Every Man for Himself Part 22

Totley jumped from the counter. "Look you Jonathan!" said he, decisively, "she can _have_ it."

Jonathan beamed.

"She can have what she wants for herself, look you! but she can't have no oil-skins for the twins, though 'tis their birthday. 'Tis hard times, Jonathan, with the wind glued t' the east; an' the twins is got t' go wet. What kind she want? Eh? I got two kinds in the case. I don't recommend neither o' them."

Jonathan scratched his head.

"Well, then," said the trader, "you better find out. If she's goin' t'

have it at all, she better have the kind she hankers for."

Jonathan agreed.

"Skipper Jonathan," said the trader, much distressed, "we're so poor at Candlestick Cove that we ought t' be eatin' moss. I'll have trouble enough, this fall, gettin' flour from St. John's t' go 'round. Skipper Jonathan, if you could get your allowance o' flour down t' five barrels instead o' six, I'd thank you. The young ones is growin', I knows; but-well, I'd thank you, Jonathan, I'd thank you!"

"Mister Totley, sir," Jonathan Stock replied, solemnly, "I _will_ get that flour down t' five. Don't you fret no more about feedin' my little crew," he pleaded. "'Tis kind o' you; an' I'm sorry you've t' fret."

"Thank you, Jonathan."

"An' ... you wouldn't mind lashin' this bit o' cotton on my wrist, would you, sir? The sleeve o' my jacket sort o' chafes the sore."

"A bad hand, Jonathan!"

"No-oh no; _it_ ain't bad. I've had scores of un in my time. It don't amount t' nothin'. Oh no-it ain't what you might call _bad_!"

The wrist was bound anew. Jonathan stumbled down the dark steps to the water-side, glad that his wife was to have that which she so much desired. He pushed out in the punt. She was only a woman, he thought, with an indulgent smile, but she _did_ want-that little thing. The wind was high-the rain sweeping out of the east. He turned the bow of the punt toward a point of light shining cheerily far off in the dark, tumultuous night.

Jonathan Stock had no more than got off his soggy boots, and washed his hands, and combed his hair, and drawn close to the kitchen fire-while his wife clattered over the bare floor about the business of his comfort-when Parson Jaunt tapped and entered: and folded his umbrella, and wiped his face with a white handkerchief, and jovially rubbed his hands together. This was a hearty, stout little man, with a double chin and a round, rosy face; with twinkling eyes; with the jolliest little paunch in the world; dressed all in black cloth, threadbare and shiny, powdered with dandruff upon the shoulders; and wearing a gigantic yellow chain hanging from pocket to pocket of the waistcoat, and wilted collar and cuffs, and patent-leather shoes, which were muddy and cracked and turned up at the toes. A hearty welcome he got; and he had them all laughing at once-twins and all. Even the chickens in the coop under the settee clucked, and the kid behind the stove rapturously bleated, and the last baby chuckled, and the dog yawned and shook his hind quarters, joyfully awake.

'Twas always comforting to have Parson Jaunt drop in. Wherever he went among the folk of Candlestick Cove, in wet weather or dry, poor times or bad, there was a revival of jollity. His rippling person, smiling face, quick laugh, amiable intimacy, his quips and questions, his way with children-these made him beloved. Ay, there was always a welcome for Parson Jaunt!

"Ha, ha! Yes," the parson proceeded, "the brethren will be here on the next mail-boat for the district meeting. Ha, ha! Well, well, now! And how's the baby getting along, Aunt Tibbie? Hut! you little toad; don't you laugh at me!"

But the baby would.

"Ha-a-a, you rat! You _will_ laugh, will you? He's a fine child, that.... And I was thinking, Skipper Jonathan, that you and Aunt Tibbie might manage Parson All of Satan's Trap. Times are hard, of course; but it's the Lord's work, you know.... Eh? Get out, you squid! Stop that laughing!"

The baby could not.

"Stop it, I say!"

The baby doubled up, and squirmed, and wiggled his toes, and gasped with glee.

"Yes," the parson continued, "that you might manage Parson All of Satan's Trap."

"T' be sure!" cried Skipper Jonathan. "We'll manage un, an' be glad!"

Aunt Tibbie's face fell.

"That's good," said the parson. "Now, that _is_ good news. 'Tis most kind of you, too," he added, earnestly, "in these hard times. And it ends my anxiety. The brethren are now all provided for.... Hey, you wriggler! Come out of that! Ha, ha! Well, well!" He took the baby from the cradle. "Gi' me a kiss, now. Hut! You won't? Oh, you _will_, will you?" He kissed the baby with real delight. "I thought so. Ha! I thought so." He put the baby back. "You little s...o...b..ry squid!" said he, with a last poke. "Ha! you little squid!"

Aunt Tibbie's face was beaming. Anxiety and weariness were for the moment both forgot. 'Twas good, indeed, to have Parson Jaunt drop in!

"Eh, woman?" Jonathan inquired.

"Oh, ay!" she answered. "We've always a pillow an' a bite t' eat for the Lard's anointed."

"The Lord's anointed!" the parson repeated, quickly. "Ah, that's it, sister," said he, the twinkle gone from his upturned eyes. "I've a notion to take that up next Sunday. And Parson All," he continued, "is a saintly fellow. Yes, indeed! Converted at the age of seven. He's served the Lord these forty years. Ah, dear me! what a profitable season you'll be having with him! A time of uplifting, a time of-of-yes, indeed!-uplifting." The parson was not clever; he was somewhat limited as to ideas, as to words; indeed, 'twas said he stuttered overmuch in preaching and was given to repet.i.tion. But he was sincere in the practise of his profession, conceiving it a holy calling; and he did the best he could, than which no man can do more. "A time," he repeated, "of-of-yes-of uplifting."

