John Ward, Preacher Part 33

Perhaps Gifford was not altogether displeased to be interrupted; the song we might have sung is always sweetest. At all events, he very good-naturedly put his note-book back in his pocket, and rolling over on his stomach, his elbows crushing down the soft gra.s.s and his fists under his chin, began to talk to the two elder men.

"Had good luck?"

The rector shook his head ruefully. "Denner has two trout. Fate was against me. Any fishing about Lockhaven, Gifford? Ward do any?"

Gifford laughed. "He only fishes for men," he said. "He devotes himself to it day and night. Especially of late; his fear of h.e.l.l-fire for other people's souls has seemed to take great hold on him."

"Gad!" said Dr. Howe. "He's a queer fellow."

"He's a good fellow," Gifford answered warmly. "And as to his belief, why, you believe in h.e.l.l, don't you, doctor?"

"Oh, bless my soul, yes," said Dr. Howe, with a laugh, and with a twinkle in his eyes. "I must, you know, and it's well to be on the safe side, Giff; if you believe it here, theoretically, it is to be supposed you won't believe it there, experimentally!" He laughed again, his big, jolly laugh. "Good-by, Denner. You took all the luck."

Then he trudged whistling up the path, striking at the hollyhocks with his rod, and wondering how long it would take Sally to brush the mud off his corduroys.

But Mr. Denner delayed. He laid his rod tenderly down on the gra.s.s, and his fishing-basket on the stone bench beside him. Gifford's sense of humor padded a good many of the sharp points of life; he had to look less doleful when he saw that the lawyer had chosen Lois's seat, and even her att.i.tude; his little shriveled hands were clasped upon his knees, and he was bending forward, looking at the young man as he talked. Gifford thought of a sonnet in his left breast-pocket, beginning, "To one who sat 'neath rustling poplar-tree," and smiled.

"Well, now," said Mr. Denner, "it is pleasant to see you at home again, Gifford. It must be a pleasure to your aunts."

"It is a great pleasure to me," the young man replied. "I only wish that I could carry them back to Lockhaven with me."

"What, both of them?" Mr. Denner asked, in an alarmed way.

"Oh, of course," answered the other; "they couldn't be separated. Why, you cannot think of one of them without thinking of the other!"

Mr. Denner sighed. "Just so, just so. I have observed that."

"But I'm afraid," Gifford went on, "they wouldn't be quite happy there.

There's no church, you know,--I mean no Episcopal Church,--and then it isn't like Ashurst. Except Helen and Mr. Ward, there are only working people, though, for that matter, Ward works harder than anybody else.

Yes, they would miss Ashurst too much."

"You really think they would miss--us?" said Mr. Denner eagerly.

"Yes," responded Gifford slowly. He was beginning to look at the bunch of violets again, and his aunts did not seem so interesting.

"Well, now," Mr. Denner said, "I am sure I am glad to hear you say that, very glad. We--ah--should miss them, I a.s.sure you."

Gifford reached out and plucked up the violets by the roots, to save them from Mr. Denner's drab gaiter, and planted them deep in a crevice of the steps.

"Ah--Gifford," said the lawyer, after he had waited a reasonable time for an answer, "a--a friend of mine is in some perplexity concerning an attachment; he wished my advice."

Gifford began to look interested.

"Foreclosure?"

"You--ah, you do not exactly catch my meaning," answered the little gentleman nervously. "I refer--he referred to an affair of--of the affections. Of course you are too young to really understand these things from a--a romantic point of view, as it were, but being a lawyer, your--a--legal training--would make you consider such a matter intelligently, and I might like your advice."

"Oh!" said Gifford, seeming to grasp the situation. "Yes; I had one case of that kind in Lockhaven. Jury gave damages to my client; seems they had been engaged twelve years when she jilted him. I detest those breach-of-promise suits; they"--

Mr. Denner bounded from his seat. "My dear boy, my dear sir," he gasped, "not at all, not at all! You do not apprehend me, Gifford. My friend is in love, sir; he wished my advice, not legally, you understand, but in regard to his choice!"

"Your advice!" Gifford burst out, but instantly apologized by saying he believed it was not usual to ask advice in such matters,--a man usually knew. But perhaps he was mistaken.

"Yes--I am inclined to think you are," responded Mr. Denner, with a jauntiness which sat strangely upon his wrinkled face,--"I think you are.

