LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

all in league with the devil," said the old man, wildly; and so the battle raged on.

      Milton and Radbourn escaped from it, and got out into the clear, cold, untainted night.

      "The heat of the furnace doesn't reach as far as the horses," Radbourn moralized, as he aided in unhitching the shivering team. "In the vast, calm spaces of the stars, among the animals, such scenes as we have just seen are impossible." He lifted his hand in a lofty gesture. The light fell on his pale face and dark eyes. The girls were a little indignant and disposed to take the preacher's part. They thought Bacon had no right to speak out that way, and Miss Graham uttered her protest, as they whirled away on the homeward ride with pleasant jangle of bells.

      "But the secret of it all was," said Radbourn in answer, "Pill knew he was acting a part. I don't mean that he meant to deceive, but he got excited, and his audience responded as an audience does to an actor of the first class, and he was for the time in earnest; his imagination did see those horrors—he was swept away by his own words. But when Bacon spoke, his dry tone and homely words brought everybody, preacher and all, back to the earth with a thump! Everybody saw, that after weeping and wailing there for an hour, they'd go home, feed the calves, hang up the lantern, put out the cat, wind the clock, and go to bed. In other words, they all came back out of their barbaric powwow to their natural modern selves."

      This explanation had palpable truth, but Lily perceived that it had wider application than to the meeting they had just left.

      "They'll be music around this clearing to-morrow," said Milton, with a sigh; "wish I was at home this week."

      "But what'll become of Mr. Pill?"

      "Oh, he'll come out all right," Radbourn assured her, and Milton's clear tenor rang out as he drew Eileen closer to his side:—

      "O silver moon, O silver moon,

       You set, you set too soon—

       The morrow day is far away,

       The night is but begun."

      IV

      The news, grotesquely exaggerated, flew about the next day, and at night, though it was very cold and windy, the house was jammed to suffocation. On these lonely prairies life is so devoid of anything but work, dramatic entertainments are so few, and appetite so keen, that a temperature of twenty degrees below zero is no bar to a trip of ten miles. The protracted meeting was the only recreation for many of them. The gossip before and after service was a delight not to be lost, and this last sensation was dramatic enough to bring out old men and women who had not dared to go to church in winter for ten years.

      Long before seven o'clock, the schoolhouse blazed with light and buzzed with curious speech. Team after team drove up to the door, and as the drivers leaped out to receive the women, they said in low but eager tones to the bystanders:—

      "Meeting begun yet?"

      "Nope!"

      "What kind of a time y' havin' over here, any way?"

      "A mighty solumn time," somebody would reply with a low laugh.

      By seven o'clock every inch of space was occupied; the air was frightful. The kerosene lamps gave off gas and smoke, the huge stove roared itself into an angry red on its jack-oak grubs, and still people crowded in at the door.

      Discussion waxed hot as the stove; two or three Universalists boldly attacked everybody who came their way. A tall man stood on a bench in the corner, and, thumping his Bible wildly with his fist, exclaimed, at the top of his voice:—

      "There is no hell at all! The Bible says the wicked perish utterly. They are consumed as ashes when they die. They perish as dogs!"

      "What kind o' docterin' is that?" asked a short man of Councill.

      "I d'know. It's ol' Sam Richards. Calls himself a Christian—Christadelphian 'r some new-fangled name."

      At last people began to inquire, "Well, ain't he comin'?"

      "Most time f'r the Elder to come, ain't it?"

      "Oh, I guess he's preparin' a sermon."

      John Jennings pushed anxiously to Daddy Brown.

      "Ain't the Elder comin'?"

      "I d'know. He didn't stay at my house."

      "He didn't?"

      "No. Thought he went home with you."

      "I ain't see 'im 't all. I'll ask Councill. Brother Councill, seen anything of the Elder?"

      "No. Didn't he go home with Bensen?"

      "I d'n know. I'll see."

      This was enough to start the news that "Pill had skipped."

      This the deacons denied, saying "he'd come or send word."

      Outside, on the leeward side of the house, the young men who couldn't get in stood restlessly, now dancing a jig, now kicking their huge boots against the underpinning to warm their toes. They talked spasmodically as they swung their arms about their chests, speaking from behind their huge buffalo-coat collars.

      The wind roared through the creaking oaks; the horses stirred complainingly, the bells on their backs crying out querulously; the heads of the fortunates inside were shadowed outside on the snow, and the restless young men amused themselves betting on which head was Bensen and which Councill.

      At last some one pounded on the desk inside. The suffocating but lively crowd turned with painful adjustment toward the desk, from whence Deacon Bensen's high, smooth voice sounded:—

      "Brethren an' sisters, Elder Pill hain't come—and, as it's about eight o'clock, he probably won't come to-night. After the disturbances last night, it's—a—a—we're all the more determined to—the—a—need of reforming grace is more felt than ever. Let us hope nothing has happened to the Elder. I'll go see to-morrow, and if he is unable to come—I'll see Brother Wheat, of Cresco. After prayer by Brother Jennings, we will adjourn till to-morrow night. Brother Jennings, will you lead us in prayer?" (Some one snickered.) "I hope the disgraceful—a—scenes of last night will not be repeated."

      "Where's Pill?" demanded a voice in the back part of the room. "That's what I want to know."

      "He's a bad pill," said another, repeating a pun already old.

      "I guess so! He borrowed twenty dollars o' me last week," said the first voice.

      "He owes me for a pig," shouted a short man, excitedly. "I believe he's skipped to get rid o' his debts."

      "So do I. I allus said he was a mighty queer preacher."

      "He'd bear watchin' was my idee fust time I ever see him."

      "Careful, brethren—careful. He may come at any minute."

      "I don't care if he does. I'd bone him f'r pay f'r that shote, preacher 'r no preacher," said Bartlett, a little nervously.

      High words followed this, and there was prospect of a fight. The pressure of the crowd, however, was so great it was well-nigh impossible for two belligerents to get at each other. The meeting broke up at last, and the people, chilly, soured, and disappointed at the lack of developments, went home saying Pill was scaly; no preacher who chawed terbacker was to be trusted, and when it was learned that the horse and buggy he drove he owed Jennings and Bensen for, everybody said, "He's a fraud."

      V

      In the meantime, Andrew Pill was undergoing the most singular and awful mental revolution.

      When he leaped blindly into his cutter and gave his horse the rein, he was wild with rage and shame, and a sort of fear. As he sat with bent head, he did not hear the tread of the horse, and did not see the trees glide past. The rabbit leaped away under the shadow of the thick groves of young oaks; the

Скачать книгу