It was a soft and gracious evening early in the month. The dusk,
drenched by dew, which brought out the fragrance of locust blossoms, of
peonies, roses, and cut grass in the dooryards up and down the street,
fell over Hart’s Run in breath after breath of oncoming darkness,
obliterating the sordid aspect of the village--except where the
electric lights glaringly defied it--so that the cheap lines of the new
garage were gathered into obscurity, the telegraph poles disappeared,
and looking up one saw the wide, tumbled outline of mountains, with a
remote young moon sailing the sky.
Some of the night’s fragrance drifted in through Julie’s back door, but
she was unconscious of its appeal, having gone into her shop to see if
everything was in order and safely locked up, before she started out
for the week-night prayer-meeting.
She had already seen to everything once, but she returned nervously
this second time just to be quite sure that all was safe. Snapping on
the light, she stood a moment, and looked all about the neat little
place; then she stepped across and tried the handle of the door. She
was just turning away, when a sudden rasping noise jumped her heart
into her throat, and stiffened all the nerves at the back of her neck.
She stood transfixed, frozen with terror. She was all alone in her part
of the house. What could the noise be? A snake? Once, as a little girl,
she had almost stepped on a rattlesnake, and ever since any sudden
rasping sound threw her into an agony of fear. Again the sound broke
forth, constricting her with renewed terror. But now she realized that
it came from the old disused fireplace, and she knew distressfully well
what it was; though her fear left her, revulsion and discomfort took
its place. It was the chimney swallows. Their nest had come down and
the young birds were in the fireplace. Julie crept over, and pulling
forward the board screen which she had covered with wall paper, peered
into the hearth. There was only one, a naked little fledgling with
blind eyes and gaping mouth. The sight of it nauseated Julie, and yet
filled her with unhappy compassion.
“Poor little thing! Poor little thing!” she shuddered. “What in the
world am I going to do with you?”
“Julie! Aw, Julie!” a strident voice called all at once from the back
door, making Julie jump again.
It was Mrs. Dolly Anderson, Julie knew. She had stopped on her way to
prayer-meeting. Julie wished she had not come until she had decided
what to do about the chimney-swallow.
“Julie! Where are you?” the rasping voice persisted. Mrs. Anderson was
coming in through the back way, and was already in the kitchen. Julie
hastily replaced the screen, and met her at the shop door.
“There you are, dearie,” the visitor proclaimed. “I been bawling my
head off for you. I come by to go with you to prayer meetin’--but you
look’s white as a sheet. What’s the matter?”
“Nothing, I’m all right,” Julie said, nervously.
“Something’s scared you,” the other stated, her stalwart figure
settling firmly back upon her heels, as she surveyed Julie with a
relentless stare. “I never knowed any person to get scared as easy as
you do, Julie. What’s happened now? I’ll bet a hopper-grass jumped
at you! Or,” with sudden elephantine playfulness, “I caught you up to
something you hadn’t ought to do. Now then!” she admonished, shaking
a stubby and roguish finger, and pouncing inexorably upon Julie’s
self-conscious look. “Tell its mammy what it’s been doin’.--Oh, for the
_mercy sake_! What’s _that_?”
The young swallow had broken out stridently once more.
“It’s a chimney-swallow,” Julie confessed. “I was just trying to think
what to do with it.”
“Where is it--over in the fireplace?” Mrs. Anderson, with a tread that
made the boards complain under her, went over and pulled the screen
away, with large competent hands. “Ugh! How I despise little naked
birds!” she ejaculated. “Here, where’s the cat?”
“Oh, I don’t want the cat to get it.”
“Yes, you do. There ain’t a thing else to do. Here, kitty! Puss, puss,
puss!”
“But I tell you I don’t want--”
“Yes you do, too, Julie. Here, kitty, kitty! You _got_ to do it, Julie!
There ain’t another thing to do with ’em. Pus-sie! Puss, puss!”
Julie’s big black cat came running in on soft eager feet.
