the rev. and mrs. needham came out on to the porch, he preceding her through the doorway; there was just the faintest evidence of her shoving him on a little.
her whispered "yes, alf, yes!" might, of course, represent an exclamation apropos of almost anything. for instance, the words might form the tail-end of almost any sort of domestic conversation—or perhaps a talk about holding a sunday school rally in the fall. the incomplete phrase might, in one's imagination, expand itself into something like this: "yes, we really must. nothing like a well-planned rally to stir up the interest of the young folks. yes, alf, yes!" but as a matter of fact, mrs. needham and her husband had not been discussing any such matters. the authentic conversation, to go back a little, which had just antedated egress from the cottage living room, ran, in fact, as follows:
"alf, i do want you two to get better acquainted!"
"what?"
"more intimate, and not...."
"well, anna?"
"not quite so—so stiff, somehow...."
"h'm-m-m!"
[pg 130]
"alf, she's so good-hearted. if it's true she has changed any way, who knows but you might have an influence ...?"
he sighed heavily. they stood facing each other. it became a little formal.
"alf, this would be a splendid chance. she's right out there on the steps!"
"oh, well—really! not this morning. no, not just now, when we're all keyed up about barry. in the course of time, i daresay...."
"oh, now, alf," she coaxed, in a very low, throaty, persuasive contralto. "oh, do go out there now! i'll call hilda in for something. there's—there's some mending—ought to be done right away," she quickly added, as the suspicion hovered between them that hilda would be called in on mere pretense.
"anna, maybe this afternoon."
"now! oh, alf—now!"
"anna, i—"
"yes, alf, yes!"
and so he was gently pushed on to the porch.
hilda and marjory looked up. there was a barricade of mosquito netting between them and the emerged pair. hilda was flushed. she had just been waving to some one in the water. marjory's eyes kindled with indefinite mirth, and at this kindling the minister's heart quaked a little. there was something about his wife's sister—yes, he thoroughly admitted it now; there was something about her. she was strange and incompatible. had she, [pg 131]indeed, become inclined to be atheistical in her beliefs? was that what made him feel so uncomfortable, always, in her presence? he a man of the pulpit, it would be natural that the ungodly should fill him with distrust; natural they should make him wary and cautious. was it that in marjory? was it that?
"hilda, see here a minute," said mrs. needham; and she beckoned discreetly. hilda followed her mother into the cottage.
this left the rev. needham on one side of the screening and miss whitcom on the other. miss whitcom still sat on the second step with the pen in her hand. she had dipped the pen a good many times, but the letter was no further advanced. she turned to watch leslie get in the last full strokes and crawl out. he lay in the hot sand a moment or so before racing indoors.
the rev. needham had sunk into the nearest chair, and sat there rocking, with just perceptible nervousness, clearing his throat from time to time in a manner which appeared to afford that portion of his anatomy no appreciable relief. it seemed a kind of moral clearing. it was the vague articulation of incertitude.
as a matter of fact, marjory had forgotten all about her brother-in-law. she was musing. at length a more desperate laryngeal disturbance than any that had preceded brought her back to contemporary consciousness.
[pg 132]
"ho!" she cried. "i didn't know you were there, alfred!" there were times when he thought her almost coarse.
"i thought i'd just come out here a few minutes," he said. "it's quite cool on this side, till the sun gets round." the minister sighed. he had an uncomfortable inner feeling that he hadn't quite justified his presence. it was, to be sure, his own porch; but that did not make any difference. dimly he hoped his relation would not relinquish her position on the second step.
marjory dipped her pen again, but the letter was doomed. with a gesture of languid, smiling despair the task was conclusively abandoned.
"no, it's no use," she muttered, rather unintelligibly. "i never can concentrate at a resort."
"beg pardon, marjory?"
"i just want to dream and dream all day. isn't it dreadfully delightful?"
"yes—we like it up here," he replied, the least bit stiffly.
"alfred, how did you ever happen to come so far?"
"so far?"
"yes; aren't there any resorts in ohio?"
"well, you see it was, to begin with, on account of the summer assembly...."
she didn't fully fathom it until he had explained: "we're a sort of religious colony here on the point."
"oh-h-h!" cried the lady then, with the air of one[pg 133] who is vastly—perhaps a little satirically—enlightened. "i understand now what anna meant yesterday when she spoke about 'visiting clergymen.' you hold meetings, i presume, and then have some refreshments at the end?"
"no refreshments," he replied, in a rather dry tone, reproving her at the same time, with an almost sharp glance.