Being still a very young person, Gifford, you scarcely understand the importance of such matters, and the--ah--wisdom of seeking advice. I believe it is always said that youth does not realize the importance of advice. But the fact is, my friend has placed his affections upon two ladies. They are connections, and both he represents to be estimable persons; both, as I understand it, equally admirable. Equally, you observe, Gifford. And he is unable to make up his mind which is the most--I should say the more--desirable. I, unfortunately, was unable to throw any light upon the subject."

"Do you know the young ladies?" asked Gifford.

"I--I may say I have met them," admitted Mr. Denner.

"And how did you advise him?" Gifford asked, his face preternaturally grave.

Mr. Denner looked anxious. "That is just it. I have been unable to come to any conclusion. I wondered if--if I spoke of their characteristics in a general way (they are both so truly estimable) you might have an opinion. He did think he could reach a decision, he tells me, for a friend of his thought he knew a proverb which would throw a light upon it."

"Settle it by a proverb!" cried Gifford.

"Yes," answered Mr. Denner firmly, "yes; and an excellent way it would be, if one could find the proverb."

The air of offended dignity in Mr. Denner's face sobered Gifford at once.

"I beg your pardon, sir," he said; "the method was new to me, though it is, no doubt, excellent. May I ask the proverb?"

But the lawyer was hurt. "It is not worth while to mention it. It was not--not suitable. It did not enable my friend to reach a decision, after all; it was merely something in regard to whist."

Gifford hid his face in the gra.s.s for a moment, and then he said again, "I--I beg your pardon, Mr. Denner; it struck me as an unusual way of settling a love affair. Your friend must have been much disappointed?"

"He was, he was, sir," answered Mr. Denner, not knowing whether to be angry or injured, and picking up his reel and rod with trembling hands.

"Well, now," Gifford said, sitting up and leaning his arms upon his knees, the laughter still glimmering in his gray eyes, "I could give you a proverb,--unless they are twins?"

Mr. Denner sat down again on the stone bench, and looked at him eagerly.

"No, Gifford, they are not twins,--no. There is a good ten years between them."

"Then," said the young man, "what does your friend want better than 'Age before beauty'? Let him propose to the elder."

Mr. Denner laid his rod down upon the gra.s.s, and, rising, extended his hand to his companion.

"Gifford," he said, "you are an intelligent young man,--a remarkable young man, sir. I knew it when I determined to ask your advice--for my friend. I thank you. My--my friend thanks you, Gifford. He will act upon this at once; he is forever indebted to you, sir."

It was all so solemn that Gifford's gravity lasted until the little gentleman had disappeared through the hedge, and was far down the road; then he hid his face in the gra.s.s, and laughed aloud.

But Mr. Denner was happy. He fairly beamed as he walked along, repeating the proverb to himself. "Yes," he said, "nothing could be better--nothing. How strange that it has not occurred to me before, or that Henry should not have thought of it! 'Age before beauty!' Yes, just so,--just so!"

While he was meditating thus happily, he heard behind him that curious, irregular beat which only the hoofs of a runaway horse can make, and the whirl of flying wheels swinging from side to side. He sprang to one side of the road, his little heart pounding with sudden fright, and looked back to see the rectory phaeton, reeling and almost overturning, dragged madly at the heels of the s.h.a.ggy little pony. They came flying toward him. Mr. Denner caught a glimpse, through the cloud of dust, of Lois Howe's white face, and a shrinking figure clinging to her. A gray veil fluttered across the face, so that Mr. Denner could not tell who it was, but instantly it flashed through his mind, "It is one of them!" He threw down his basket and rod, and braced himself for the shock of the encounter with the plunging horse; his little nerves, never very firm, were strung like steel. Somehow, in that instant of waiting, the proverb was forgotten; he felt that fate would decide for him. "It shall be this one!" he said aloud,--"this one!" Then the horse seemed upon him; he did not know when he made that jump at the bridle, or felt the iron hoof strike his breast; he had only a confused sense of seeing the gray figure thrown out upon the ground just as he found himself falling backwards.

Then he lost consciousness.

When he came to himself, and saw the trees and bushes dance strangely about him for a moment, he found that he had been lifted over to the gra.s.s at the roadside, and that Gifford Woodhouse's arm was under his head. As his eyes grew steady, he saw that two men were holding the trembling, steaming horse, and that a little group of people were standing about the phaeton; but the gray figure had disappeared.

Gifford was fanning him, and pressing something to his lips with a gentle, anxious hand.