MRS. VINCENT made many pilgrimages out of the sick-room that day; her
mind was disturbed and restless; she could not keep still by Susan's
side. She went and strayed through her son's rooms, looked at his books,
gave a furtive glance at his linen; then went back and sat down for a
little, until a renewed access of anxiety sent her wandering forth once
more. Then she heard him come in, and went out to see him. But he was
gloomy and uncommunicative, evidently indisposed to satisfy her in any
way, absorbed in his own thoughts. Mrs. Vincent came and sat by him
while he dined, thinking, in her simplicity, that it would be a pleasure
to Arthur. But Arthur, with the unsocial habits of a man accustomed to
live alone, had already set up a book before him while he ate, leaving
his mother to wonder by herself behind what was the world of unknown
thought that rapt her son, and into which her wistful wonder could not
penetrate. But the widow was wise in her generation: she would not worry
him with questions which it was very apparent beforehand that he did not
mean to answer. She admitted to herself with a pang of mingled pain,
curiosity, and resignation, that Arthur was no longer a boy having no
secrets from his mother. Once more the little woman looked at the
unreasonable male creature shut up within itself, and decided, with a
feminine mixture of pity and awe, that it must be allowed to take its
own time and way of disclosing itself, and that to torture it into
premature utterance would be foolish, not to say impracticable. She left
him, accordingly, to himself, and went away again, returning, however,
ere long, in her vague restlessness, as she had been doing all day. The
early winter evening had closed in, and the lamp was lighted--the same
lamp which had smoked and annoyed Mrs. Vincent's nice perceptions the
first evening she was in Carlingford. Vincent had thrown himself on a
sofa with a book, not to read, but as a disguise under which he could
indulge his own thoughts, when his mother came quietly back into the
room. Mrs. Vincent thought it looked dark and less cheerful than it
ought. She poked the fire softly not to disturb Arthur, and made it
blaze. Then she turned to the lamp, which flared huskily upon the table.
"It smokes more than ever," said Mrs. Vincent, half apologetically, in
case Arthur should observe her proceedings as she took off the globe.
He, as was natural, put down his book and gazed at her with a certain
impatient wonder, half contemptuous of that strange female development
which amid all troubles could carry through, from one crisis of life to
another, that miraculous trifling, and concern itself about the smoking
of a lamp. As she screwed it up and down and adjusted the wick, with the
smoky light flaring upon her anxious face, and magnifying the shadow of
her little figure against the wall behind, her son looked on with a
feeling very similar to that which had moved Mrs. Vincent when she
watched him eating his dinner with his book set up before him. These
were points upon which the mother and son could not understand each
other. But the sight disturbed his thoughts and touched his temper; he
got up from the sofa and threw down his unread book.
"You women are incomprehensible," said the young man, with an irritation
he could not subdue--"what does it matter about the lamp? but if the
world were going to pieces you must still be intent upon such
trifles--leave that to the people of the house."
"But, my dear, the people of the house don't understand it," said Mrs.
Vincent. "Oh Arthur, it is often the trifles that are the most
important. I have had Mrs. Tozer calling upon me to-day, and Mrs.
Tufton. I don't wonder, dear, if you find them a little tiresome; but
that is what every pastor has to expect. I daresay you have been worried
to-day paying so many visits. Hush, there is some one coming up-stairs.
It is Mr. Tozer, Arthur. I can hear his voice."
Upon which the minister, conscious of not being prepared for Tozer's
questions, gave vent to an impatient ejaculation. "Never a moment's
respite! And now I shall have to give an account of myself," said the
unfortunate Nonconformist. Mrs. Vincent, who had just then finished her
operations with the lamp, looked up reproachfully over the light at her
son.
"Oh Arthur, consider how kind he has been! Your dear father would never
have used such an expression--but you have my quick temper," said the
widow, with a little sigh. She shook hands very cordially with the good
butterman when he made his appearance. "I was just going to make tea for
my son," said Mrs. Vincent. "I have scarcely been able to sit with him
at all since Susan took ill. Arthur, ring the bell--it is so kind of you
to come; you will take a cup of tea with us while my son and you talk
matters over--that is, if you don't object to my presence?" said the
minister's mother with a smile. "Your dear papa always liked me to be
with him, Arthur; and until he has a wife, Mr. Tozer, I daresay his
mother will not be much in the way when it is so kind a friend as you he
has to talk over his business with. Bring tea directly, please. I fear
you have forgotten what I said to you about the lamp, which burns quite
nicely when you take a little pains. Arthur, will you open the window to
clear the atmosphere of that smoke? and perhaps Mr. Tozer will take a
seat nearer the fire."
