CHAPTER I_Hepsey Burke

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HEPSEY BURKE

FRANK N. WESTCOTT

Illustrated by Frederick R. Gruger

[Illustration: "YOU HAVEN'T SEEN ANYTHING THAT LOOKED LIKE A PARSON, HAVE

YOU? YOU CAN GENERALLY SPOT 'EM EVERY TIME"]

[Illustration]

New York

The H. K. Fly Company

Publishers

The H. K. Fly Company.

The Red Book Corporation.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER PAGE

I Hepsey Burke 11

II Gossip 25

III The Senior Warden 36

IV Milking 52

V The Miniature 59

VI The Missionary Tea 71

VII Hepsey Goes A-Fishing 85

VIII An Icebox for Cherubim 96

IX The Rectory 111

X The Bride's Arrival 122

XI Virginia's High Horse 130

XII House Cleaning and Bachelorhood 137

XIII The Circus 147

XIV On the Side Porch 160

XV Nickey's Social Ambitions 170

XVI Practical Temperance Reform 186

XVII Notice to Quit 200

XVIII The New Rectory 212

XIX Couleur de Rose 224

XX Muscular Christianity 238

XXI Uninvited Guests 253

XXII Hepsey's Diplomacy 271

XXIII Hepsey Calls a Meeting 283

XXIV Omnium Gatherum 308

ILLUSTRATIONS.

PAGE

"You haven't seen anything that looked like a parson,

have you? You can generally spot 'em every time" Frontispiece

"I'm blessed if you 'aint sewin' white buttons on with

black thread. Is anybody dead in the family, or 'aint

you feelin' well this mornin'?" 62

"Nicholas Burke, what in the name of conscience does

all this idiotic performance mean, I'd like to know?" 80

"Oh well, I always believe that two young married

people should start out by themselves, and then if they

get into a family row it won't scandalize the parish" 126

"I 'aint a chicken no more, Mrs. Betty, and I've 'most

forgot how to do a bit of courtin'" 140

"I consider it a shame and a disgrace to the parish to

have our rector in filthy clothes, drawing stone with a

lot of ruffians" 248

"I've got a hunch, Sylvester Bascom, that it'll be you

that'll have the last word, after all" 280

"Hepsey Burke, for all your molasses and the little bit

of vinegar you say you keep by you, 'There are no flies

on you' as Nickey would put it" 308

[Illustration]

CHAPTER I

HEPSEY BURKE

The noisy, loose-jointed train pulled out of the station, leaving

behind it a solitary young man, enveloped in smoke and cinders. In the

middle of the platform stood a little building with a curb roof,

pointed at both ends like a Noah's Ark; and the visitor felt that if

he could only manage to lift up one side of the roof he would find the

animals "two by two," together with the cylindrical Noah and the rest

of his family. There was no one in sight but the station-master, who

called out from the ticket office:

"Did you want to go to the village? The 'bus won't be down till the

next train: but maybe you can ride up on the ice wagon."

"Thanks," the stranger replied. "I think I'll wait for the 'bus, if

it's not too long."

"Twenty minutes or so, if Sam don't have to collect the passengers

goin' West, and wait for a lot o' women that forget their handbags and

have to get out and go back after 'em."

The new arrival was good to look at--a handsome, well-built fellow of

about twenty-five, dressed in a gray suit which was non-committal as

to his profession, with a clean-shaven face which bore the

unmistakable stamp of good breeding and unlimited good-nature. He

tilted his suit-case on end and sat down on it; then he filled his

briar pipe, crossed his legs, and looked about to take stock of the

situation. He gazed about curiously; but there was nothing of any

special interest in sight, except, painfully conspicuous on the face

of a grass terrace, the name of the village picked out in large

letters composed of oyster-shells and the bottoms of protruding beer

bottles stuck in the ground. The stranger found himself wondering

where a sufficient number of bottles could be found to complete such

an elaborate pattern. The only other marked feature of the landscape

in the way of artistic decoration was the corrugated base of an old

stove, painted white, which served as a flower vase. From this grew a

huge bunch of scarlet geraniums, staring defiantly, and seeming fairly

to sizzle in the hot, vibrant atmosphere, which was as still as the

calm of a moon-lit night.