“Here, pussie!” Mrs. Anderson called.
“No, don’t! Please don’t!” Julie begged. “Scat! scat out of here,
Blackie!”
But as the cat paused in the doorway, looking uncertainly from one to
the other, half crouched, with green eyes glinting and tail lashing,
Mrs. Anderson dragged it forward by the scruff of the neck, and in an
instant the combination was effected. There was a pounce, a last shriek
of supreme agony from the fledgling, and with a growl the cat ran out
of the room, the bird in its mouth.
Julie leaned against the counter, swallowing convulsively.
“Julie! for mercy sake! you know that was the onliest thing to do. When
they come down the chimney like that, you just have to give ’em to the
cat. There ain’t another thing _to_ do.”
“I--I might have tried to raise it,” Julie said, weakly.
“No, you could not,” Mrs. Anderson retorted. “You don’t know what to
feed it; an’ even s’posing you did, you ain’t got time to waste pokin’
fishin’ worms down a nasty little naked bird’s throat--specially now in
the war when our boys needs every single thing we can do for ’em.”
“I know, but--”
“Well, but what?”
“It sounded so awful when the cat got it!”
“Julie! I never did see any person take things as hard as you do. I
reckon it’s because you’re so thin. Just look at your arms!” Mrs.
Anderson took one of Julie’s hands, and pushed the loose sleeve up
above her elbow. “Looks about the size of a toothpick to me. If you
were fleshier, things wouldn’t get to you so quick. Look at me, now,”
she commanded, drawing up her frank proportions. “Things have to
go through about six inches of grease ’fore they can reach me. But
you--why you’re pretty near as naked to the world as that nasty little
chimney-swallow. You can’t go through life like that. Oh, it’s all
right for a real young girl, but you must be over thirty; it’s time you
was featherin’ up, dearie.”
Julie snapped off the light in silence, and they passed out of the shop.
“Well, I will say one thing for you, you always look s’ nice,” Mrs.
Anderson approved her, as they emerged from Julie’s side door and set
out together along the village street. “I never seen you when you
didn’t look like you’d stepped right out of a bandbox. That’s a mighty
cute little collar you got on, dearie,” she continued, fingering the
delicate ruffles at Julie’s neck. Julie was constantly at the mercy of
other women’s hands. Her smallness stirred their maternal instincts;
they were apt to stroke her and patronize her. “I declare, you don’t
seem like nothing but a doll baby to me,” her companion pursued, her
large damp hand giving Julie’s shoulder a final pat. “It beats me
why you never married, Julie.--Oh my Lord!” she broke off abruptly,
clapping her hand to her mouth.
“What is it? What’s the matter?” Julie cried, in alarm.
Mrs. Anderson performed some violent mouth-gymnastics behind her palm.
“It’s my teeth,” she explained, spasmodically, at last. “I can’t seem
to get used to this new set, an’ seems like they’re always a-bitin’ at
my tongue. I have to watch ’em all the time. An’ I’m mightily afraid
they’ll drop out in company some day.” She withdrew her hand at
length, and they started on again. “But as I say,” she continued, “I
don’t see why in the name of goodness you never married.”
“I never wanted to marry,” Julie said hastily, an uncomfortable
restraint falling upon her.
“Oh yes, that’s just what every old maid says, if you’ll excuse _me_,”
Mrs. Anderson retorted.
“No--but it’s true; I mean it,” Julie protested. “I--I always just
hated the idea of getting married. It scares me to think of it.”
They were passing under an electric light, and Mrs. Anderson looked
down at her curiously. “Well, now, ain’t that funny? I just believe
that’s so,” she stated. “An’ it ain’t for want of chances, neither.
There was Sam Dodson--he courted you, didn’t he?”
Julie was silent, but in the street light Mrs. Anderson could see the
nervous self-consciousness of her face.