"I am obliged to you, ma'am," said the butterman, who had a cloud on his
face. "Not no nearer, thank you all the same. If I hadn't thought you'd
have done tea, I shouldn't have come troubling Mr. Vincent, not so
soon;" and Tozer turned a doubtful glance towards the minister, who
stood longer at the window than he need have done. The widow's
experienced eye saw that some irritation had risen between her son and
his friend and patron. Tozer was suspicious, and ready to take
offence-- Arthur, alas! in an excited and restless mood, only too ready
to give it. His mother could read in his shoulders, as he stood at the
window with his back to her, that impulse to throw off the yoke and
resent the inquisition to which he was subject, which, all conscious as
he was of not having carried out Tozer's injunctions, seized upon the
unfortunate Nonconformist. With a little tremulous rush, Mrs. Vincent
put herself in the breach.
"I am sure so warm a friend as Mr. Tozer can never trouble any of my
family at any time," said the widow, with a little effusion. "I know too
well how rare a thing real kindness is--and I am very glad you have come
just now while I can be here," she added, with a sensation of
thankfulness perhaps not so complimentary to Tozer as it looked on the
surface. "Arthur, dear, I think that will do now. You may put up the
window and come back to your chair. You don't smell the lamp, Mr. Tozer?
and here is the little maid with the tea."
Mrs. Vincent moved about the tray almost in a bustle when the girl had
placed it on the table. She re-arranged all the cups and moved
everything on the table, while her son took up a gloomy position behind
her on the hearthrug, and Tozer preserved an aspect of ominous civility
on the other side of the table. She was glad that the little maid had to
return two or three times with various forgotten adjuncts, though even
then Mrs. Vincent's instincts of good management prompted her to point
out to the handmaiden the disadvantages of her thoughtlessness. "If you
had but taken time to think what would be wanted, you would have saved
yourself a great deal of trouble," said the minister's mother, with a
tremble of expectation thrilling her frame, looking wistfully round to
see whether anything more was wanted, or if, perhaps, another minute
might be gained before the storm broke. She gave Arthur a look of
entreaty as she called him forward to take his place at table. She knew
that real kindness was not very often to be met with in this
cross-grained world; and if people are conscious of having been kind, it
is only natural they should expect gratitude! Such was the sentiment in
her eyes as she turned round and fixed them upon her son. "Tea is ready,
Arthur," said the widow, in a tone of secret supplication. And Arthur
understood his mother, and was less and less inclined to conciliate as
he came forward out of the darkness, where he might look sulky if he
pleased, and sat down full in the light of the lamp, which smoked no
longer. They were not a comfortable party. Mrs. Vincent felt it so
necessary that she should talk and keep them separated, that she lost
her usual self-command, and subjects failed her in her utmost need.
"Let me give you another cup of tea," she said, as the butterman paused
in the supernumerary meal which that excellent man was making; "I am so
glad you happened to come this evening when I am taking a little
leisure. I hope the congregation will not think me indifferent, Mr.
Tozer. I am sure you and Mrs. Tozer will kindly explain to them how much
I have been occupied. When Susan is well, I hope to make acquaintance
with all my son's people. Arthur, my dear boy, you are over-tired, you
don't eat anything--and you made a very poor dinner. I wish you would
advise him to take a little rest, Mr. Tozer. He minds his mother in most
things, but not in this. It is vain for me to say anything to him about
giving up work; but perhaps a little advice from you would have more
effect. I spoke to Dr. Rider on the subject, and he says a little rest
is all my son requires; but rest is exactly what he will never take. It
was just the same with his dear father--and you are not strong enough,
Arthur, to bear so much."
"I daresay as you're right, ma'am," said Tozer; "if he was to take a
little more exercise and walking about--most of us Salem folks wouldn't
mind a little less on Sundays, to have more of the minister at other
times. I hope as there wasn't no unpleasantness, Mr. Vincent, between
you and Pigeon when you see him to-day?"