As the man on the suit-case gazed about him at the general air of

dilapidation and neglect characteristic of a country town on the down

grade, and recalled the congenial life of the city which he had left,

with all its busy competition, with all its absorbing activities, the

companionship of the men he loved, and the restful, inspiring intimacy

with a certain young woman, he felt, for the moment, a pang of

homesickness. If the station were a sample of the village itself, then

life in such a place must be deadening to every finer sensibility and

ambition; it must throw a man back on himself and make him morbid.

The momentary depression was relieved by the station-master, who

suddenly appeared at the door of the Ark and called out:

"Here comes Hepsey Burke. Maybe she'll take you up; that'll be a dum

sight more comfortable than Lipkin's 'bus."

There was nothing to be seen but a cloud of dust, advancing with the

rapidity of a whirlwind along the highway, from which there gradually

emerged a team and a "democrat," containing a woman, a boy about

fourteen, and a middle-aged man.

As the turn-out drew up, the man took the reins from Mrs. Burke, who

jumped out of the wagon with remarkable agility for one of her size

and years, and, nodding to the station-master, came on to the

platform.

Hepsey Burke was rather stout; and the lines from her nose to the

corners of her mouth, and the wisps of gray hair which had blown about

her face, indicated that she had passed the meridian of life. At first

glance there was nothing striking about her appearance; but there was

a subtle expression about the mouth, a twinkle about the large gray

eyes behind the glasses she wore, that indicated a sense of humor

which had probably been a God-send to her. She was strong and well,

and carried with her an air of indomitable conviction that things

worked themselves out all right in the long run.

The boy was obviously her son, and in spite of his overalls and frayed

straw hat, he was a handsome little chap. He looked at you shyly from

under a crop of curly hair, with half closed eyes, giving you the

impression that you were being "sized up" by a very discriminating

individual; and when he smiled, as he did frequently, he revealed a

set of very white and perfect teeth. When he was silent, there was a

little lifting of the inner brow which gave him a thoughtful look

quite beyond his years; and you were sadly mistaken if you imagined

that you could form a correct impression of Nicholas Burke at the

first interview.

The man wore a sandy beard, but no mustache, and had a downcast,

meekly submissive air, probably the depressing effect of many years of

severe domestic discipline.

Mrs. Burke was evidently surprised to find no one there but the man on

the suit-case; but as he rose and lifted his hat, she hesitated a

moment, exclaiming:

"I beg pardon, but I was lookin' for a parson who was to arrive on

this train. You haven't seen anything that looked like a parson, have

you? You can generally spot 'em every time."

The young man smiled.

"Well, no; I seem to be the only passenger who got off the train; and

though I'm a clergyman, you don't seem to find it easy to 'spot' me."

Mrs. Burke, with a characteristic gesture, pulled her glasses forward

with a jerk and settled them firmly back again on the bridge of her

nose. She surveyed the speaker critically as she questioned:

"But you don't seem to show the usual symptoms--collar buttoned

behind, and all that."

"I am sorry to disappoint you, Madam, but I never travel in clerical

uniform. Can't afford it."

"Well, you've got more sense than most parsons, if I may say so. Maybe

you're the one I'm lookin' for: Mr. Donald Maxwell."

"That is my name, and I am sure you must be Mrs. Burke."

"Sure thing!"--shaking his outstretched hand heartily. "Now you come

right along with me, Mr. Maxwell, and get into the democrat and make

yourself comfortable." They walked round to the front of the station.

"This, Mr. Maxwell, is Jonathan Jackson, the Junior Warden; and this

is my son Nicholas, generally known as Nickey, except when I am about

to spank him. Say, Jonathan, you just h'ist that trunk into the back

of the wagon, and Nickey, you take the parson's suit-case."