"well," she agreed, with a touch of apology, "i suppose you wouldn't. i was thinking of some of our tahulamaji pow-wows."
to this he made no reply; but the somewhat chill dignity of the silence which ensued provoked, alas, an even more unfortunate question.
"alfred, i know you'll consider me perfectly awfully impossible, but it's been such a long time.... i've forgotten—i really have.... it—it isn't methodist, is it ...?"
"methodist, marjory?"
"what i mean is, you're not.... oh, alfred, for heaven's sake before i simply explode with chagrin, do quickly tell me what you are!"
"my denomination?" he asked unhappily.
"that's the word! do please forgive a poor creature who's lived so long in out-of-the-way places that she's half forgotten how to be civilized!"
"there are certain things," the rev. needham told himself icily, "one never quite forgets, unless one...." he started a little, raised his eyes wanly to hers, but shifted them quickly to the[pg 134] landscape. "i am a congregational minister, marjory," he said.
"oh, dear me! of course! i'm sure i remembered subconsciously. don't you think such a thing is possible?"
"you mean ...?" he seemed unable fully to concentrate, either—though not primarily because this was a resort.
"i mean remembering subconsciously. but you see it's all because in tahulamaji we get so fearfully lax about everything."
was this his cue? he fidgeted, glanced sidewise to see whether his wife were within range of his voice.
"i presume there's a great deal of laxness in tahulamaji...."
"well," she pondered, accepting his wider implication. "yes, i'm afraid so. still, of course, one must never lose sight of the missionaries."
"yes!" brightened her brother-in-law. "we help support a missionary in tahulamaji. perhaps you—"
"no, alfred, no. i'm afraid i've never had that pleasure. you see i've been so busy, and the missionary seems always so busy, too."
"there's much to be done," he reminded her simply.
she was quite serious and respectful. he began to grow more at ease; more expansive; told her a great deal about what missionaries do in foreign[pg 135] lands, and especially what the missionary in tahulamaji was doing. his talk grew really interesting. then there was a shift which brought them round to the activities of the church in america.
"we're trying to broaden out all we can," he told her. "every year new opportunities seem to be opening up. we have to keep abreast of the times. for instance, there's the parish house—"
leslie's arrival interrupted them. he was now dressed in white and wore a purple tie. hilda came skipping across the porch and ran down the steps to him.
"you must wish us luck!" she called back over her shoulder.
"just bushels of it!" miss whitcom called loudly after them.
mrs. needham had come to the door of the cottage. she stood surveying the situation so laboriously contrived. having marjory out there on the second step and her husband above in the rocker, with a wall of netting between them, did not somehow seem very auspicious. but she sighed and quickly withdrew; it was better than no situation at all. she thought of a text her husband had used once: "be ye content with what the lord giveth"—or something to that effect.
the rev. needham cleared his throat, again privately a little nervous. for no reason at all there had seemed to him a godless twang to her gracious, full-voiced "just bushels of it!"
miss whitcom recovered the threads for him.[pg 136] "yes, yes, alfred. quite so. you were saying something about a parish house."
"we hope to build one, in the spring ... if we can," he went on. "the money's partly raised. of course it takes a long time—money doesn't seem very plentiful just now. but the parish house, when we get it"—his eyes lighted softly—"will add so much to our practical facilities."
she noted this softness, and it touched her a little. all the same she had some not very soothing things to say.
"yes, i've no doubt. i'm quite amazed—i may say almost frightened, alfred—at the development of the common-sense idea in america. you notice it especially, i suppose, coming in like this from a long absence. the change, i may say, quite smites one. it's baffling—it's bewildering! good gracious, all the old, moony victorianism gone! the whole ecclesiastical life of the community made over into something so dashing and up-to-date that i tell you frankly, alfred, i'd be almost afraid to go into a church, for fear i might no longer know how to behave! it's amazing, alfred—it really is—how 'practical' religion has grown. i tell you i never would have dreamed the church had such a future! i come back from my long sojourn in heathendom, and what do i find? i find religion all slicked up on to a strict business basis. at last the church of god has reached an appreciation of the value and importance of money! everywhere you read of mammoth [pg 137]campaigns to raise millions of dollars. you have to have a real business head on your shoulders nowadays—don't you find it so, alfred?—to be a minister. it's wonderful simply beyond belief! if christ were to walk in suddenly i know he would have to show his card at the door. i know they would ask him what he came about and how long the interview would take. practical christianity, you call it, don't you, alfred?"