"I did not see him;--I mean I am sorry I was not able to call on Pigeon
to-day," said Vincent, hastily; "I was unexpectedly detained," he added,
growing rather red, and looking Tozer in the face. "Indeed, I am not
sure that I ought to call on Pigeon," continued the minister, after a
pause; "I have done nothing to offend him. If he chooses to take an
affront which was never intended, I can't help it. Why should I go and
court every man who is sulky or ill-tempered in the congregation? Look
here, Tozer--you are a sensible man--you have been very kind, as my
mother says. I set out to-day intending to go and see this man for your
sake; but you know very well this is not what I came to Carlingford
for. If I had known the sort of thing that was required of me!" cried
Vincent, rising up and resuming his place on the hearthrug--"to go with
my hat in my hand, and beg this one and the other to forgive me, and
receive me into favour:--why, what have I ever done to Pigeon? if he has
anything to find fault with, he had much better come to me, and have it
out."
"Mr. Vincent, sir," said Tozer solemnly, pushing away his empty teacup,
and leaning forward over the table on his folded arms, "them ain't the
sentiments for a pastor in our connection. That's a style of thing as
may do among fine folks, or in the church where there's no freedom; but
them as chooses their own pastor, and pays their own pastor, and don't
spare no pains to make him comfortable, has a right to expect different.
Them ain't the sentiments, sir, for Salem folks. I don't say if they're
wrong or right-- I don't make myself a judge of no man; but I've seen a
deal of our connection and human nature in general, and this I know,
that a minister as has to please his flock, has got to please his flock
whatever happens, and neither me nor no other man can make it different;
and that Mrs. Vincent, as has seen life, can tell you as well as I can.
Pigeon ain't neither here nor there. It's the flock as has to be
considered--and it ain't preaching alone as will do that; and that your
good mother, sir, as knows the world, will tell you as well as me."
"But Arthur is well aware of it," said the alarmed mother, interposing
hastily, conscious that to be thus appealed to was the greatest danger
which could threaten her. "His dear father always told him so; yet,
after all, Mr. Vincent used to say," added the anxious diplomatist,
"that nothing was to be depended on in the end but the pulpit. I have
heard him talking of it with the leading people in the connection, Mr.
Tozer. They all used to say that, though visiting was very good, and a
pastor's duty, it was the pulpit, after all, that was to be most trusted
to; and I have always seen in my experience--I don't know if the same
has occurred to you--that both gifts are very rarely to be met with. Of
course, we should all strive after perfection," continued the minister's
mother, with a tremulous smile--"but it is so seldom met with that any
one has both gifts! Arthur, my dear boy, I wish you would eat something;
and Mr. Tozer, let me give you another cup of tea."
"No more for me, ma'am, thankye," said Tozer, laying his hand over his
cup. "I don't deny as there's truth in what you say. I don't deny as a
family here and there in a flock may be aggravating like them Pigeons,
I'm not the man to be hard on a minister, if that ain't his turn. A
pastor may have a weakness, and not feel himself as equal to one part of
his work as to another; but to go for to say as visiting and keeping the
flock pleased, ain't his duty--it's that, ma'am, as goes to my heart."
Tozer's pathos touched a lighter chord in the bosom of the minister. He
came back to his seat with a passing sense of amusement. "If Pigeon has
anything to find fault with, let him come and have it out," said
Vincent, bringing, as his mother instantly perceived, a less clouded
countenance into the light of the lamp. "You, who are a much better
judge than Pigeon, were not displeased on Sunday," added the minister,
not without a certain complacency. Looking back upon the performances of
that day, the young Nonconformist himself was not displeased. He knew
now--though he was unconscious at the time--that he had made a great
appearance in the pulpit of Salem, and that once more the eyes of
Carlingford, unused to oratory, and still more unused to great and
passionate emotion, were turned upon him.
"Well, sir, if it come to be a question of that," said the mollified
deacon; "but no--it ain't that--I can't, whatever my feelings is, be
forgetful of my dooty!" cried Tozer, in sudden excitement. "It ain't
that, Mr. Vincent; it's for your good I'm a-speaking up and letting you
know my mind. It ain't the pulpit, sir. I'll not say as I ever had a
word to say against your sermons: but when the minister goes out of my
house, a-saying as he's going to visit the flock, and when he's to be
seen the next moment, Mrs. Vincent, not going to the flock, but
a-spending his precious time in Grange Lane with them as don't know
nothing, and don't care nothing for Salem, nor understand the ways of
folks like us----"
Here Tozer was interrupted suddenly by the minister, who once more rose
from his chair with an angry exclamation. What he might have said in the
hasty impulse of the moment nobody could tell; but Mrs. Vincent, hastily
stumbling up on her part from her chair, burst in with a tremulous
voice--
"Arthur, my dear boy! did you hear Susan call me?--hark! I fancied I
heard her voice. Oh, Arthur dear, go and see, I am too weak to run
myself. Say I am coming directly--hark! do you think it is Susan? Oh,
Arthur, go and see!"
