"One moment, brethren!" Parson Stump apologized. "Ah, Daniel!" he
cried; "is that you? What's amiss, boy? You've no trouble, have you?
And your uncle--eh? you've no trouble, boy, have you?" The brethren
waited in silence while he tripped lightly over the worn cocoanut
matting to the rear--perturbed, a little frown of impatience and
bewilderment gathering between his eyes. The tails of his shiny black
coat brushed the varnished pine pews, whereto, every Sunday, the
simple folk of our harbor repaired in faith. Presently he tripped back
again. The frown of bewilderment was deeper now--the perturbation
turned anxious. For a moment he paused before the brethren. "Very
awkward," said he, at last. "Really, I'm very sorry." He scratched his
head, fore and aft--bit his lip. "I'm called to Whisper Cove," he
explained, pulling at his nose. "I'm sorry to interrupt the business
of the meeting, just at this time, but I do not see how it can be got
around. I s'pose we'd better adjourn until such a time as I--"
The chairman would hear of no adjournment.
"But," Parson Stump complained, "I'm the secretary!"
"We'll go right on, brother."
"I can't very well _stay_, brethren," said Parson Stump, chagrined.
"It's a case of--of--of spiritual consolation."
"Ah!" ejaculated Parson Lute.
"And I--"
"Now, Brother Wile," the chairman interrupted, "we're ready to hear
_you_."
"One moment," said Parson Lute, rising. He struggled to suppress his
cough. "Excuse me," he gasped. And, "I don't quite see, brethren,"
he proceeded, "how this meeting can get along without the services of
Brother Stump. It seems to me that this meeting _needs_ Brother
Stump. I am of opinion that Brother Stump owes it to the cause in
general, and to the clergy of this district in particular, to
report this discussion to the conference. It is my conviction,
brethren, that Brother Stump--by his indefatigable industry, by
his thorough acquaintance with the matters under discussion, by his
spiritual insight into problems of this character, by his talent
for expression--ought to be present through the whole of this
discussion, in its entirety, and ought to present the views of
this body to the conference _in person_." And, "Look here, Brother
Stump," he concluded, turning, "why can't _I_ make this call for
you?"
"Well, of course, you _could_, Brother Lute," Parson Stump admitted,
his face beginning to clear, "but really I--"
"Oh, come now, brother!"
"Brother Lute," said Parson Stump, with sincere affection, "I don't
like to think of you on the road to Whisper Cove to-night. I tell you,
it--it--goes against the grain. You're not well, brother. You're not
well at all. And it's a long way--and there's a gale of wind and rain
outside--"
"Come, come, now!"
"A _dirty_ night," Parson Stump mused.
"But it's the Lord's business!"
"Of course," Parson Stump yielded, "if you _would_ be so kind, I--"
Parson Lute's face brightened. "Very well," said he. "It's all
settled. Now, may I have a word with you? I'll need some pointers." To
the five brethren: "One moment, brethren!"
They moved towards the rear, and came to rest, heads close, within my
hearing. Parson Lute put his arm over Parson Stump's shoulder. "Now,"
said he, briskly, rubbing his hands in a business-like way, "pointers,
brother--pointers!"
"Yes, yes, brother!" Parson Stump agreed. "Well, you'll find my
oil-skins hanging in the hall. Mrs. Stump will give you the
lantern--"
"No, no! I don't mean that. Who is this person? Man or woman?"
"Maid," said Parson Stump.
"Ah!"
Parson Stump whispered in Parson Lute's ear. Parson Lute raised his
eyebrows. He was made sad--and sighed. He was kind, was this parson,
and sweetly wishful for the goodness and welfare of all the erring
sons and daughters of men.
"Has the woman repented?" he asked.
"I fear not. In fact--no; she has not."
At once the battle-light began to shine in Parson Lute's green eyes.
"I see," he snapped.
"Rather difficult case, I fear," said Parson Stump, despondently.