Aunt Tibbie was taken by an anxious thought. "What do he fancy," she asked, "for feedin'?"

"Ha, ha!" the parson exploded, in his delightfully jocular way. "That's the woman of it. Well, well, now! Yes, indeed! There speaks the good housewife. Eh, Skipper Jonathan? _You're_ well looked after, I'll warrant. That's rather good, you know, coming from you, Aunt Tibbie. Ha, ha! Why, Aunt Tibbie, he eats anything. Anything at all! You'll want very little extra-very, very little extra. But he'll tell you when he comes. Don't worry about that. Just what you have for yourselves, you know. If it doesn't agree with him, he'll ask for what he desires."

"Sure, _sir_!" said Skipper Jonathan, heartily. "Just let un ask for it."

"Ay," Aunt Tibbie echoed, blankly; "just let un ask for it. Sure, he can speak for hisself."

"Of _course_!" cried the parson, jovially. "Why, to be sure! _That's_ the hospitality for me! Nothing formal about that. That's just what makes us Newfoundlanders famous for hospitality. That's what I _like_.

'Just let un ask.'"

The clock struck. Skipper Jonathan turned patiently to the dial. He must be at sea by dawn. The gale, still blowing high, promised heavy labor at the oars. He was depressed by the roar and patter of the night. There came, then, an angry gust of rain-out of harmony with the parson's jovial spirit: sweeping in from the black sea where Jonathan must toil at dawn.

"Ay," he sighed, indifferently.

Aunt Tibbie gave him an anxious glance.

"Yes, indeed! Ha, ha!" the parson laughed. "Let me see, now," he rattled. "To-morrow. Yes, yes; to-morrow _is_ Tuesday. Well, now, let me see; yes-mm-m-m, of course, that's right-you will have the privilege of entertaining Brother All for four days. I wish it was more. I wish for your sake," he repeated, honestly, being unaware of the true situation in this case, "that it _could_ be more. But it can't. I a.s.sure you, it can't. He _must_ get the mail-boat north. Pity," he continued, "the brethren can't linger. These district meetings are so helpful, so inspiring, so refreshing. Yes, indeed! And then the social aspect-the relaxation, the flow of soul! We parsons are busy men-cooped up in a study, you know; delving in books. Our brains get tired. Yes, indeed!

They need rest." Parson Jaunt was quite sincere. Do not misunderstand him. 'Twould be unkind, even, to laugh at him. He was not clever; that is all. "Brain labor, Skipper Jonathan," he concluded, with an odd touch of pomposity, "is hard labor."

"Ay," said Skipper Jonathan, sympathetically; "you parsons haves wonderful hard lines. I Wouldn't like t' _be_ one. No, sir; not me!"

In this-in the opinion and feeling-Skipper Jonathan was sincere. He most properly loved Parson Jaunt, and was sorry for him, and he must not be laughed at.

"But," the parson argued, "we have the district meetings-times of refreshing: when brain meets brain, you know, and wit meets wit, and the sparks fly. Ha, ha! Yes, indeed! The social aspect is not to be neglected. Dear me, no! Now, for ill.u.s.tration, Mrs. Jaunt is to entertain the clergy at the parsonage on Thursday evening. Yes, indeed!

She's planned the refreshments already." The parson gave Aunt Tibbie a sly, sly glance, and burst out laughing. "Ha, ha!" he roared. "I know what you want. You want to know what she's going to have, don't you?

Woman's curiosity, eh? Ha, ha! Oh, you women!" Aunt Tibbie smiled.

"Well," said the parson, importantly, "I'll tell you. But it's a secret, mind you! Don't you tell Brother All!" Aunt Tibbie beamed. "Well," the parson continued, his voice falling to a whisper, "she's going to have a jelly-cake, and an angel-cake, and a tin of beef." The twins sat up, wide-eyed with attention. "Eh? Ha, ha!" the parson laughed. "You got that? And she's going to have something more." Aunt Tibbie leaned forward-agape, her eyes staring. The twins were already overcome. "Yes, indeed!" said the parson. "_She's got a dozen bananas from St. John's!_ Eh? Ha, ha! And she's going to slice 'em and put 'em in a custard. Ha, ha!"

The twins gasped.

"Ha, ha!" the parson roared.

They were all delighted-parson, skipper, housewife, and twins. Nor in providing this hospitality for the Black Bay clergy was the parson in thought or deed a selfish shepherd. It would be unkind-it would be most unfair-to think it. He was an honest, earnest servant of the Master he acknowledged, doing good at Candlestick Cove, in fair and foul weather.

He lived his life as best he could-earnestly, diligently, with pure, high purpose. But he was not clever: that is all. 'Twould be an evil thing for more brilliant folk (and possibly less kindly) to scorn him.

"Yes, indeed!" the parson laughed. "And look here, now-why, I must be off! Where's my umbrella? Here it is.... _Will_ you look at that baby, Aunt Tibbie? He's staring at me yet. Get out, you squid! Stop that laughing. Got a kiss for me? Oh, you _have_, have you? Then give it to me.... A fine baby that; yes, indeed! A fine baby.... Get out, you wriggler! Leave your toes be. Ha-a-a! I'll catch you-yes, I will!...

What a night it is! How the wind blows and the rain comes down! And no sign of fish, Skipper Jonathan? Ah, well, the Lord will provide.

Good-night. G.o.d bless you!"