A FIRST INWARD PEEP.
Among the Barton people who had actually made any effort for the
sake of temperance, no one found greater comfort in contemplative
retrospects of his own work than Deacon Jones. True, his contributions
to the various funds which Crupp, Tomple, Wedgewell, and Brown devised
had not been as great as had been expected of him; nor had such moneys
as he finally gave been obtained from him without an amount of effort
which Crupp declared sufficient to effect the extraction, from the
soil, of the stump of a centenarian oak; but when the money had left
his pocket, and was absolutely beyond recall, the deacon made the most
he could out of it by the only method which remained. His contributions
gave him an excuse for talk and exhortation, and, next to money-making,
there was no operation which the deacon enjoyed as much as that of
exhorting others to good deeds. Until there broke out in Barton the
temperance excitement alluded to in our first chapter, Deacon Jones’s
hortatory efforts had been principally of a religious nature; he
believed in religion, and he occasionally extracted enjoyment from
it; besides, his thrifty soul had always been profoundly moved by the
business-like nature of the Scripture passage, “Whoso shall convert
a sinner from the error of his ways, shall save a soul from death
and cover a multitude of sins.” Many had been the unregenerate in
Barton with whom the deacon had labored, generally with considerable
tact, as to occasion and language, and sometimes with success. His
orthodoxy was acceptable to every pastor in the village, for he was an
extreme believer in every religious tenet which either pastor declared
necessary to salvation; and his frequent inability to reconcile such
of these ideas as conflicted with each other only led the ministers to
accord new admiration to a faith which was appalled by nothing. Up to
the time when he took active part in the temperance movement, one of
his favorite injunctions had been, “Lay up your treasure in heaven;”
when, however, he found himself suddenly and frequently called upon
for contributions, he dropped this injunction in favor of that one
which reads, “Give to him that asketh of thee.” It had been a matter
of considerable sorrow to the deacon that his first knowledge of this
passage had been derived from St. Luke instead of St. Matthew, and
that he had many times been compelled to say “Give to _every man_,”
etc., which quotation had reacted upon him in a manner which caused
him to quote to himself, “Many are the afflictions of the righteous,”
and to suffer some terrible flounderings in the twin pits of logic and
casuistry; but when he corrected himself according to Matthew, his
heart was gladdened, and his restraint removed. The old man talked a
great deal out of honest delight in righteousness and humanity; but he
was never moved to reticence by the thought that if his scattered seed
produced a fair share of grain, the demands upon his own precious store
would be lessened.
Besides, the deacon could, with propriety, urge a more conspicuous
form of well-doing than mere contributions of currency ever attained
to. Had not he himself taken upon his shoulders Tom Adams, driver of
the brick-yard team? If any one doubted it, or had never been made
acquainted with the fact, the deacon gave him no excuse for farther
ignorance. One after another of the well-to-do merchants, professional
men, and farmers, were urged by the deacon to take entire charge of
some unfortunate soul, after the manner of the deacon himself with Tom,
and to all of these he insisted that what he had done for Tom he had
been richly paid for by the approving smiles of his own conscience.
Shrewd judges of human nature were convinced that if such payment
was made to the deacon, he was doubly paid, for Tom Adams had been a
treasure of a workman ever since he had stopped drinking; but, with
the marvelous blindness of the man who objects to seeing, the deacon
clearly comprehended both aspects of the situation, without ever once
allowing them to interfere with each other.
He was pursuing his favorite line of argument in his store one
afternoon, before Parson Brown, Lawyer Bottom, the postmaster, Dr.
White, and two or three others who were not active customers at that
immediate moment, and, as all his hearers but the parson were in good
circumstances, the deacon felt called upon to make an unusual effort.
“Tell you what it is, gentlemen,” said he, “there’s nothin’ like
puttin’ your hand in your pocket to show you what doin’ good is. Here
I’ve been thinkin’ all my life that I was doin’ good by subscribin’
to Bible Societies, Missionary Societies, an’ all such things, and yet
there was _the_ chance right in my own hands, and I was too blind to
see it. I done it at last on a risk, as if God didn’t know best when
he inspires men to righteous deeds; an’ I was fearful, time an’ again,
that it mightn’t turn out well; but I’ve been more abundantly blessed
at it than I ever expected to be. It makes a man feel kind of like
Christ must have felt, to be able to help a fellow-creature out of
his troubles and sins. Look at Tom Adams now! he’s always sober, his
children go to Sunday-school, and he’s never around looking as if you’d
rather not meet him, and _I_, thank the Lord! feel even better over it
than _he_ does.”
