the mail-stage did not make its appearance at the usual hour on the day following crupp’s conversation with father baguss, and during a lull in the desultory conversation which prevailed among those who were waiting for the mail, the postmaster displayed at his window his large, round face, devoid of its habitual jolly smile, and remarked,
“too bad about wainright, isn’t it?”
“what’s that?” asked half a dozen at once.
the postmaster looked infinitely more important all in a second. it is but seldom in this world that a man can tell a bit of news to an assembled crowd; and in an inland town, before the day of the omnipresent telegraph pole, the chances were proportionately fewer than elsewhere. the postmaster had a generous heart, however, and at the risk of losing his importance he opened his treasure-house all at once:
“he’s been pretty high on whiskey for two or[97] three days,” said he, “and they say he’s got snakes in his boots now; anyhow, he’s made a sudden break for louisville; he started on foot, an hour or two ago, for brown’s landing, seven miles below here, to catch a down-river steamboat; he was clear-headed enough to find out first that it wasn’t likely that the excellence, that’s about due, wouldn’t have any freight to stop for here. his wife’s half wild about it, but there’s nothing the poor thing can do.”
“poor, misguided man!” sighed parson wedgewell, who had arrived just in time to hear the story. “the ways of providence are undoubtedly wise, but they are indeed mysterious. judging according to our finite capacities, it would be natural to suppose that capabilities so unusual as those of mr. wainright would be divinely guided.”
“i saw him coming down the walk,” observed squire tomple, “and i thought he looked rather peculiar, so i just stepped across the street; i don’t like to get into a row with men in that fix.”
“of course getting into a row was the only thing that could be done,” said crupp, who had apparently been carefully reading a posted notice of a sheriff’s sale.
[98]
the squire did not enjoy the tone in which crupp’s remark was delivered; but before he could reason with the new reformer, the reverend timotheus brown dashed into the fray in defense of a beloved idea, which the rival pastor had seemed covertly to assail.
“the reason such natures aren’t divinely guided,” said he, in a voice which suggested nutmeg-graters to the acute sensibilities of parson wedgewell, “is that they don’t implicitly submit themselves to the divine will.”
“a man can do nothing unless the spirit draw him,” said parson wedgewell valiantly.
“that’s rather hard on a fellow, though, isn’t it?” soliloquized fred macdonald.
“not a bit of it,” spoke out father baguss, who had been scenting the battle from an inner room. “bless the lord! the parables of the lost sheep that the shepherd left the rest of the flock to look for, and the lost coin that the woman hunted for, wasn’t told for nothin’. the lord knows how to ’tend to his own business.”
“and nobody else can do a thing to help the lord along, can he?” said crupp, passing his arm through the postmaster’s window, and extracting[99] from his box a copy of the louisville journal (then the only paper of prominence in a large section of western country); “all that men have to do in such cases is just to talk.”
crupp departed, encountering on the way the wide-open countenance of tom adams, who was waiting for deacon jones’s mail. the two pastors preserved silence, that of mr. brown being extremely dignified, with a visible trace of acerbity, while that of mr. wedgewell was strongly suggestive of mental unquiet. the distribution of the small mail, which had arrived soon after the conversation began, gave everybody an excuse to depart—an excuse of which most of them availed themselves at once, squire tomple having first changed the direction of the conversation by inquiring particularly of father baguss as to the number and probable weight of the porkers which the old man was fattening for the winter market. the subject lasted only until the two men reached the door, however, and then each sympathized with the other over the wounds received at the hands, or tongue, of the unsentimental and irreligious crupp. yet the more they talked of crupp, the less they seemed to realize their pain.
[100]
tom adams went straight to his employer’s store, and exclaimed, not in his usual ingenuous manner,
“deacon, old berry won’t take that load of bricks unless he gets ’em right off; i guess i’ll take ’em right out to him. it’s a long trip, but there’s three hours yet ’fore dark.”
