Father Brighthopes Part 11

So the old clergyman talked on; his simple and natural words bubbling from his lips like crystal waters, and filling his companions' hearts with new and refreshing truths.

Chester drove up before a handsome white cottage, which was one of a thin cl.u.s.ter of houses grouped around an old-fashioned country meeting-house.

"Here our minister lives," said Mr. Royden. "You must see him, first of any."

He helped the old man out of the wagon, while Chester tied the horse.

"What a delightful residence!" said Father Brighthopes. "Ah! let me stop and take a look at these busy bees!"

There were two small hives perched upon a bench, under a plum-tree, and the happy insects were incessantly creeping in and out, through the small apertures,--flying abroad, humming in the flowers of the sweet thyme that loaded the air with fragrance, and coming home with their legs yellowed from tiny cups and bells. The old man was so charmed with the scene, that he could hardly be prevailed upon to leave it, and walk along the path towards the cottage door.

"We see so little of such delightful exhibitions of nature, in city life," said he, "that in the country I am like a child intoxicated with novelty."

They made but a brief call on the minister, who was a young and boyish-looking man of about twenty-five. He received them in his study, a luxurious little room, with a window open upon the little garden in front of the house, and shaded by thick jasmines, trained on the wall.

He showed no very warm inclination to sociability, but deigned to treat the old man with an air of deference and patronage, for which he no doubt gave himself much credit. It seemed quite a relief to him when his visitors arose to go, and he politely bowed them to the door.

"If any man leads an easy life, Mr. Corlis does," muttered Chester, as they went through the little gate.

"Hush, boy!" said his father, good-humoredly. "You can't expect a minister to go into the fields, to work with his hands."

"I don't say what I expect him to do; but I can tell pretty well what he does. During the week, he compiles commonplaces, which he calls sermons, drinks tea with his parishioners, and patronizes the sewing-circle. On the Sabbath he certainly labors hard, preaching dulness from the high pulpit, and mesmerizing his congregation."

"What do you talk such nonsense for?" returned Mr. Royden, laughing inwardly.

"Young men learn the ministers' trade, in order to live lazy lives, half the time," continued the young man.

"Too often--too often!"--Father Brighthopes shook his head sadly,--"but judge not all by the few. Idleness is a sore temptation to young clergymen, I know. Their position is fraught with peril. Alas for those who prefer their own ease to doing their Master's work! This consists not only in preaching Christianity from the pulpit, but in preaching it in their daily walks; in acting it, living it, carrying it like an atmosphere about them, and warming with its warmth the hearts of the poor and sorrowful. O, Lord, what a lovely and boundless field thou has given thy servants! Let them not lie idle in the shade of the creeds our fathers planted, nor cease to turn the soil and sow the seed!"

The earnest prayer thrilled the hearts of Chester and his father. It may be another heart was touched with its fire. Mr. Corlis overheard the words, as he listened at his study-window, and his cheek and forehead glowed with a blush of shame.

Mr. Royden and Chester took their old friend to make one or two more calls, and returned home for dinner. Samuel Cone felt very faint, as he lay on the gra.s.s in the yard, and saw them coming.

IX.

MARK, THE JOCKEY.

"What have you run away from that churn for?" cried Mrs. Royden, appearing at the door. "Go right back, and fetch the b.u.t.ter before you leave it again!"

"I'm tired," muttered Sam.

"Don't tell me about being tired! You can churn just as well as not."

"Hurts my foot!"

"You can lay your foot on a chair, and----Do you hear?" exclaimed Mrs.

Royden, growing impatient of his delay. "Don't let me have to speak to you again!"

Sam hopped into the wood-shed, and began to move the dasher up and down with exceeding moderation. When the wagon drove up to the door, he listened with a sick heart to hear if anything was said about the stray horse. Not a word was spoken on the subject. Even the silence frightened him.

He had never worked so industriously as when Chester entered the shed; and, as the latter pa.s.sed by without looking at him, he felt certain that retribution was at hand. He listened at the kitchen door, and trembled at every word that was spoken, thinking the next would be something about his unpardonable offence. But his agony was destined still to be prolonged.

"They an't going to say nothing about it till my foot gets well,"

thought he; "then they'll jest about kill me."

Mrs. Royden had been considerably fretted in getting dinner and her fault-finding had worried poor Hepsy almost to distraction, when the arrival of the clergyman lent quite a different aspect to affairs. He drew the attention of the young children, who had been very much in their mother's way, and dropped a few soft words of wisdom from his lips, which could be taken in a general sense, or understood by Mrs.

Royden as applying to her own annoyances in particular. Soon the table was ready, and the entire household, excepting Sam and Hepsy, gathered around it. The former, supposed to be churning, having been warned by Mrs. Royden that he could have no dinner until he had "fetched the b.u.t.ter," was listening to hear if there was any conversation about the horse; and the poor deformed girl, who had preferred to wait and take care of the baby, was shedding solitary tears from the depths of her unhappy heart.

After dinner, Father Brighthopes was sitting on the shaded gra.s.s in the yard, relating pleasant stories to the children, when an athletic young man made his appearance at the gate, leading a handsome sorrel horse.

"Hillo, Mark!" cried James, "have you been trading again?"

"Is your father at home?" asked the man with the horse.

James answered in the affirmative, and the other led his animal into the yard, making him dance around him as he approached the little group under the cherry-tree.

Even with hunger in prospective, Sam could not apply himself to the churn when he thought there was any fun going on out-doors. He hobbled out, and took his seat on the gra.s.s.

All the children were praising Mark's new horse, which he took especial delight in training before their eyes. At length he led him up to the tree, and talked to him coaxingly, smoothing his face and patting his shining neck.

"Where did you get that plaything?" asked Chester, coming out of the house.

"Ha, how do you do, Ches?" replied Mark, turning around. "When did you get home?"

He tied the halter to the tree, and began to feel of the animal's slender ankles, still maintaining a mysterious silence on the subject of his trade.

"Did you put away the brown horse for this?" asked Chester.

"Where is your father?" was Mark's unsatisfactory rejoinder.

Mr. Royden made his appearance. He was a famous judge of horse-flesh, and his shrewd eye examined the colt's admirable points with evident satisfaction.

"Where did you get him?" he inquired.

"How old is he?" asked Mark.

Mr. Royden looked in the horse's mouth a second time, and p.r.o.nounced him to be four years old.

"Have you been trading?"

"On the whole," said Mark, "what do you think of him?"

"It's a fine colt; but I think here is a faint appearance of a ring-bone."

Mr. Royden pressed the animal's leg.