The postmaster slyly tipped a grave wink at Lawyer Bottom, and the
lawyer sagely laid a wise forefinger athwart his own nose. Dr. White
dropped a short bark, intended for a cough, which somehow provoked
a smile all around. Suddenly a small boy rushed into the store,
exclaiming,
“O Deacon Jones! Tom Adams fell out of the wagon and broke his leg!”
The deacon’s ecstatic expression instantly vanished into thin air, and
he asked, with a face full of misery,
“And the horses ran away?”
“No,” said the boy. “_They’re_ all right.”
Dr. White sprang up, seized his cane, and asked, “Where is he?”
“That’s so,” asked the deacon, still more sorrowful of countenance, as
he continued, “just as corn’s beginnin’ to come in, too, an’ needin’ to
be measured an’ sacked; that’s just the way things go in this wicked
world!”
Lawyer Bottom, who did not believe much in God, and believed still less
in the deacon, asked,
“Well, deacon, then you wouldn’t advise me to take somebody on my hands
for the sake of the spiritual payment I’ll be likely to get out of the
operation?”
The deacon rallied himself by a tremendous effort, but his countenance
did not indicate that the answer he was about to make would be of that
softness that turns away wrath; he was saved from disgracing himself,
however, by still another boy, who came flying through the main street
on horseback, shouting,
“Fire! fire! The woolen mill! Fire!”
The deacon’s store emptied in an instant of every one but Parson Brown,
for all the other listeners were men of some means, and stockholders
in the mill.
“Here!” shouted the deacon, cutting the cords of a “nest” of pails;
“take buckets along with you; like enough it’ll need everybody’s help,
and the mill’s only half insured, too! Parson, would you mind sittin’
here until my boy gets back? I’m losin’ enough to-day without having to
shut up store, too.”
“Certainly, I’ll stay,” said the old preacher, limping to the front
of the store, and laying his hand on the shoulder of the troubled
storekeeper; “but, Brother Jones, if the light of that burning mill
should show you anything inside of yourself, _don’t_ cover your eyes.
It’s for righteousness’ sake I ask it.”
“All right, Brother Brown,” whispered the deacon hoarsely, as he
started off with two water-pails in each hand, and murmuring, “What
did the old fellow mean by that, I wonder?” Across the street was
Squire Tomple, just jumping into his buggy, and the deacon made haste
to accept an invitation to a seat beside his fellow-sufferer. The two
stockholders did not lack company; Crupp, Judge Macdonald, and most
of the other stockholders, either preceded or followed them, and
on the road were hundreds of men and boys, full of an enterprising
desire to see the largest fire that had ever occurred in Barton, and
already experiencing such of the pleasures of anticipation as a heavy
column of smoke could create. Coming in sight of the mill itself,
the deacon groaned, and the Squire assisted him, for flames were
bursting from every window, and the men who had been passing pails of
water up ladders and through the stairways had been driven from their
work, and had formed a circle which was slowly but steadily widening.
Considerable of the wool had been removed and stacked outside the
building, and it now became necessary to move this still farther away,
but so many hands were ready to seize it that Deacon Jones could not
relieve his feelings even by attempting to save property; so he stood
still and looked at the fire, as he estimated his losses. Such a day
he had not known since he had lost considerable uninsured stock by
the explosion of a river steamer. Sidling uneasily about among the
crowd, he found several stockholders anxiously comparing pencil notes,
and the figures were anything but consolatory supposing all the stock
to be saved, there was yet the mill and machinery--value, about ten
thousand dollars--which would be totally lost; insurance, five thousand
dollars; dead loss, ditto; which left the Squire out of pocket to the
extent of a quarter of his subscription. The small profit which had
already accrued would not more than cover the loss of the interest on
the remaining capital until the mill could be rebuilt, if it seemed
advisable to rebuild it.
“Who’s to blame for all this?” asked the deacon angrily.