“be sure you do, then, thomas,” said the deacon.
tom was soon in his wagon, and going toward the brick-yard at a livelier rate than was consistent with the proper care of horses with a long, heavy pull before them. the bricks were loaded with apparent regard to count, but not in good order, and, as tom followed the road to old berry’s, he soliloquized:
“i ort to be able to ketch him after i deliver the bricks, but what in thunder am i to say to him? like enough he’ll knock me down if i don’t look out. that’s just the notion, i de-clare! i can knock him down, and put him right in the wagon and bring him back; the joltin’ would fetch him to and clear his head, like it’s done mine often enough when i’ve been in his fix. but, hang it, what a ridick’lus goose-chase it does look like!”
meanwhile the reverend timotheus brown had[101] limped down the main street, looking a little more unapproachable than usual. as he reached the edge of the town, however, where there began the low plain which led to the river, he quickened his pace somewhat, and he did not stop until he reached the river. upon a raft sat a man fishing, and near by a canoe was tied; in this latter the preacher seated himself, having first untied it.
“hello, there! what are you a-doin’ with my dug-out?” shouted the fisherman.
“the lord hath need of it!” roared the old divine, picking up the paddle.
“well, i’ll be——!” exclaimed the man; “if that ain’t the coolest! the lord’ll get a duckin’, i reckon, for that’s the wobbliest canoe. i don’t know, though; the old fellow paddles as if he were used to it.”
away down the river went the reverend timotheus; at the same time fred macdonald, on horseback, hailed the ferry-boat, crossed the river, and galloped down the opposite bank, and crupp, a half an hour later, might have been seen lying on his oars in a skiff in a shallow a mile above the town, waiting to board the excellence, as she came down the stream.
[102]
“’pears to me preachers are out for a walk to-day,” said one old lady to another across a garden fence, in one edge of the town. “i saw mr. brown ’way down the street ever so far to-day, an’ now here’s brother wedgewell ’way out here. i thought like enough he was goin’ to call, but he went straight along an’ only bowed, awful solemn.”
parson wedgewell certainly walked very fast, and the more ground he covered the more rapidly his feet moved, and not his feet only. in long stretches of road shut in by forest trees he found himself devoid of a single mental restraint, and he thought aloud as he walked.
“rebuked by a sinner! o god! with my whole heart i have sought thee, and thou hast instead revealed thyself not only unto babes and sucklings, but unto one who is certainly not like unto one of these little ones. teach me thy will, for verily in written books i fear i have found it not. what if the boat reaches the landing before i do, and this lost sheep escapes me? father in heaven, the shepherd is astray in his way, even as the sheep is; but o thou! who didst say that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, make the feeble power of man to triumph over great engines[103] and the hurrying of mighty waters. fulfill thy promise, o god, for the sake of the soul thou hast committed to my charge!”
then, like a man who believed in helping his own prayers along, the parson snatched off his coat and hat and increased his speed. he was far outside of his own parish, for most of his congregation were townsmen, and the old pastor knew no more of the geography of the country about him than he did of chinese tartary. he had taken what was known as the “river road,” and thus far his course had been plain; now, however, he reached a place where the road divided, and which branch to take he did not know. ordinary sense of locality would have taught him in an instant, but the parson had no such sense; there was no house in sight at which he could ask his way, and, to add to his anxiety, the excellence came down the river to his left and rear, puffing and shrieking as if the making of hideous noises was the principal qualification of a river steamer. the old man fell upon his knees, raised his face and hands toward heaven, and exclaimed,
“the hosts of hell are pressing hard, o god! thou who didst guide thy chosen people with a pillar[104] of fire, show now to thy unworthy servant that thou art god!”
what the parson saw he never told, but he sprang to his feet and went down the left-hand road at a lively run, a moment after tom adams, half a mile in the rear, had shaded his eyes and exclaimed,
“blamed if there isn’t a feller a-prayin’ right out in the road; if he wants anything that bad, i hope he’ll get it. travel, selim—get up, bill!—let’s see who he is.”
