“Oh, it’s fur the likes o’ you, Thomas Donaldson, to be a-talkin’ o’ docterns an’ whisky in the same breath. You never did have no reverence,” said the old man, testily.
“An’ yet, Dan’l, I’ve found docterns an’ whisky give out by the same breath.”
Mr. Hastings did not think it necessary to notice this remark. He went on with his tirade against the prospective “supply:” “Why can’t Elder Simpson preach hisself, I’d like to know, instead o’ puttin’ up that young upstart to talk to his betters? Why, I mind the time that that boy had to be took out o’ church by the hand fur laffin’ at me—at me, mind you,” the old man repeated, shaking his stick; “laffin’ at me when I was expoundin’ the word.”
“That’s ter’ble, Dan’l; fur, as fur as I kin ricollec’, when you’re a-expoundin’ the word it ain’t no laffin’ matter.”
“I tell you, Thomas Donaldson, the world’s a-goin’ down hill fast: but I ain’t a-goin’ to help it along. I ain’t a-goin’ to hear that Brent boy preach.”
This declaration, however, did not prevent the venerable Dan’l from being early in his seat on the following Sunday morning, sternly, uncompromisingly critical.
As might have been expected, the church was crowded. Friends, enemies, and the merely curious filled the seats and blocked the aisles. The chapel had been greatly enlarged to accommodate its growing congregation, but on this day it was totally inadequate to hold the people who flocked to its doors.
The Rev. Mr. Simpson was so far recovered from his indisposition as to be able to be present and assist at the service. Elizabeth was there, looking proud and happy and anxious. Mrs. Hodges was in her accustomed place on the ladies’ side of the pulpit. She had put new strings to her bonnet in honour of the occasion. Her face wore a look of great severity. An unregenerate wag in the back part of the church pointed her out to his companions and remarked that she looked as if she’d spank the preacher if he didn’t do well. “Poor fellow, if he sees that face he’ll break down, sure.” Opposite, in the “amen corner,” the countenance of the good Eliphalet was a study in changing expressions. It was alternately possessed by fear, doubt, anxiety, and exultation.
Sophy Davis sat in a front seat, spick and span in a new dress, which might have been made for the occasion. People said that she was making eyes at her young fellow-salesman, though she was older than he. Mrs. Martin and her friend whispered together a little farther back.
A short time before the service began, Brent entered by a side door near the pulpit and ascended to his place. His entrance caused a marked sensation. His appearance was impressive. The youthful face was white and almost rigid in its lines. “Scared to death,” was the mental note of a good many who saw him. But his step was firm. As Elizabeth looked at him, she felt proud that such a man loved her. He was not handsome. His features were irregular, but his eyes were clear and fearless. If a certain cowardice had held him back from this ordeal, it was surely not because he trembled for himself. The life he had lived and the battles he had fought had given a compression to his lips that corrected a natural tendency to weakness in his mouth. His head was set squarely on his broad shoulders. He was above medium height, but not loosely framed. He looked the embodiment of strength.
“He ain’t a bit like his father,” said someone.
“He’s like his father was in his best days,” replied another.
“He don’t look like he’s over-pleased with the business. They say he didn’t want to come.”
“Well, I guess it’s purty resky work gittin’ up to speak before all these people that’s knowed him all his life, an’ know where an’ what he come from.”
“They say, too, that he’s some pumpkins out at the college.”
“I ain’t much faith in these school-made preachers; but we’ ll soon see what he kin do in the pulpit. We’ve heerd preachers, an’ we kin compare.”
“That’s so: we’ve heerd some preachers in our day. He must toe the mark. He may be all right at college, but he’s in a pulpit now that has held preachers fur shore. A pebble’s all right among pebbles, but it looks mighty small ’longside o’ boulders. He’s preachin’ before people now. Why, Brother Simpson himself never would ’a’ got a special dispensation to hold the church all these years, ef it hadn’t been fur the people backin’ him up an’ Conference was afraid they’d leave the connection.”
“Well, ef this boy is anything, Lord only knows where he gets it, fur everybody knows—”
“ ’Sh!”
The buzz which had attended the young speaker’s entrance subsided as Mr. Simpson rose and gave out the hymn. That finished, he ran his eyes over the front seats of the assembly and then said, “Brother Hastings, lead us in prayer.”
The old man paused for an instant as if surprised, and then got slowly to his knees. It was a strange selection, but we have seen that this particular parson was capable of doing strange things. In the course of a supplication of some fifteen minutes’ duration, Brother Hastings managed to vent his spleen upon the people and to pay the Lord a few clumsy compliments. During the usual special blessing which is asked upon the preacher of the hour, he prayed, “O Lord, let not the rarin’ horses of his youth run away with Thy chariot of eternal truth. Lord, cool his head and warm his heart and settle him firm. Grant that he may fully realise where he’s a-standin’ at, an’ who he’s a-speakin’ to. Do Thou not let him speak, but speak through him, that Thy gospel may be preached today as Thy prophets of old preached
