.
"A vigorous twitch of the lines, and a loud 'Whoa, now, Bill! Whoa, I
tell ye!' soon brought the sexton's beast to a stand-still. I am sure he
must have shared his master's surprise at such unseeming conduct, who
wondered 'What in time had got into the blamed crittur!' But neither
voice nor rein checked Peter's speed. On he flew, down the hill past the
post-office, the meeting-house, and the tavern. It was a straight road,
and his driver kept him to it. Fortunately there were no collisions, and
at the last long ascent his pace slackened and he turned of his own
accord in at the parsonage gate.
"At the village store and the tavern that evening, Peter's evil behavior
was talked about.
"'He's a sp'iled horse,' Jonathan Goslee, the minister's hired man,
said, 'though you can't make parson think so. He's dead sure to run
ag'in. A horse knows when he's got the upper hand, jest as well as a
child, and he'll watch his chance to try it over ag'in, you see if he
don't.'
"But the next time Peter shied and tried to run, it was the minister
who got the upper hand; and when the short excitement was over, and the
horse quiet and subdued, he was driven back to within a few paces of the
object of his fright. A neighbor was called to stand at his head, while
his master took down the flaming yellow placard that had caused all the
trouble, and slowly and cautiously brought it to him, that he might see,
smell, and touch it, talking soothingly to him and petting and caressing
him. When he had become accustomed to its appearance, and had learned by
experience that it was harmless, it was nailed to the tree again and
Peter passed it the second time without trouble.
"'If I'd owned the horse,' the minister's helper said, when he told this
story, 'I s'pose I should have _licked_ him by,--but I guess, in the
long run, parson's way was best.'
"This was one of many lessons Peter received to correct his only serious
fault. He was willing and swift, intelligent and kind, but so nervous
and timid, and made so frantic by his fear of any unknown object, that
he was constantly putting the minister's life and limbs in jeopardy. But
he had a wise, patient teacher, and he was apt to learn.
"My grandmother was fond of telling some of the means adopted to bring
about the cure;--how one day after Peter had shied at sight of a
wheelbarrow, the parson trundled the obnoxious object about the yard for
half an hour in view of the stable window, then emptied a measure of
oats in it, and opened the stable door; how the horse trotted round and
round, drawing each time a little nearer, then came close, snorted and
wheeled,--his master standing by encouraging him by hand and
voice,--until, unable longer to resist the tempting bait, he put his
pink nose to the pile and ate first timidly, then with confidence. After
that, the old lady said, Peter felt a particular regard for wheelbarrows
in general, hoping in each one he happened to pass to find another
toothsome meal.
"He suffered at first agonies of terror at sight of the long line of
waving, flapping garments he had to pass every Monday in his passage
from the big gate to the stable; but, through the minister's devices,
grew so familiar with their appearance, that he took an early
opportunity of making their closer acquaintance, and mouthed the
parson's ruffled shirt, and took a bite of the Widow Goslee's dimity
short-gown.
"And so the kindly work went on. Peter gained trust and confidence every
day, learning little by little that his master was his friend, that
under his guidance no harm came to him, no impossible task was given to
him; until at length confidence cast out fear, and the white horse
became as docile and obedient as he had always been willing and strong.
"These qualities, on one occasion, stood him in good stead; for the
parsonage barn and stable one night burned to the ground. Peter's stall
was bright with the red light of the fire, and the flames crackled
overhead in the barn-loft when the parson led out his favorite,
trembling in every limb, his eyes wild with terror, but perfectly
obedient to his master's hand. It was as if he had said: 'I must go,
even through this dreadful fire, if master leads the way.'
"There was a Fourth of July celebration in the next parish, and Parson
Lorrimer was invited to deliver the oration. He rode over on horseback,
took the saddle from Peter's back, and turned him loose in a pasture
where other of the guests' horses were grazing. A platform was erected
on the green, with seats for the band, the invited guests, and the
speaker of the day; while the people gathered from both parishes were
standing about in groups waiting for the exercises to commence. Flags
were flying, bells ringing, and a field-piece, that had seen service in
the War of the Revolution, at intervals belched out a salute in honor of
the day. The band was playing a lively tune, when suddenly there was a
stir and a dividing to the right and left of the crowd gathered about
the stand, and through the lane thus formed came the minister's white
horse.
"He trotted leisurely up, stopped before the platform, and made a bow,
then began to dance, keeping time to the music, and going round and
round in a space quickly cleared for him by the lookers-on. I don't know
whether it was a waltz the band was playing, or if horses were taught to
waltz so long ago; but whatever kind of dance it was,--gallopade,
quickstep, or cotillion,--Peter, in his horse-fashion, danced it well.
Faster and faster played the music, and round and round went the pony.
The people laughed and shouted, and Peter made his farewell bow and
trotted soberly out of the ring, in the midst of a great shout of
applause.