“Oh, all right, don’t tell, then,” she continued. “But everybody knows
he did, an’ Pinckney Wayland, too--and wasn’t there a drummer feller
from Cincinnati? Why, Julie, you’ve had a heap of chances. Most people
would brag about ’em. Scary as you are, I’d think you’d want to be
married an’ have a man ’round to look after you--There! there, now!”
She stopped again, dramatically.
“What is it? Your teeth?” Julie inquired, with concern.
“No, but I got an idea. It’s come to me all of a sudden. I just believe
I’ll make a match between you and the new preacher. Now I think that’d
be real suitable. He’s about the right age for you, an’ maybe marrying
a widower like that wouldn’t scare you s’ much.”
Julie quickened her pace nervously, walking with averted eyes.
“Widowers, now,” Mrs. Anderson pursued, “They’re broke to double
harness already--they ain’t so hard to drive as a colt.”
She suddenly collapsed in mirth. “’Magine you drivin’ a colt husband,
Julie!” she giggled. “Don’t walk so fast, dearie; you put me all out er
breath. Well, anyhow, I think widowers are real nice. I ain’t got one
thing against ’em. I just believe I’ll make the match between you and
Brother Seabrook. You like his looks all right, don’t you?”
Julie had fallen into a frozen silence. But her companion was
inexorable.
“Don’t you, dearie? Don’t you like his looks?” she persisted.
“I--I haven’t thought anything about how he looks,” Julie stumbled,
unhappily.
“I b’lieve he’d like you, too,” Mrs. Anderson went on. “Big men like
him are mighty apt to take to little scary women like you. An’ you’d
make him a real good wife, Julie. I will say for you, you’re ’bout the
best cook in town. You get that from your mother; she always set the
prettiest table--you recollect, Julie?”
Again Julie was silent. The remembrance of her mother informed all her
life, but it was not possible for her to speak of it to Mrs. Anderson.
“Well, of course Brother Seabrook would rather have you keepin’ his
house an’ raisin’ his children for him than that soured-faced old
aunt he’s got now. An’ you wouldn’t give him a speck er trouble; you
wouldn’t kick over the traces, would you? ’Magine you kickin’ over
anything, Julie!” Again Mrs. Anderson was convulsed with mirth, but
this time she was interrupted. “Oh, mercy! Them old teeth!” she cried,
clapping her hand to her mouth. “My! But they certainly did take a
spiteful nip at my tongue that time. Yes, sir,” she continued, “I’m
certainly goin’ to make that match if I live. I’ll commence right this
evenin’ by bringin’ you to his notice. I’ll tip him off to call on you
to pray.”
“Oh, no!” Julie burst out. “Oh, please, Mrs. Anderson--please don’t do
anything like that! You know I never do lead in prayer. I can’t do it.
I never could. Brother Mead knew I couldn’t--and old Brother Johnston,
too--mother told them privately, and they never called on me. I’ll
do anything to help the church--anything I can. But I can’t lead in
prayer, Mrs. Anderson; you know I can’t! I never could.”
“Well, now, it’s time you learned. You been a member in the Methodist
church too long not to be able to pray, Julie. Why, what’ll folks think
if it gets about you can’t pray? Why, prayer’s just the very foundation
of the church. What’s the matter?”
Julie had stopped. “I’m not going to prayer-meeting this evening,” she
faltered. “I’ve got to go back. I--I don’t feel so very well.”
Mrs. Anderson laid firm hands upon her. “That’s perfect nonsense,”
she cried. “You got to go. Why, this is Brother Seabrook’s first
prayer-meeting. Everybody’ll think it’s awful funny if you ain’t there
to welcome him.”
“I’m not going,” Julie protested, trying to twist herself free of the
large hand on her wrist. “I--I--Oh, you know I can’t lead in prayer!
If he calls on me, I’ll not be able to say one word--an’ everybody’ll
laugh.”
“Julie! You a Methodist an’ can’t pray?”
“I’ll die if he calls on me,” Julie cried, on the verge of tears.