"She--well, she--she isn't quite right. Poor creature! Do you
understand? A simple person. Not idiotic, you know. Not born that
way, of course. Oh no! born with all her senses _quite_ intact. She
was beautiful as a maid--sweet-natured, lovely in person, very
modest and pious--very merry, too, and clever. But before the child
came she--she--she began to wait. Do you understand? To wait--to wait
for the return of--of some one. She said--I remember that she
said--that he would come. She was really quite sure of it. And she
waited--and waited. A promise, no doubt; and she had faith in it. For
a long time she had faith in it. Rather pitiful, I think. I used to see
her about a good deal. She was always waiting. I would meet her on
the heads, in all weathers, keeping watch for schooners. The clerk of a
trading-schooner, no doubt; but nobody knows. Waiting--waiting--always
waiting! Poor creature! The man didn't come back, of course; and then
she got--well--flighty. Got flighty--quite flighty. The man didn't come
back, of course, you know; and she had waited--and waited--so long, so
very long. Really, a very difficult case, brother! Something snapped
and broken--something missing--something gone, you know. Poor creature!
She--she--well, she waited too long. Couldn't _stand_ it, you see. It
seems she loved the man--and trusted him--and, well, just loved him, you
know, in the way women will. And now she's flighty--_quite_ flighty. A
difficult case, I fear, and--"
"I see," Parson Lute interrupted. "An interesting case. Very sad, too.
And you've not been able to convict her of her sin?"
Parson Stump shook his head.
"No impression whatever?"
"No, brother."
"How," Parson Lute demanded, with a start, "does she--ah--subsist?"
"She fishes, brother, in quiet weather, and she is helped, though it
is not generally known, by a picturesque old character of the place--a
man not of the faith, a drunkard, I fear, but kind-hearted and
generous to the needy."
"The woman ever converted before?"
"Twice, brother," Parson Stump answered; "but not now in a state
of grace. She is quite obstinate," he added, "and she has, I
fear, peculiar views--_very_ peculiar, I fear--on repentance. In
fact, she loves the child, you see; and she fears that a confession
of her sin--a confession of repentance, you know--might give the
world to think that her love had failed--that she wished the
child--well--unborn. She would not appear disloyal to Judith, I
fear, even to save her soul. A peculiar case, is it not? A difficult
case, I fear."
"I see," said Parson Lute, tapping his nose reflectively. "The child
is the obstacle. A valuable hint in that. Well, I may be able to do
something, with God's help."
"God bless you, brother!"
They shook hands....
* * * * *
My uncle was returned from Topmast Harbor. I paused but to bid him
urgently to the bedside of Elizabeth, then ran on to rejoin the
parson at the turn of the road. By night, in a gale of wind and rain
from the east, was no time for Parson Lute, of Yellow Tail Tickle, to
be upon the long road to Whisper Cove. But the rough road, and the
sweep of the wind, and the steep ascents, and the dripping limbs, and
the forsaken places lying hid in the dark, and the mud and torrents,
and the knee-deep, miry puddles seemed not to be perceived by him as
he stumbled after me. He was praying aloud--importunately, as it is
written. He would save the soul of Elizabeth, that man; the faith, the
determination were within him. 'Twas fair pitiful the way he besought
the Lord. And he made haste; he would pause only at the crests of the
hills--to cough and to catch his breath. I was hard driven that
night--straight into the wind, with the breathless parson forever at
my heels. I shall never forget the exhibition of zeal. 'Twas divinely
unselfish--'twas heroic as men have seldom shown heroism. Remembering
what occurred thereafter, I number the misguided man with the holy
martyrs. At the Cock's Crest, whence the road tumbled down the cliff
to Whisper Cove, the wind tore the breath out of Parson Lute, and the
noise of the breakers, and the white of the sea beyond, without mercy,
contemptuous, confused him utterly.
He fell.
"Tis near at hand, sir!" I pleaded with him.
He was up in a moment. "Let us press on, Daniel," said he, "to the
salvation of that soul. Let us press on!"
We began the descent....