In the Midst of Alarms Part 18

"I wouldn't rile the old man, if I were you."

The club then adjourned to the outside, all except those who sat on the bench. Yates asked:

"What's the matter with Macdonald? Doesn't he like protracted meetings?

And, by the way, what are protracted meetings?"

"They're revival meetings--religious meetings, you know, for converting sinners."

"Really?" said Yates. "But why protracted? Are they kept on for a week or two?"

"Yes; I suppose that's why, although, to tell the truth, I never knew the reason for the name. Protracted meetings always stood for just the same thing ever since I was a boy, and we took it as meaning that one thing, without thinking why."

"And doesn't Macdonald like them?"

"Well, you see, it's like this: He never wants to go to a protracted meeting, yet he can't keep away. He's like a drunkard and the corner tavern. He can't pa.s.s it, and he knows if he goes in he will fall.

Macdonald's always the first one to go up to the penitent bench. They rake him in every time. He has religion real bad for a couple of weeks, and then he backslides. He doesn't seem able to stand either the converting or the backsliding. I suppose some time they will gather him in finally, and he will stick and become a cla.s.s leader, but he hasn't stuck up to date."

"Then he doesn't like to hear the subject spoken of?"

"You bet he don't. It isn't safe to twit him about it either. To tell the truth, I was pleased when I heard him swear at Sandy; then I knew it was all right, and Sandy can stand it. Macdonald is a bad man to tackle when he's mad. There's n.o.body in this district can handle him. I'd sooner get a blow from a sledge hammer than meet Mac's fist when his dander is up. But so long as he swears it's all right. Say, you'll stay down for the meeting, won't you?"

"I think I will. I'll see what young Bartlett intends to do. It isn't very far to walk, in any case."

"There will be lots of nice girls going your way to-night after the meeting. I don't know but I'll jog along in that direction myself when it's over. That's the princ.i.p.al use I have for the meetings, anyhow."

The whittler and Yates got down from the bench, and joined the crowd outside. Young Bartlett sat on one of the horses, loath to leave while the tire setting was going on.

"Are you coming, Yates?" he shouted, as his comrade appeared.

"I think I'll stay for the meeting," said Yates, approaching him and patting the horse. He had no desire for mounting and riding away in the presence of that critical a.s.semblage.

"All right," said young Bartlett. "I guess I'll be down at the meeting, too; then I can show you the way home."

"Thanks," said Yates; "I'll be on the lookout for you."

Young Bartlett galloped away, and was soon lost to sight in a cloud of dust. The others had also departed with their shod horses; but there were several new arrivals, and the company was augmented rather than diminished. They sat around on the fence, or on the logs dumped down by the wayside.

Few smoked, but many chewed tobacco. It was a convenient way of using the weed, and required no matches, besides being safer for men who had to frequent inflammable barns.

A circular fire burned in front of the shop, oak bark being the main fuel used. Iron wagon tires lay hidden in this burning circle. Macdonald and Sandy bustled about making preparations, their faces, more hideous in the bright sunlight than in the comparative obscurity of the shop, giving them the appearance of two evil spirits about to attend some incantation scene of which the circular fire was the visible indication.

Crosstrees, of four pieces of squared timber, lay near the fire, with a tireless wheel placed flat upon them, the hub in the square hole at the center. Shiftless farmers always resisted having tires set until they would no longer stay on the wheel. The inevitable day was postponed, time and again, by a soaking of the wheels overnight in some convenient puddle of water; but as the warmer and dryer weather approached this device, supplemented by wooden wedges, no longer sufficed, and the tires had to be set for summer work. Frequently the tire rolled off on the sandy highway, and the farmer was reluctantly compelled to borrow a rail from the nearest fence, and place it so as to support the axle; he then put the denuded wheel and its tire on the wagon, and drove slowly to the nearest blacksmith's shop, his vehicle "trailing like a wounded duck,"

the rail leaving a snake's track behind it on the dusty road.

The blacksmith had previously cut and welded the tire, reducing its circ.u.mference, and when it was hot enough, he and Sandy, each with a pair of tongs, lifted it from the red-hot circle of fire. It was pressed and hammered down on the blazing rim of the wheel, and instantly Sandy and Macdonald, with two pails of water that stood handy, poured the cold liquid around the red-hot zone, enveloping themselves in clouds of steam, the quick contraction clamping the iron on the wood until the joints cracked together. There could be no loitering; quick work was necessary, or a spoiled wheel was the result. Macdonald, alternately spluttering through fire and steam, was in his element. Even Sandy had to be on the keen jump, without a moment to call his plug of tobacco his own. Macdonald fussed and fussed, but got through an immense amount of work in an incredibly short s.p.a.ce of time, cursing Sandy pretty much all the while; yet that useful man never replied in kind, contenting himself with a wink at the crowd when he got the chance, and saying under his breath:

"The old man's in great fettle to-day."