Startled by her earnestness, though declaring he heard nothing, the
young man hastened away. Mrs. Vincent seized her opportunity without
loss of time.
"Mr. Tozer," said the widow, "I am just going to my sick child. Arthur
and you will be able to talk of your business more freely when I am
gone, and I hope you will be guided to give him good advice; what I am
afraid of is, that he will throw it all up," continued Mrs. Vincent,
leaning her hand upon the table, and bending forward confidential and
solemn to the startled butterman, "as so many talented young men in our
connection do nowadays. Young men are so difficult to deal with; they
will not put up with things that we know must be put up with," said the
minister's mother, shaking her head with a sigh. "That is how we are
losing all our young preachers;--an accomplished young man has so many
ways of getting on now. Oh, Mr. Tozer, I rely upon you to give my son
good advice--if he is aggravated, it is my terror that he will throw it
all up! Good-night. You have been our kind friend, and I have such trust
in you!" Saying which the widow shook hands with him earnestly and went
away, leaving the worthy deacon much shaken, and with a weight of
responsibility upon him. Vincent met her at the door, assuring her that
Susan had not called; but with a heroism which nobody suspected--trembling
with anxiety, yet conscious of having struck a master-stroke--his mother
glided away to the stillness of the sick-room, where she sat questioning
her own wisdom all the evening after, and wondering whether, after all,
at such a crisis, she had done right to come away.
When the minister and the deacon were left alone together, instead of
returning with zest to their interrupted discussion, neither of them
said anything for some minutes. Once more Vincent took up his position
on the hearthrug, and Tozer gazed ruefully at the empty cup which he
still covered with his hand, full of troubled thoughts. The
responsibility was almost too much for Tozer. He could scarcely realise
to himself what terrors lay involved in that threatened danger, or what
might happen if the minister threw it all up! He held his breath at the
awful thought. The widow's Parthian arrow had gone straight to the
butterman's heart.
"I hope, sir, as you won't think there's anything but an anxious feelin'
in the flock to do you justice as our pastor," said Tozer, with a
certain solemnity, "or that we ain't sensible of our blessin's. I've
said both to yourself and others, as you was a young man of great
promise, and as good a preacher as I ever see in our connection, Mr.
Vincent, and I'll stand by what I've said; but you ain't above taking a
friend's advice--not speaking with no authority," added the good
butterman, in a conciliatory tone; "it's all along of the women,
sir--it's them as is at the bottom of all the mischief in a flock. It
ain't Pigeon, bless you, as is to blame. And even my missis, though
she's not to say unreasonable as women go--none of them can abide to
hear of you a-going after Lady Western--that's it, Mr. Vincent. She's a
lovely creature," cried Tozer, with enthusiasm; "there ain't one in
Carlingford to compare with her, as I can see, and I wouldn't be the one
to blame a young man as was carried away. But there couldn't no good
come of it, and Salem folks is touchy and jealous," continued the worthy
deacon; "that was all as I meant to say."
Thus the conference ended amicably after a little more talk, in which
Pigeon and the other malcontents were made a sacrifice of and given up
by the anxious butterman, upon whom Mrs. Vincent's parting words had
made so deep an impression. Tozer went home thereafter to overawe his
angry wife, whom Vincent's visit to Lady Western had utterly
exasperated, with the dread responsibility now laid upon them. "What if
he was to throw it all up!" said Tozer. That alarming possibility struck
silence and dismay to the very heart of the household. Perhaps it was
the dawn of a new era of affairs in Salem. The deacon's very sleep was
disturbed by recollections of the promising young men who, now he came
to think of it, had been lost to the connection, as Mrs. Vincent
suggested, and had thrown it all up. The fate of the chapel, and all the
new sittings let under the ministry of the young Nonconformist, seemed
to hang on Tozer's hands. He thought of the weekly crowd, and his heart
stirred. Not many deacons in the connection could boast of being crowded
out of their own pews Sunday after Sunday by the influx of unexpected
hearers. The enlightenment of Carlingford, as well as the filling of the
chapel, was at stake. Clearly, in the history of Salem, a new era had
begun.