The Junior Warden grinned good-naturedly as he shook hands with the

new arrival. But Hepsey continued briskly: "Now, Jonathan, you get

into the back seat with Nickey, and Mr. Maxwell, you sit with me on

the front seat so that I can talk to you. Jonathan means well, but his

talk's limited to crops and symptoms, even if he is an old friend, my

next door neighbor, and the Junior Warden."

Jonathan obeyed orders; and, as he got into the wagon, winked at

Maxwell and remarked:

"You see we have to take a back seat when Hepsey drives; and we have

to hold on with both hands. She's a pacer."

"Don't you let him frighten you, Mr. Maxwell," Hepsey replied.

"Jonathan would probably hold on with both hands if he lay flat on his

back in a ten-acre lot. He's just that fearless and enterprisin'."

Then, starting the horses with a cluck, she turned to Maxwell and

continued:

"I guess I didn't tell you I was glad to see you; but I am. I got your

note tellin' me when you were comin', but I didn't get down to the

station in time, as the men are killin' hogs to-day, and until I get

the in'ards off my hands, I haven't time for anything."

"I am sorry to have put you to the trouble of coming at all. I'm sure

it's very good of you."

"No trouble; not the least. I generally look after the visitin'

parsons, and I'm quite used to it. You can get used to 'most

anything."

Maxwell laughed as he responded:

"You speak as if it weren't always a pleasure, Mrs. Burke."

"Well, I must admit that there are parsons and parsons. They are

pretty much of a lottery, and it is generally my luck to draw blanks.

But don't you worry about that; you don't look a bit like a parson."

"I think that's a rather doubtful compliment."

"Oh, well, you know what I mean. There are three kinds of people in

the world; men, women, and parsons; and I like a parson who is a man

first, and a parson afterwards; not one who is a parson first, and a

man two weeks Tuesday come Michaelmas."

Donald laughed: he felt sure he was going to make friends with this

shrewd yet open-hearted member of his flock. The pace slackened as the

road began a steep ascent. Mrs. Burke let the horses walk up the hill,

the slackened reins held in one hand; in the other lolled the whip,

which now and then she raised, tightening her grasp upon it as if for

use, on second thoughts dropping it to idleness again and clucking to

the horses instead. It was typical of her character--the means of

chastisement held handy, but in reserve, and usually displaced by

other methods of suasion.

As they turned down over the brow of the hill they drove rapidly, and

as the splendid landscape of rolling country, tilled fields and

pasture, stretching on to distant wooded mountains, spread out before

him, Maxwell exclaimed enthusiastically, drawing a deep breath of the

exhilarating air:

"How beautiful it is up here! You must have a delightful climate."

"Well," she replied, "I don't know as we have much climate to speak

of. We have just a job lot of weather, and we take it regular--once

after each meal, once before goin' to bed, and repeat if necessary

before mornin'. I won't say but it's pretty good medicine, at that.

There'd be no show for the doctor, if it wasn't fashionable to invite

him in at the beginnin' and the end of things."

Jonathan, who up to this time had been silent, felt it incumbent to

break into the conversation a bit, and interposed:

"I suppose you've never been up in these parts before?"

"No," Maxwell responded; "but I've always intended to come up during

the season for a little hunting some time. Was there much sport last

year?"

"Well, I can't say as there was, and I can't say _as_ there wasn't.

The most I recollect was that two city fellers shot a guide and

another feller. But then it was a poor season last fall, anyway."

Maxwell gave the Junior Warden a quick look, but there was not a trace

of a smile on his face, and Hepsey chuckled. Keeping her eyes on the

horses as they trotted along at a smart pace over a road none too

smooth for comfortable riding, she remarked casually:

"I suppose the Bishop told you what we wanted in the shape of a

parson, didn't he?"

"Well, he hinted a few things."

"Yes; we're awful modest, like most country parishes that don't pay

their rector more than enough to get his collars laundered. We want a

man who can preach like the Archbishop of Canterbury, and call on

everybody twice a week, and know just when anyone is sick without

bein' told a word about it. He's got to be an awful good mixer, to

draw the young people like a porous plaster, and fill the pews. He

must have lots of sociables, and fairs, and things to take the place

of religion; and he must dress well, and live like a gentleman on the

salary of a book-agent. But if he brings city ways along with him and

makes us feel like hayseeds, he won't be popular."