“Oh, no, you won’t. Folks don’t die that easy. What’s the matter with
you, anyhow, Julie?” Mrs. Anderson interrupted herself suddenly. “Why,
now I come to recollect, I heard you pray once, an’ it was just grand.
It was the time we had that big revivalist here--remember? Why, you was
just wonderful that night.”
“I know--I remember,” Julie returned hurriedly. “But that was
different. I was just carried away that night. Something got hold of
me--it sort of swept me out of myself. I--I wasn’t there that night. It
was his preaching, I reckon. It seemed to set me free.” She broke off,
a sudden bravery brought momentarily to her face by the remembrance.
“But--but that was different,” she hurried on. “I couldn’t do it now.
Please let me go.”
But the other was inexorable.
“You’ve prayed once an’ you can pray again,” she persisted. “An’ it
would be awful for you not to be there for Brother Seabrook’s first
prayer-meeting. If you struggle now, Julie, it’ll look like I was
draggin’ you to church, an’ what’ll folks think of that?”
Julie knew, all through her sensitive being, just how it would look,
and so perforce she yielded.
Fortunately, however, they were late, so that when they entered the
Sunday-School room, where the week-night services were held, all the
front benches were occupied and they were forced to slip into obscure
seats, near the door. Hidden away by a broad back in front of her,
Julie drew a breath of relief. The agitated beating of her heart
began to subside, and during the singing of the first hymn she even
dared to peep forth between the other worshipers, letting her eyes
rove over the familiar congregation, the plaster walls ornamented by
texts, the red runner of carpet in the aisle, and at last up to the
front where Brother Seabrook stood by the reading-table, his hymn book
stretched away from his farsighted eyes. He was a tall man, and big
in proportion. Breathlessly, overpoweringly big he seemed to Julie. A
personality that made her feel stifled. His hair was dark, and although
flecked with gray, still persisted in a tendency to curl. He had a
trick of smoothing it down fiercely from time to time. He smoothed it
now as he gave himself to the loud worship of song, his body swaying
slightly on his wide-planted legs, and his eyes, as round and dark and
almost as expressionless as shoe buttons, alternately dropped to pick
up a line of hymn and then raised to sweep over his flock. Peeping
forth at him, Julie heard again in her mind Mrs. Anderson’s bold voice
as she planned the match between Brother Seabrook and herself, and at
the remembrance she blushed. She felt the blush not only in her face
but all down into her very being. His eyes terrified her. Once, as she
watched him, they came full upon hers, roving down between the channel
of the people in front. She looked hastily away, but she knew he
had seen her, had marked where she was sitting; and the blush burned
through her more violently than ever.
The hymn came to an end, and with a final smooth to his hair Brother
Seabrook spread his handkerchief on the floor, and dropped one knee
upon it in prayer.
“Seems like he needn’t to be so scary about trustin’ both knees to our
floor,” Mrs. Anderson whispered resentfully to Julie, as they bent
forward.
Brother Seabrook’s petition was an impassioned plea that his flock
might be instructed in prayer--all of them, even the least in their
midst--and here Mrs. Anderson dug her elbow into Julie’s ribs. Another
hymn followed, and as the congregation sang through “Take it to the
Lord in prayer,” Julie tried to fortify herself with the thought that
surely none of the women members would be called on at this very first
prayer-meeting. But when the hymn died away, Brother Seabrook shattered
this forlorn hope by booming out, “Sister Humphries, will you offer a
prayer?” Obediently, old Miss Mary Humphries, up at the front, bowed
her broad back to the burden. It was more than Julie could face.
He was calling on the women, and he had fixed his eyes upon her. It
was terrifying to leave. It was impossible to stay. She went. Mrs.
Anderson’s face was buried in her hands. She never knew when Julie
slipped from her side. None of the worshipers saw her go. She was so
far back that a stride or two brought her to the door. It was half
open, and she passed through it to freedom and safety, without a sound.