“We haven’t learned yet,” said the judge, “and I’m afraid it won’t help
matters any to know all about it. There goes the last of it!”
As the judge spoke, the blazing frame fell, the small boys shouted
“Oh----h!” in chorus, and the deacon’s heart sank like lead as he
turned away. He had lost, say, a hundred and fifty dollars by the
fire, and Tom Adams’s misfortune would entail additional loss upon
him, for a new man would have to be watched and taught and helped,
whereas Tom worked as easily as the wheel of a machine. It was but
right that the deacon should regret his losses; for though he was a man
of considerable property, a dollar looked very large to him, for the
reason that his first dollars had each one represented an enormous
amount of labor. But when Lawyer Bottom, who had invested in mill stock
only with the hope of profit, approached the deacon, and asked, with
more curiosity than malice, “How about temperance now, deacon?” the
facial contortions which the deacon offered in reply sent the lawyer
away in an ecstasy of unholy glee, which almost eradicated his own
sense of loss, and which dispelled for a time such little belief as he
had in the transforming power of religion. But what is one man’s poison
is another’s food. The lawyer’s question was not entirely disposed of
by the deacon’s ungracious reply; it repeated itself time and again to
the old man, and at the most inopportune times and places; it came to
him behind the counter, and made him give wrong weights and measures,
with the balance not always in his favor; it came to him when he was
making entries in his day-book, and caused him to forget certain items;
at his own dinner-table it suddenly made itself heard, and interfered
with his relish of the good viands which he so much enjoyed; it dropped
in upon him in his dreams, when he could not be on his guard against
his better self, and extracted from his conscience a provoking line of
answers which in his waking hours he could not gainsay. For three days
this depressing experience continued, and then there occurred, at the
regular weekly prayer-meeting of Parson Wedgewell’s church, an episode
which for months caused mournful reflections in the minds of such of
Parson Wedgewell’s parishioners as were not in the habit of attending
prayer-meeting. It was noticed by the faithful that Deacon Jones looked
unusually solemn and sensitive as he entered the room, and that he
did not, as had been hitherto his habit, start the second hymn. This
omission having been made good by some enterprising member, however,
the deacon got upon his feet and said:
“Brethren, during the past few days my eyes have been opened, and what
I have seen hasn’t been pleasant to look upon. It is indeed true, my
dear friends, that Satan sometimes appears as an angel of light. For
months I’ve been feeling, and real happily, too, what a glorious thing
it was to do good; I had been instrumental in saving one man from
destruction by keeping him busy, and I’d helped save another”--here
the deacon paused suddenly and looked around to make sure that Judge
Macdonald was not in the room--“I’d helped save another by taking an
interest in the mill. But within a few days I’ve learned that my own
righteousness was as filthy rags; ’twas even worse than that, brethren,
for the worst rags are worth so much a pound, but I can’t find that my
righteousness is worth anything at all. I’ve fought it out with myself,
brethren, an’ I believe I’ve conquered; but it makes my heart sick to
see what my enemy looks like, an’ to think I’ve got to carry him around
with me through the rest of my days. Doin’ good’s all right, even if
it _does_ pay in dollars and cents, brethren; but doin’ good for the
sake of what it’ll bring is the quickest way of makin’ a hypocrite that
I ever found, an’ I’m beginnin’ to think that I’ve found a good many
ways in myself, my friends. I ask an interest in the prayers of God’s
people, an’ I assure ’em that there’s no danger of any of their prayers
bein’ wasted.”
The deacon dropped into his seat, and the silence that prevailed for a
moment was simply inevitable in a little company that had never before
heard such an extraordinary confession; as one of the members afterward
remarked, it sounded like a murderer’s last dying speech. Then good
Parson Wedgewell sprang to his feet, and, with streaming eyes and rapid
utterances, offered a prayer such as had never been heard in that room
before. The songs and prayers which followed were not those to which
the meeting were accustomed, and when at last the assemblage separated,
there could not be heard from the home-wending couples any critiques of
the language or garb of any one who had been present.
As for Deacon Jones, he continued his new fight most valiantly by
visiting Tom Adams that very evening, and assuring him that, their
supplementary agreement to the contrary notwithstanding, he would
continue Tom’s pay during his confinement, and would pay his doctor’s
bill also.