Father Brighthopes Part 21

"Stop that noise!"

Willie could not stop; and his mother shook him. This was too much for his dignity, and he bawled with open mouth.

"You shall stay at home from meeting!" muttered Mrs. Royden. "Take off his collar, Hepsy!"

"She shan't!" screamed Willie, throwing himself on the defensive. "I'll bite her!"

"Come, come!" said Mr. Royden; "Willie is going to be a good boy, and go to meeting like a man."

"He shall go into the closet, and stay there one hour!" exclaimed his mother, s.n.a.t.c.hing him up roughly.

Willie met with a providential escape. While he was kicking and screaming in his mother's arms, the noise of a dire disaster filled the kitchen, and contributed to drown his cries.

Georgie, reaching up to the water-pail which stood on the sink-shelf, to get a dipper-full of drink, had somehow pulled it over. Its entire contents spouted upon his face, his bosom, his fresh collar and nice clothes, and the pail came with him to the floor. After the shock, and the jar, and a little gasping, he began to shriek. Mrs. Royden dropped Willie, and ran to the rescue. It was well for the drenched boy that his father arrived first at the spot, and lifted him up. Hepsy was terrified; but Sam, who had hobbled to the door, to tell Mr. Royden that the team was ready, laughed till he was too weak to stand.

Mrs. Royden, incensed by the lad's insolence, made a rapid dash at him; but Sam dodged, and rolled down the steps. Willie, diverted from his own woes by the mischance which had befallen his brother, crept into a corner in the sitting-room, where he hid away from his mother's wrath.

How the storm would have ended it is impossible to say, had not Father Brighthopes made his appearance, serene and glowing from his morning devotions.

"Ah! what has happened to my little friend?" he cried, as Mr. Royden held Georgie up to let him drip.

Mr. Royden had kept his temper with astonishing success; but he was on the point of giving way to his irritable feelings. The old man's appearance was timely. The perplexed father remembered a resolution he had made, and was calm in a moment.

"Oh," said he, "Georgie has been taking a big drink at the water-pail.

It was rather too much for him."

"Accidents will happen," cried the clergyman, cheerfully. "Bear it bravely, my fine fellow! You will get dry again soon. It helps nothing to cry about it, my little man."

Georgie was hushed almost instantly. He seemed ashamed to make a great ado about his disaster, and smothered his cries into sobs. Meanwhile, Mrs. Royden, with a mighty effort, had controlled her boiling and bursting temper, and hastened to her room.

It was now impossible that Georgie should go to meeting. Hepsy undressed him, while Mrs. Royden got herself ready with nervous haste. All the neighbors bound for church had gone by before the family began to pile into the carriage. Mr. Royden's patience was fast ebbing away.

"Come, come, wife!" he said. "I told you you would be too late."

She flew around confusedly, doing everything amiss, in her hurry.

Three times, when on the point of getting into the carriage, she went back for something she had forgotten. Then Georgie, unwilling to stay at home, began to whimper aloud, and struggle fiercely with Hepsy, who restrained him from running after the family. To make matters worse, the yearling colt got out of the barn-yard, Sam having afforded him an opportunity by leaving the doors open on both sides of the barn. Mr.

Royden had to get him back; for it would not do to let him follow the team to church, and Sam, with his lame foot, could not have kept him out of the road.

Mrs. Royden took advantage of this delay to arrange some portion of her dress, which she had neglected in her haste. Her husband had shut the colt up, and returned to the horse-block, before she was ready. His temper was now on the point of bursting forth, as the clergyman saw by his fiery face, knitted brows and quivering lips.

"Calmly, calmly, brother!" said Father Brighthopes, cheerily. "Take it easy. Keep cool. Heat and pa.s.sion always make bad things worse."

"I know it!" exclaimed Mr. Royden. "I will keep cool."

He laid down the reins, and took his seat quietly on the horse-block, wiping the perspiration from his brow.

"Let affairs take their course," said he. "If we don't get to meeting at all, it will not be my fault. I have done my best."

"Mother, why don't you come?" cried Sarah, impatiently.

Mrs. Royden bustled out of the house, pulling on her gloves. Her husband helped her up very deliberately, then took his seat calmly and coolly with Father Brighthopes. At length they started, Sam holding the large gate open as they drove through.

"Hepsy!" cried Mrs. Royden, looking back.

Mr. Royden stopped the horses.

"You needn't stop. I can tell her what I want to."

"If you have any directions for her, we may as well wait," said he, quietly.

"Drive on, if you are in such a hurry," retorted Mrs. Royden. "I only wanted to tell her something about the spare-rib. I thought I could make her understand."

They now flew over the ground at a rapid rate, until Willie began to scream.

"Oh, my hat! my hat!"

"Father, why don't you stop?" exclaimed Mrs. Royden, grasping her husband's arm.

"Whoa! whoa! What is the matter?"

"Willie's hat has blown off."

This seemed the climax of disasters. Willie's hat lay in the road, already forty yards behind. Mrs. Royden began to scold Sarah for not attending to the strings, and tying them so that it could not be lost.

Meanwhile Mr. Royden, struggling with his temper, got down and went back for the hat. On his return, his wife seized it, and, in no very pleasant mood, put it on Willie's head,--reprimanding Mr. Royden for moving so slowly.

"I have made up my mind that it is best never to be in a hurry," he replied, in a gentle tone.

However, he drove very fast, and arrived at the meeting-house steps shortly after the last peals of the bell died upon the air. Nothing he disliked more than to go in late; but he was a little cheered at seeing the Dustans, who lived so near, roll up to the graveled walks, in their grand carriage, while he was helping his family out.

XVII.

FATHER BRIGHTHOPES IN THE PULPIT.

During all the unpleasant hurry and confusion of the morning, Father Brighthopes had remained beautifully serene. He seemed to enjoy the ride on that still Sabbath--so different, in its calm and quiet loveliness, from all other days in the week--as much as if nothing inharmonious had occurred. But he was more thoughtful than usual, talking little, as if his meditations took a higher and holier range than on common occasions.

His venerable aspect attracted general attention, as he entered the aisle with the family, at the close of the prayer. His aged form was slightly bent, his calm eyes downcast, and his step very soft and light; while his countenance beamed with a meek and childlike expression of reverence and love.

The old man seated himself with his relatives, in a humble att.i.tude; but Mr. Corlis, after reading the hymn, invited him, through Deacon Dustan, to come up into the pulpit. He could not well refuse, although he would have preferred to remain in his obscure position. He ascended the hidden stairway, which always looked so mysterious to young children, and soon his fine, n.o.ble head, with its expansive forehead, and thin, white locks of hair, appeared above the crimson cushions of the desk.

From the pulpit, he glanced his eye over the congregation, as they arose with the singers and stood during the hymn. He was very happy, looking kindly down upon so many strangers, who seemed all dear brothers and sisters to his great heart,--near relations and friends, no less than they who sat in Mr. Royden's pew, and Sarah and Chester in the choir.

The sermon was one of the best Mr. Corlis had ever preached. It was not so flowery as many of his discourses, nor so deep in doctrinal research as others, but it contained more practical Christianity than any of his previous productions. When Father Brighthopes, who was agreeably disappointed in its character, expressed his gratification to his younger brother, at its close, the latter should, perhaps, have confessed how much of its merits were owing to his influence; for, after his interview with the old clergyman, Mr. Corlis, touched to the quick by new convictions of duty, had re-written a large portion of the sermon prepared during the week, and poured into it something of the vital spirit of love and truth which had been awakened within him.