Every Man for Himself Part 23

"You'll get wonderful wet, sir," said Aunt Tibbie, with a little frown of anxiety.

"I don't mind it in the least," cried the parson. "Not at all. I'm used to it."

Skipper Jonathan shut the door against the wind.

"Will it never stop blowin'!" Aunt Tibbie complained.

Outside, wind and rain had their way with the world. Aunt Tibbie and Skipper Jonathan exchanged glances. They were thinking of the dawn.

"I'm wantin' t' go t' bed, Tibbie," Jonathan sighed, "for I'm wonderful tired."

"An' I'm tired, too, dear," said Aunt Tibbie, softly. "Leave us all go t' bed."

They were soon sound asleep....

Parson All turned out to be a mild little old man with spectacles. His eyes were blue-faded, watery, shy: wherein were many flashes of humor and kindness. His face was smooth and colorless-almost as white as his hair, which was also long and thin and straight. When Jonathan came in from the sea after dark-from the night and wet and vast confusion of that place-Parson All was placidly rocking by the kitchen fire, his hands neatly folded, his trousers drawn up, so that his ankles and calves might warm; and the kitchen was in a joyous tumult, with which the little old man from Satan's Trap was in benevolent sympathy.

Jonathan had thought to find the house solemn, the wife in a fl.u.s.ter, the twins painfully washed and brushed, the able seamen of the little crew glued to their stools; but no! the baby was crowing in the cradle, the twins tousled and grinning, the wife beaming, the little crew rolling on the floor-the whole kitchen, indeed, in a gratefully familiar condition of chaos and glee.

At once they sat down to supper.

"I'm glad t' have you, parson," said Jonathan, his broad, hairy face shining with soap and delight. "That I is. I'm _glad_ t' have you."

The parson's smile was winning.

"Jonathan haves a wonderful taste for company," Aunt Tibbie explained.

The man defended himself. "I isn't able t' help it," said he. "I loves t' feed folk. An' I isn't able, an' I never was able, an' I never will be able t' help it. Here's your brewis, sir. Eat hearty of it. Don't spare it."

"They's more in the pot," Aunt Tibbie put in.

The parson's gentle eye searched the table-as our eyes have often done.

A bit of hopeful curiosity-nothing more: a thing common to us all, saints and sinners alike. We have all been hungry and we have all hoped; but few of us, I fancy, being faint of hunger-and dyspeptic-have sat down to a bowl of brewis. 'Tis no sin, in parson or layman, to wish for more; for the Lord endowed them both with hunger, and cursed many, indiscriminately, with indigestion. Small blame, then, to the parson, who was desperately hungry; small blame to Jonathan, who had no more to give. There is no fault anywhere to be descried. Ah, well! the parson's roving eye was disappointed, but twinkled just the same; it did not darken-nor show ill-humor. There was a great bowl of brewis-a mountain of it. 'Twas eyed by the twins with delight. But there was nothing more.

The parson's eye-the shy, blue, twinkling eye-slyly sought the stove; but the stove was bare. And still the mild eyes continued full of benevolence and satisfaction. He was a _man_-that parson!

"Windy weather," said he, with an engaging smile.

"Never seed nothin' _like_ it!" Jonathan declared.

The twins were by this time busy with their forks, their eyes darting little glances at the parson, at the parson's overloaded plate, at the ruin of the mountain.

"Wind in the east," the parson remarked.

Jonathan was perturbed. "You isn't very hearty the night," said he.

"Oh, dear me, yes!" the parson protested. "I was just about to begin."

The faces of the twins were by this overcast.

"Don't spare it, parson."

The parson gulped a mouthful with a wry face-an obstinately wry face; he could _not_ manage to control it. He smiled at once-a quick, sweet comprehensive little smile. It was heroic-he was sure that it was! And it _was_! He could do no more. 'Twas impossible to take the brewis. A melancholy-ay, and perilous-situation for a hungry man: an old man, and a dyspeptic. Conceive it, if you can!

"_That_ ain't hearty," Aunt Tibbie complained.

"To be frank," said the parson, in great humiliation-"to be perfectly frank, I like brewis, but-"

The happiness faded from Aunt Tibbie's eyes.

"-I don't find it inspiring," the parson concluded, in shame.

The twins promptly took advantage of the opportunity to pa.s.s their plates for more.

"Dyspepsey?" Aunt Tibbie inquired.

"It might be called that," Parson All replied, sweeping the board with a smile, but yet with a flush of guilt and shame, "by a physician."

"Poor man!" Aunt Tibbie signed.

There was a brief silence-expectant, but not selfishly so, on the part of the parson; somewhat despairing on the part of the hosts.

"Well, parson," Skipper Jonathan said, doggedly, "all you got t' do is _ask_ for what you wants."

"No, no!"

"That's all you got t' do," Jonathan persisted.

"Most kind of you, sir! But-no, no!"

"Please do!" Aunt Tibbie begged.

But the parson was not to be persuaded. Not Parson All of Satan's Trap-a kindly, sensitive soul! He was very hungry, to be sure, and must go hungry to bed (it seemed); but he would not ask for what he wanted.

To-morrow? Well, _something_ had to be done. He would yield-he _must_ yield to the flesh-a little. This he did timidly: with shame for the weakness of the flesh. He resented the peculiarity of brewis in his particular case. Indeed, he came near to rebellion against the Lord-no, not rebellion: merely rebellious questionings. But he is to be forgiven, surely; for he wished most earnestly that he might eat brewis and live-just as you and I might have done.

"Now, Parson All," Jonathan demanded, "you just _got_ t' tell."

And, well, the parson admitted that a little bread and a tin of beef-to be taken sparingly-would be a grateful diet.

"But we've none!" cried Aunt Tibbie. "An' this night you'll starve!"

"To-night," said the parson, gently, "my stomach-is a bit out-anyhow."

Presently he was shown to his bed....

"I 'low," said Aunt Tibbie, when the parson was stowed away and she had caught Skipper Jonathan's wavering eye, "he'd better have more'n that."