"Ring out, sweet bells,
O'er woods and dells
Your lovely strains repeat,
While happy throngs
With joyous songs
Each accent gladly greet."
Christmas morning in the old Tory Hill Meeting-House was felt by all of
the persons who were present in that particular year to be a most
exciting and memorable occasion.
The old sexton quite outdid himself, for although he had rung the bell
for more than thirty years, he had never felt greater pride or joy in his
task. Was not his son John home for Christmas, and John's wife, and a
grandchild newly named Nathaniel for himself? Were there not spareribs
and turkeys and cranberries and mince pies on the pantry shelves, and
barrels of rosy Baldwins in the cellar and bottles of mother's root beer
just waiting to give a holiday pop? The bell itself forgot its age and
the suspicion of a crack that dulled its voice on a damp day, and,
inspired by the bright, frosty air, the sexton's inspiring pull, and the
Christmas spirit, gave out nothing but joyous tones.
Ding-dong! Ding-dong! It fired the ambitions of star scholars about to
recite hymns and sing solos. It thrilled little girls expecting dolls
before night. It excited beyond bearing dozens of little boys being
buttoned into refractory overcoats. Ding-dong! Ding-dong! Mothers'
fingers trembled when they heard it, and mothers' voices cried: "If that
is the second bell, the children will never be ready in time! Where are
the overshoes? Where are the mittens? Hurry, Jack! Hurry, Jennie!"
Ding-dong! Ding-dong! "Where's Sally's muff? Where's father's fur cap?
Is the sleigh at the door? Are the hot soapstones in? Have all of you
your money for the contribution box?"
Ding-dong! Ding-dong! It was a blithe bell, a sweet, true bell, a holy
bell, and to Justin, pacing his tavern room, as to Nancy, trembling in
her maiden chamber, it rang a Christmas message:--
Awake, glad heart! Arise and sing;
It is the birthday of thy King!
The congregation filled every seat in the old Meeting-House.
As Maria Sharp had prophesied, there was one ill-natured spinster from a
rival village who declared that the church floor looked like Joseph's
coat laid out smooth; but in the general chorus of admiration, approval,
and good will, this envious speech, though repeated from mouth to mouth,
left no sting.
Another item of interest long recalled was the fact that on that august
and unapproachable day the pulpit vases stood erect and empty, though
Nancy Wentworth had filled them every Sunday since any one could
remember. This instance, though felt at the time to be of mysterious
significance if the cause were ever revealed, paled into nothingness
when, after the ringing of the last bell, Nancy Wentworth walked up the
aisle on Justin Peabody's arm, and they took their seats side by side in
the old family pew.
("And consid'able close, too, though there was plenty o' room!")
("And no one that I ever heard of so much as suspicioned that they had
ever kept company!")
("And do you s'pose she knew Justin was expected back when she scrubbed
his pew a-Friday?")
("And this explains the empty pulpit vases!")
("And I always said that Nancy would make a real handsome couple if she
ever got anybody to couple with!")
During the unexpected and solemn procession of the two up the aisle the
soprano of the village choir stopped short in the middle of the Doxology,
and the three other voices carried it to the end without any treble.
Also, among those present there were some who could not remember
afterward the precise petitions wafted upward in the opening prayer.
And could it be explained otherwise than by cheerfully acknowledging the
bounty of an overruling Providence that Nancy Wentworth should have had a
new winter dress for the first time in five years--a winter dress of dark
brown cloth to match her beaver muff and victorine? The existence of
this toilette had been known and discussed in Edgewood for a month past,
and it was thought to be nothing more than a proper token of respect from
a member of the carpet committee to the general magnificence of the
church on the occasion of its reopening after repairs. Indeed, you could
have identified every member of the Dorcas Society that Sunday morning by
the freshness of her apparel. The brown dress, then, was generally
expected; but why the white cashmere waist with collar and cuffs of point
lace, devised only and suitable only for the minister's wedding, where it
first saw the light?
"The white waist can only be explained as showing distinct hope!"
whispered the minister's wife during the reading of the church notices.
"To me it shows more than hope; I am very sure that Nancy would never
take any wear out of that lace for hope; it means certainty!" answered
Maria, who was always strong in the prophetic line.
By sermon time Justin's identity had dawned upon most of the
congregation. A stranger to all but one or two at first, his presence in
the Peabody pew brought his face and figure back, little by little, to
the minds of the old parishioners.
When the contribution plate was passed, the sexton always began at the
right-wing pews, as all the sextons before him had done for a hundred
years. Every eye in the church was already turned upon Justin and Nancy,
and it was with almost a gasp that those in the vicinity saw a ten dollar
bill fall in the plate. The sexton reeled, or, if that is too
intemperate a word for a pillar of the church, the good man tottered, but
caught hold of the pew rail with one hand, and, putting the thumb of his
other over the bill, proceeded quickly to the next pew, lest the stranger
should think better of his gift, or demand change, as had occasionally
been done in the olden time.
Nancy never fluttered an eyelash, but sat quietly by Justin's side with
her bosom rising and falling under the beaver fur and her cold hands
clasped tight in the little brown muff. Far from grudging this
appreciable part of their slender resources, she thrilled with pride to
see Justin's offering fall in the plate.
Justin was too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice anything, but his
munificent contribution had a most unexpected effect upon his reputation,
after all; for on that day, and on many another later one, when his
sudden marriage and departure with Nancy Wentworth were under discussion,
the neighbours said to one another:--
"Justin must be making money fast out West! He put ten dollars in the
contribution plate a-Sunday, and paid the minister ten more next day for
marryin' him to Nancy; so the Peabody luck has turned at last!" which, as
a matter of fact, it had.
"And all the time," said the chairman of the carpet committee to the
treasurer of the Dorcas Society--"all the time, little as she realized
it, Nancy was laying the carpet in her own pew. Now she's married to
Justin she'll be the makin' of him, or I miss my guess. You can't do a
thing with men folks without they're right alongside where you can keep
your eye and hand on 'em. Justin's handsome and good and stiddy; all he
need is some nice woman to put starch into him. The Edgewood Peabodys
never had a mite o' stiffenin' in 'em,--limp as dishrags, every blessed
one! Nancy Wentworth fairly rustles with starch. Justin hadn't been
engaged to her but a few hours when they walked up the aisle together,
but did you notice the way he carried his head? I declare I thought 't
would fall off behind! I shouldn't wonder a mite but they prospered and
come back every summer to set in the old Peabody Pew."