"That's a rather large contract!" Maxwell replied with a smile.

"Yes, but think what we're goin' to pay you: six hundred dollars a

year, and you'll have to raise most of it yourself, just for the fun

of it."

At this point the Junior Warden interrupted:

"Now, Hepsey, what's the use of upsettin' the young man at the start.

He's----"

"Never mind, Jonathan. I'm tellin' the truth, anyway. You see," she

continued, "most people think piety's at a low ebb unless we're

gettin' up some kind of a holy show all the time, to bring people

together that wouldn't meet anywhere else if they saw each other

first. Then when they've bought a chance on a pieced bed-quilt, or

paid for chicken-pie at a church supper, they go home feelin' real

religious, believin' that if there's any obligation between them and

heaven, it isn't on their side, anyway. Do you think you're goin' to

fill the bill, Mr. Maxwell?"

"Well, I don't know," said Maxwell. "Of course I might find myself

possessed of a talent for inventing new and original entertainments

each week; but I'm afraid that you're a bit pessimistic, Mrs. Burke,

aren't you?"

"No, I'm not. There's a mighty fine side to life in a country parish

sometimes, where the right sort of a man is in charge. The people take

him as one of their family, you know, and borrow eggs of his wife as

easy as of their next door neighbor. But the young reverends expect

too much of a country parish, and break their hearts sometimes because

they can't make us tough old critters all over while you wait. Poor

things! I'm sorry for the average country parson, and a lot sorrier

for his wife."

"Well, don't you worry about me; I'm well and strong, and equal to

anything, I imagine. I don't believe in taking life too seriously;

it's bad for the nerves and digestion. It will be an entirely new

experience for me, and I'm sure I shall find the people interesting."

"Yes, but what if they aren't your kind? I suppose you might find

hippopotamuses interestin' for a while, but that's no reason you

should like to live with 'em. Anyway, don't mind what people say. They

aint got nothin' to think about, so they make up by talkin' about it,

especially when it happens to be a new parson. We've been havin' odds

and ends of parsons from the remnant counter now for six months or

more; and that's enough to kill any parish. I believe that if the

angel Gabriel should preach for us, half the congregation would object

to the cut of his wings, and the other half to the fit of his halo. We

call for all the virtues of heaven, and expect to get 'em for

seven-forty-nine."

"Well--I shall have to look to you and the Wardens to help me out," he

said. "You must help me run things, until I know the ropes."

"Oh! Bascom will run things for you, if you let him do the runnin',"

she replied, cracking her whip. "You'll need to get popular first with

him and his--then you'll have it easy."

Maxwell pondered these local words of wisdom, and recalled the

Bishop's warning that Bascom, the Senior Warden, had not made life

easy for his predecessors, and his superior's exhortation to firmness

and tact, to the end that he, Maxwell, should hold his own, while

taking his Senior Warden along with him. The Senior Warden was

evidently a power in the land.

They had driven about a mile and a half when the wagon turned off the

road, and drew up by a house standing some distance back from it;

getting down, Mrs. Burke exclaimed:

"Welcome to Thunder Cliff, Mr. Maxwell. Thunder Cliff's the name of

the place, you know. All the summer visitors in Durford have names for

their houses; so I thought I'd call my place Thunder Cliff, just to be

in the style."

Jonathan Jackson, who had kept a discreet silence during Hepsey's

pointers concerning his colleague, the Senior Warden, interjected:

"There 'aint no cliff, Hepsey, and you know it. I always tell her, Mr.

Maxwell, 'taint appropriate a bit."

"Jonathan, you 'aint no Englishman, and there's no use pretendin'

that you are. Some day when I have a couple of hours to myself, I'll

explain the whole matter to you. There isn't any cliff, and the house

wants paintin' and looks like thunder. Isn't that reason enough to go

on with? Now, Mr. Maxwell, you come in and make yourself perfectly at

home."

[Illustration]