"How did Parson Lorrimer feel? Of all that amused and wondering crowd,
not one was more taken by surprise than he--both at this exhibition of
Peter's accomplishments and at the tale it told of his early days; for
it was impossible to doubt that at some time in his life he had been a
trained horse in a circus. From the field near by he had recognized the
familiar strains that used to call him to his task, and had leaped the
fence and made his way to where the crowd was gathered, to play his
pretty part on the village green, before the sober citizens of
Centerville and Hilltown, as he had played it hundreds of times before,
under the canvas, to the motley crowd drawn together by the attractions
of the ring.
"Of course the minister felt sorry and ashamed when he learned, in this
public way, of the low company Peter had kept in his youth. Whenever a
traveling circus had stopped at Winterport, Parson Lorrimer had not
failed to warn his young people from the pulpit to keep their feet from
straying to this place of sinful amusement. But mingled with his
chagrin, I think he must have felt a little pride in the ownership of
the beautiful creature, so intelligent to remember, and so supple of
limb to perform, the unaccustomed task.
"He took pains to narrate more fully than he had thought necessary
before, how he had come in possession of the animal. He had gone, he
said, on business to Winterport, and on the wharf, early one morning,
had met a man in the dress of a sailor leading the white horse. In
answer to inquiries, the stranger said he had taken the horse In payment
of a debt, and was about to ship him on board a trading-vessel then
lying in the dock, bound to the East Indies. Would he sell, the minister
asked, on this side of the water? Yes, if he could get his price. While
they talked, Parson Lorrimer caressed the horse, who responded in so
friendly a way that the minister, who had lost his heart at first sight
to the beautiful creature, then and there made the purchase, waiting
only till the banks were open to pay over the money. He had asked few
questions; had known, he said, by Peter's eyes that he was kind, and by
certain unmistakable marks about him that he came of good stock. Of the
stranger, he had seen nothing from that day, and could not even remember
his name.
"'I always knew,' Jonathan Goslee said, 'that the critter had tricks
and ways different from common horses, I've catched him at 'em
sometimes. One day I found him with his bran-tub bottom upwards, amusin'
himself tryin' to stand with all four legs on it at once. And he'll
clear marm's clothes-line at a leap as easy as you'd jump over a pair of
bars. But I never happened to catch him practisin' his
dancin'-lesson--must have done it, though, on the sly, or he couldn't
have footed it so lively that day over to Centerville. Well, sometimes I
think--and then ag'in I don't know. If that there sailor feller stole
the horse he sold in such a hurry to parson, why didn't the owner make a
hue and cry about it, and follow him up? 'Twould have been easy enough
to track the beast to Hilltown. And then ag'in, if 'twas all fair and
square, and he took the horse for a debt, why didn't he sell him to a
show company for a fancy price, instead of shippin' him off to the Indys
in one of them rotten old tubs, that as like as not would go under
before she'd made half the voyage. But there, we never shall get to the
bottom facts in the case, any more than we shall ever know how much
money parson paid down for that horse,'
"And they never did.
"My grandmother remembered Parson Lorrimer as an old man, tall and
straight, with flowing white hair, a placid face, and kind, dim eyes
that gradually grew dimmer, till their light faded to darkness. For the
last four years of his life he was totally blind, She remembered how he
used to mount the pulpit-stairs, one hand resting upon the shoulder of
his colleague, and, standing in the old place, with lifted face and
closed eyes, carry on the service, repeating chapter and hymns from
memory, his voice tremulous, but still sweet and penetrating.
"She remembered going to visit the old man in his study. It was
summer-time, and he sat in his arm-chair at the open window, and on the
grass-plat outside--so near that his head almost touched his master's
shoulder--the old white horse was standing; for they had grown old
together, and together were enjoying a peaceful and contented old age.
Every bright day for hours Peter stood at the window, and in the
winter-time, when he was shut in his stable, the old man never failed to
visit him.
"But one November afternoon, Parson Lorrimer being weary laid himself
down upon his bed, where presently the sleep came to him God giveth to
his beloved.
"The evening after his funeral a member of the household passing the
study-door was startled at seeing in the pale moonlight a long, ghostly
white face peering in at the window.
"It was only Peter, that had slipped his halter and wandered round to
the old place looking for his master. He allowed them to lead him back
to his stable, but every time the door was opened he whinnied and turned
his head. As the days passed and the step he waited for came no more,
hope changed to patient grief. His food often remained untasted; he
refused to go out into the sunshine; and so, gradually wasting and
without much bodily suffering, he one day laid himself down and his life
slipped quietly away.
"He was buried outside the grave-yard, at the top of the hill, as near
as might be to the granite head-stone that recorded the virtues of 'Ye
most faithful Servant and Man of God Silus Timothy Lorrimer Who for 52
Yrs did Minister to This Ch and Congregation in Spiritual Things.
'The faithful Memory of The Just
Shall Flourish When they turn To Dust.'
"Peter has no head-stone to mark his grave, but his memory is green in
Hilltown. The old folks love to tell of his beauty, his intelligence,
and his life-long devotion to his master; and there is a tradition
handed down and repeated half-seriously, half in jest, that when
Gabriel blows his trumpet on the resurrection morning, and the dead in
Hilltown grave-yard awake, Parson Lorrimer will lead his flock to the
judgment riding on a white horse."