Thus everybody enjoyed himself: Macdonald, because he was the center figure in a saturnalia of work; Sandy, because no matter how hard a man has to work he can chew tobacco all the time; the crowd, because the spectacle of fire, water, and steam was fine, and they didn't have to do anything but sit around and look on. The sun got lower and lower as, one by one, the spectators departed to do their ch.o.r.es, and prepare for the evening meeting. Yates at the invitation of the whittler went home with him, and thoroughly relished his evening meal.

CHAPTER XII.

Margaret had never met any man but her father who was so fond of books as Professor Renmark. The young fellows of her acquaintance read scarcely anything but the weekly papers; they went with some care through the yellow almanac that was given away free, with the grocer's name printed on the back. The marvelous cures the almanac recorded were of little interest, and were chiefly read by the older folk, but the young men reveled in the jokes to be found at the bottom of every page, their only drawback being that one could never tell the stories at a paring-bee or other social gathering, because everyone in the company had read them. A few of the young men came sheepishly round to get a book out of the library, but it was evident that their interest was not so much in the volume as in the librarian, and when that fact became apparent to the girl, she resented it. Margaret was thought to be cold and proud by the youth of the neighborhood, or "stuck-up," as they expressed it.

To such a girl a man like Renmark was a revelation. He could talk of other things than the weather, live stock, and the prospects for the crops. The conversation at first did not include Margaret, but she listened to every word of it with interest. Her father and mother were anxious to hear about their boy; and from that engrossing subject the talk soon drifted to university life, and the differences between city and country. At last the farmer, with a sigh, arose to go. There is little time for pleasant talk on a farm while daylight lasts. Margaret, remembering her duties as librarian, began to take in the books from the wagon to the front room. Renmark, slow in most things, was quick enough to offer his a.s.sistance on this occasion; but he reddened somewhat as he did so, for he was unused to being a squire of dames.

"I wish you would let me do the porterage," he said. "I would like to earn the right to look at these books sometimes, even though I may not have the privilege of borrowing, not being a taxable resident of the township."

"The librarian," answered Margaret, with a smile, "seems to be at liberty to use her own discretion in the matter of lending. No one has authority to look over her accounts, or to censure her if she lends recklessly. So, if you wish to borrow books, all you have to do is to ask for them."

"You may be sure I shall avail myself of the permission. But my conscience will be easier if I am allowed to carry them in."

"You will be permitted to help. I like carrying them. There is no more delicious armful than books."

As Renmark looked at the lovely girl, her face radiant with enthusiasm, the disconcerting thought came suddenly that perhaps her statement might not be accurate. No such thought had ever suggested itself to him before, and it now filled him with guilty confusion. He met the clear, honest gaze of her eyes for a moment, then he stammered lamely:

"I--I too am very fond of books."

Together they carried in the several hundred volumes, and then began to arrange them.

"Have you no catalogue?" he asked.

"No. We never seem to need one. People come and look over the library, and take out whatever book they fancy."

"Yes, but still every library ought to be catalogued. Cataloguing is an art in itself. I have paid a good deal of attention to it, and will show you how it is done, if you care to know."

"Oh, I wish you would."

"How do you keep a record of the volumes that are out?"

"I just write the name of the person, the t.i.tle, and the date in this blank book. When the volume is returned, I score out the record."

"I see," said Renmark dubiously.

"That isn't right, is it? Is there a better way?"

"Well, for a small library, that ought to do; but if you were handling many books, I think confusion might result."

"Do tell me the right way. I should like to know, even if it is a small library."

"There are several methods, but I am by no means sure your way is not the simplest, and therefore the best in this instance."

"I'm not going to be put off like that," said Margaret, laughing. "A collection of books is a collection of books, whether large or small, and deserves respect and the best of treatment. Now, what method is used in large libraries?"

"Well, I should suggest a system of cards, though slips of paper would do. When any person wants to take out a book, let him make out a card, giving the date and the name or number of the book; he then must sign the card, and there you are. He cannot deny having had the book, for you have his own signature to prove it. The slips are arranged in a box according to dates, and when a book is returned, you tear up the recording paper."