On Wednesday evening Deacon Hall tucked Augusta's pretty hand under his
arm with a happy sense of proprietorship. He was proud to stand by his
beautiful wife in her fight for church liberty. Hall really believed, as
he had told Dominie Graves, that the world had outgrown its foggy
notions, and he delighted in hearing Augusta air her ideas in meetings;
in watching the rich blood mantling and playing under the transparent
skin; and in listening to the modulated tones of the vibrant voice.
Augusta was his style of woman. The thought of her force of character
made him throw back his shoulders that Wednesday evening as they neared
the church door. Few members had gathered for the hour was early. Deacon
Hall nodded pleasantly to Bill Hopkins, and a broad smile parted the
latter's lips, giving his square face a softer, more genial expression.
Bill calmly took his seat on the left side of the room; crossed his
legs, placed his fingers about the white wart, and then sat looking
thoughtfully out of the window into the lighted street. For the first
time in many months Bill Hopkins was in his chair at the weekly prayer
meeting. His one idea in being present was to witness the Dominie's
success in keeping the women in their places. He had had conscientious
scruples about remaining in a church, which, in spite of the fact that
its tenets forbade its females to rise and voice either prayers or
opinions before the males, countenanced this very abuse.
Bill Hopkins had no objection to women in their places--in fact, he
enjoyed the company of a pretty woman--but it was not her place to try
and teach him. Hopkins had the overwhelming idea of the physical and
moral superiority of men, while, as far as intellectuality was
concerned, women were leagues and leagues behind.
Many a warm argument had been held between Bill and the pretty Mrs.
Hall, and as this lady came into the chapel she saw the former elder
seated in his old chair, the familiar wart shining high and white on the
bald pate. She tilted her pretty chin an instant before inclining her
head, then to the amazement of those present, she parted from her
husband in the middle aisle, marching to the right, her amiable deacon
taking the left. Bill Hopkins smiled inwardly as the thought flashed
over him that there must have been a secret female conclave among the
strong-minded women as well as among the men during the past week. The
same idea occurred to the minister's mind as he saw his members separate
in the middle aisle.
He drew his brow into a pucker which furrowed the flesh between his
brows. Mrs. Graves was seated at the rear of the room to the right, her
eyes upon an open book in her hand. She did not raise them as her
husband took his chair behind the small pulpit table upon which lay a
huge Bible marked by a dangling blue ribbon. The clergyman bent his head
a few moments in secret prayer, drew the book toward him, opened it,
found his text and placed the marker carefully between the pages. He
coughed slightly and with an extra effort raised his eyes to his
congregation. This is what he saw:
The middle aisle divided almost every woman from her husband; only here
and there had a timid wife with lowered eyes followed her lord and
master to the left.
Dominie Graves caught a peculiar gleam in the eye of Augusta Hall and
followed the line of her vision which was leveled at Bill Hopkins. There
was no enmity in the latter's mien, but Dominie Graves knew that when
the elderly deacon toyed with the white wart his nerves were vastly
disturbed. For an instant the thought traveled through the clergyman's
brain, that if Tessibel Skinner could work with her magic words on the
dull protrusion upon Hopkins's glistening head the former deacon would
lose his favorite occupation. He looked doubtfully down upon his own
hands and remembered the warts which Tessibel had whispered away. Then,
trying to drive all thoughts of the fisher-girl and her squatter father
from his mind, the minister rose to his feet. Frederick Graves had been
watching his father intently and as he saw his effort to rise the boy
whitened a little and settled back. Just growing into manhood and
beginning to think for himself, the lad blushed with shame at the state
of affairs that rose before his eyes this night. He threw a sidelong
glance at Hopkins and met a dejected expression from the eyes of his
mother. She looked so tired, so humiliated, that a bitter rebellious
feeling arose in Frederick's heart against his father. Then his mind
wandered again from the church to Tessibel Skinner in her shanty home.
The quick look she had given him in the court-room had impressed him as
nothing else could. He saw again the bright head thrown back in eager
appeal and the shining eyes filled with pain. How he wished that his own
faith in the Infinite had a touch of the strength which made that of
Tessibel stand alone by itself! Little did Frederick realize or know
that the intensity of the fishermaid, the wonderful faith and trust she
had exhibited in her time of trial and trouble, had come to her from
him. Every prayer Tessibel had uttered, every devout wish of her heart
for Daddy Skinner, had been vaguely centered about the student. Her love
for the Christ of whom she had heard so little was based upon the power
of attraction that Frederick Graves held for her.
Twice had he, unobserved, seen Tessibel through the hut window; and the
picture of the tired little figure with its drooping prayerful attitude
came back with a force that brought a great lump into his throat,
invigorating his desire to raise the standard of his own love for God's
words and promises.
His father's eloquent voice brought him back to the present and, as his
eyes fell upon Hopkins, he saw the nervous fingers twiddling the great
white wart and a smile forced itself to his lips.