"marjory, i...."
"ah—now i've shocked you! yes, i see i have. you mustn't mind my speaking out so bluntly. it's a way i've rather fallen into of late, i'm afraid. and when i say the new christianity seems baffling to me, i mean it's quite splendidly baffling. practical christianity—what a fine idea it was! i wonder who thought of it. yes, the church was always too exclusive. there can be no doubt of it. practical christianity—practical philanthropy—with the elaborate social service bureaus—they've just simply transformed everything. what a hustle and bustle—and what undreamed-of efficiency! just think how efficiently the church stood back of the war! and yet—you must pardon me—i somehow can't help feeling that even with all its slogans and its hail-fellow slaps across your shoulders.... you know"—she interrupted herself, in a way, but it was to pursue the same trend of thought—"i had quite an adventure on the train, coming from new york. i watched a bishop retire! oh, don't look so scandalized, alfred. of course it was quite all right."
[pg 138]
"i hope so, marjory," he murmured limply.
"i must tell you about the bishop, alfred. he was just the kind of man you would expect a protestant bishop to be—his face, i mean. calm—so very calm—and so gently yet firmly ecclesiastic! he wore an unobtrusive but stylish clerical costume of soft grey, and a little gold cross hung round his neck—you know. it struck me as never before how close the episcopacy is snuggling up to rome.... oh, but i must tell you about the bishop's going to bed!"
the rev. needham sat there almost breathless on his screened porch. his dismay might have struck one as speechless—at any rate, he was speechless.
"the bishop," continued miss whitcom, "seemed very weary. there was a quiet, tired look in his eyes. he had his dinner early, sitting all alone at one of the little tables on the shady side. i ate my dinner at another of the little tables, and was quite fascinated. there was something so patrician about him. he was so subtly sleek! i didn't see him again until his berth was made up. but the making up, alfred, was what fascinated me more than the bishop himself! the porter was just fitting things together when i came in from my simple dinner. he spread down one mattress, and then—alfred, i gasped to see it—he spread down another right on top of it!"
"another, marjory?" the minister appeared quite absorbed, almost fascinated.
[pg 139]
"had he taken the whole section?" she demanded.
to this no reply was ventured, and she continued:
"or did he get them both as a kind of divine dispensation? anyway, the bed, i must say, looked almost royal. there were four pillows instead of two, and they were given little special pats and caresses. all of a sudden i thought of jacob's stone, alfred. wasn't it funny? i couldn't help it. and then i thought about 'the son of man hath not where to lay his head'—wasn't it curious? and then, only then, alfred (you see how slow i am), it occurred to me that this must be a part of the new order of things! it came to me almost like an inspiration that the bed of the bishop must have something to do with practical christianity. but i'm forgetting the last appealing touch, alfred. the bishop had a huge bag of golf sticks with him. they reposed all night in the upper berth!"
she ended her rather long story about the bishop; and its precise interpretation remained a thing of doubt for the minister. was she serious? or was she only laughing? his bearing now argued a preparedness for either mood. but whatever her motive, in a moment miss whitcom appeared to have forgotten all about the bishop and to be busy with other matters. the rev. needham sat on his own side of the netting and didn't know just what he ought to do or say. what was to be done, what said? fortunately, at this vaguely uncomfortable juncture,[pg 140] there came another, and this time a really important, interruption.
steps were heard on the sparse planking which served for sidewalk between beachcrest and the road to crystalia.
the minister, rising quickly, began rubbing his hands together. "it must be mr. barry," he said.
mrs. needham appeared at the cottage door, as though bidden by some psychic intelligence. "are they here?" she asked excitedly.
"i can't see yet, for the shrubbery. but i think i hear louise's voice."
"i see her," miss whitcom advised them from her position on the steps. "and what's more," she added, while her sister hastily patted and preened herself, "i see him also!"
"mr. barry?"
"um. rather tall. not exactly bad looking.... but," she added darkly, "they're walking ever so far apart!"
what did she mean by that? the rev. needham glanced a little nervously at his wife and unconsciously began humming the invocation.
they arrived. lynndal was presented to mrs. needham, then to miss whitcom. he was, of course, very warmly greeted by the minister.
louise looked troubled....
the dutch clock in the cottage living room set up a spiteful striking: one, two, three, four (each stroke tart and inimical), five, six, seven, eight (as[pg 141] though from the very depths of its mechanism it would cry out against the terrific irony of life), nine, ten....
lynndal had come all the way from arizona.