Then he dragged his truant mind from outside subjects and concentrated
his attention upon the pulpit.
"In accordance with the creed of the church," the clergyman was saying,
"and of the laws under which our beloved congregation holds together, I
speak. It is with love for all I adjure you this night. When I say that
the subject of my talk will be upon duty you will not be surprised, for
you, one and all, know what I mean. I shall ask the sisters in the
church not to rise again to speak. If they desire church work there are
the poor, the blind, and always the needy. By needy I mean those
desiring the faith of God and yet being unable to grasp it without help.
To the dear sisters of the congregation I commend all these." He made no
allusion to the division of the men and women, nor to the sermon of the
past Sunday.
After the hymn he sat down, bowing his handsome dark head quietly, and
remaining mute in the dismal silence that followed. Suddenly an elderly
woman with a meek face struggled to her feet, glancing toward Augusta
Hall for an encouraging smile. Several trimmed hats however loomed up
between her and the deacon's wife, so still standing she lowered her
eyes and began to pray. Simultaneously with hers a masculine voice broke
through the air mingling with the weak petition of the woman. Frederick
Graves lifted his head quickly--the trend of war cutting through his
mind like a knife. It had evidently been planned before the meeting just
how severely the women were to be dealt with, for Frederick noted that
his father's eyes did not raise from his reverent position at the
unusual happening. As the man's voice grew louder, importunately seeking
guidance in this unhappy church affair, the woman closed her lips and
fell backward upon the seat crying weakly. The masculine voice rose
higher and clearer and finished the petition with ringing clarity.
Another embarrassing silence out of which came scarcely a breath.
Augusta Hall caught a glimpse of the piercing blue eyes peering from
under the shaggy brows of Bill Hopkins. The deacon was watching her, and
Augusta knew that he exulted as one woman after another was driven to
her chair by the masculine voice of her shouting opponent.
So far the men held the day. This was demonstrated to Augusta Hall and
Bill Hopkins by the undertoned sobs that continually emerged from behind
the numerous white handkerchiefs. So dense was the quietude of the
painful meeting that Frederick Graves could plainly hear the thumping of
his own heart. Suddenly Augusta with a slight cough and a rustle of her
fine skirts rose to her feet. She started to speak reverently in a low
tone. It was the usual petition that blessing should descend upon the
missions, the sewing circle and the children's work--and here her voice
wavered a little, for a man's bass voice joined in with her own. It was
that of the deacon who carried the offering plate each Sunday morning,
opposite her husband. On and on both man and woman shouted their words
with strength and rapidity upon their hearers' ears. The Deacon's voice
lifted and fell with the power of an orator. Augusta strained forth her
tones high and clear. Minute after minute until fifteen had passed was
the oratorical word display of each pitted against the other.
Dominie Graves' fingers were twitching nervously beside his well-shaped
nose. Bill Hopkins still twiddling his wart had drawn himself to a
straighter position, and was listening with all intentness. The pallor
of Deacon Hall's face deepened as Augusta talked on and on until all
thought of prayer had left her mind, and her words shaped themselves
into a discourse. She was holding the floor against the church official,
whose brow was now running with the sweat of his embarrassment--his
voice had become fainter and his words fewer and less well chosen.
Augusta's voice, on the contrary, rang clearly through the room, a
prepared speech upon the aptitude of women and their field of labor. Her
husband was watching her intently--and thought how beautiful she looked
as the blood mantled to her white forehead, descending and rising as her
thoughts took turn after turn. The unfortunate deacon was mumbling forth
a few ill-connected sentences. At last with a groan he sank to his seat
and placed a handkerchief to his fevered brow. Presently Augusta sat
down and there was again an awful silence. No one advanced another
petition and Dominie Graves pronounced a halting benediction.
The congregation rose hastily and hurried toward the doors, with no
desire for further discussion.
Bill Hopkins leaned back against the outer door and as Mrs. Hall passed
him he grasped her hand.
"You had nerve," said he, "I'm not saying it's the right kind ... but
it's nerve just the same, and, well, I do believe that you women have
gained the day in this church."
Augusta, leaning on her husband's arm, looked down meekly from a pair of
wicked twinkling eyes--she could be a sweet clinging creature if she
wished, and this was her special charm to Deacon Hall.
Suddenly she raised her gaze and looked winningly into Bill Hopkin's
face.
"I suppose you won't give me the money I asked you for, to aid Skinner,"
she said slowly.
"I'll send you the check to-morrow morning," and Bill Hopkins' big
shoulders disappeared through the open door.
* * * * *
"It frightened me at first," exclaimed Deacon Hall to his wife
afterward, "but, as your voice went up and up, I knew my little woman
would win, God bless her."
"And we'll win about poor Skinner too," rejoined Augusta. "Every man and
woman so far has agreed to help a little, and I don't want you to try to
drive the squatters from our lake property."
Here her words were checked by a sudden thought which darkened her
eyes--she burst forth with a rich low laugh:
"That'll make two triumphs over my haughty parson."