The Revellers Part 30

"Isn't that the trouble i' Jarmany?"

Mrs. Saumarez drank more tea.

"Circ.u.mstances alter cases," she said. "The broad fact remains that Germany harbors no evil designs against Great Britain. She believes the world holds plenty of room for both powers. And, when all is said and done, why should the two nations quarrel? They are kith and kin. They look at life from the same viewpoints. Even their languages are alike.

Hardly a word in your quaint Yorkshire dialect puzzles me now, because I recognize its source in the older German and in the current speech of our Baltic provinces. Germany and England should be friends, not enemies. It will be a happy day for England when she ceases worrying about German measures of self-defense, but tries, rather, to imitate her wonderful achievements in every field of science. Any woman who uses fabrics need not be told how Germany has taught the whole world how to make aniline dyes, while her chemists are now modernizing the old-time theories of agriculture. You, Mr. Bolland, as a practical farmer, can surely bear out that contention?"

"Steady on, ma'am," said Bolland, leaning forward, with hands on knees, and with eyes fixed on the speaker in an almost disconcerting intensity.

"T' Jarmans hev med all t' wo'ld _buy_ their dyes, but there hezn't been much _teachin'_, as I've heerd tell of. As for farmin', they coom here year after year an' snap up our best stock i' horses an' cattle te improve their own breeds. _I_ can't grummel at that. They compete wi' t'

Argentine an' t' United States, an' up go my prices. Still, I do think our government is te blame for lettin' our finest stallions an' brood mares leave t' country. They differ frae cattle. They're bowt for use i'

t' army, an' we're bein' drained dhry. That's bad for us. An' why are they doin' it?"

Mrs. Saumarez pushed away her cup and saucer. She laughed nervously, with the air of one who had gone a little further than was intended.

"There, there!" she cried pleasantly. "I am only trying to show you Germany's open aims, but some Englishmen persist in attributing a hostile motive to her every act. You see, I know Germany, and few people here trouble either to learn the language or visit the country."

"Likely not, ma'am," was the ironical answer. "Mr. Pickerin' went te some plece--Bremen, I think they call it--two year sen this July, te see a man who'd buy every Cleveland bay he could offer. George had just been med an officer i' t' Territorials--which meant a week's sw.a.n.kin'

aboot i' uniform at a camp, an' givin' his men free beer an' pork pies te attend a few drills--an' he was fule enough te carry a valise wi' his rank an' regiment painted on it. Why, they watched him like a cat watchin' a mouse. He couldn't eat a bite or tak a pint o' their light beer that a 'tec wasn't sittin' at t' next table. They fairly chased him away. Even his friend, the hoss-buyer, got skeered at last, an' advised him te quit te avoid arrest."

"That must have been a wholly exceptional case," said Mrs. Saumarez, speaking in a tone of utter indifference. "Had _I_ known him, for instance, and given him a letter of introduction, he would have been welcomed, not suspected. By the way, how is he? I hear----"

The conversation was steered into a safer channel. They were discussing the wounded man's condition when Mrs. Saumarez's car pa.s.sed. The door stood open, so they all noted that the vehicle was white with dust, but the chauffeur was the sole occupant.

"Her ladyship" was pleased to explain.

"It is a new car, so Fritz took it for a long spin to-day," she said.

"You will understand, Mr. Bolland, that the engine has to find itself, as the phrase goes."

"Expensive work, ma'am," smiled John, rising. "An' now, good folk," he continued, "whe's coomin' te t' love feast?"

There was a general movement. The a.s.sembly dear to old-time Methodism appealed to the majority of the company. Mrs. Saumarez raised her lorgnette once more.

"What is a love feast?" she asked.

"It's a gathering o' members o' our communion, ma'am," was Bolland's ready answer.

"May I come, too?"

Instantly a rustle of surprise swept through her hearers. Even John Bolland was so taken aback that he hesitated to reply. But the lady seemed to be in earnest.

"I really mean it," she went on. "I have a spare hour, and, as I don't care for dinner to-night, I'll be most pleased to attend--that is, if I may?"

The farmer came nearer. He looked at the bulbous eyelids, the too-evenly tinted skin, the turgid veins in the brilliant eyes, and perhaps saw more than Mrs. Saumarez dreamed.

"Happen it'll be an hour well spent, ma'am," he said quietly. "Admission is by membership ticket, but t' minister gev' me a few 'permits' for outside friends, an' I'll fill yan in for ye wi' pleasure."

He produced some slips of paper bearing the written words, "Admit Brother" or "Sister ----," and signed, "Eli Todd." With a stubby pencil he scrawled "Saumarez" in a blank s.p.a.ce. The lady thanked him, and gave some instructions in French to Franoise. Five minutes later "Sister Saumarez," escorted by "Brother" and "Sister" Bolland, entered the village meetinghouse.

The appearance of a fashionable dame in their midst created a mild sensation among the small congregation already collected. They were mostly old or middle-aged people; youngsters were conspicuous by their absence. There was a dance that night in a tent erected in a field close to the chapel; in the boxing booth the semi-final round would be fought for the Elmsdale championship. Against these rival attractions the Gospel was not a "draw."

Gradually the s.p.a.cious but bare room--so unlike all that Mrs. Saumarez knew of churches--became fairly well filled. As the church clock chimed the half-hour after six the Rev. Eli Todd came in from a neighboring cla.s.sroom. This was the preacher with the powerful voice, but his bell-like tones were subdued and reverent enough in the opening prayer.

He uttered a few earnest sentences and quickly evoked responses from the people. The first time John Bolland cried "Amen!" Mrs. Saumarez started.

She thought her friend had made a mistake, and her nerves were on edge.

But the next period produced a hearty "Hallelujah!" and others joined in with "Glory be!" "Thy will, O Lord!" and kindred e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns.

One incident absolutely amazed her. The minister was reciting the Lord's Prayer.

"Give us this day our daily bread," he said.

"And no baccy, Lord!" growled a voice from the rear of the chapel.

The minister had a momentary difficulty in concluding the pet.i.tion, and a broad grin ran through the congregation. Mrs. Saumarez learned subsequently that the interrupter was a converted poacher, who abandoned his pipe, together with gun and beer jug, "when he found Christ." Eli Todd was a confirmed smoker, and the two were ever at variance on the point.

All stood up when their pastor gave out the opening verses of a hymn:

_O what a joyful meeting there, In robes of white arrayed; Palms in our hands we all shall bear And crowns upon our heads._

The joyous energy of his declamation, the no less eager volume of sound that arose from the congregation, atoned for any deficiencies of meter or rhyme. The village worshipers lost themselves in the influence of the moment. With spiritual vision they saw the last great meeting, and thundered vociferously the closing lines of the chorus:

_And then we shall in Heaven reign, And never, never part again._

"Grace before meat" was sung, and, to Mrs. Saumarez's great discomfiture, bread and water were pa.s.sed round. Each one partook save herself; Bolland, with real tact, missed her in handing the tray and pitcher to the other occupants of their pew.

"Grace after meat" followed, and forthwith Eli Todd began to deliver an address. His discourse was simple and well reasoned, dealing wholly with the sustenance derived from G.o.d's saving spirit. It may be that the unexpected presence of a stranger like Mrs. Saumarez exercised a slightly unnerving influence, as he spoke more seriously and with less dramatic intensity than was his wont.

Suddenly he rebelled against this sensation of restraint. Changing, with the skill of a born revivalist, from the rounded periods of ordinary English to the homely vernacular of the district, he thundered out:

"There's noa cittidell o' sin 'at G.o.d cannot destroy. Ay, friends, t'

sword o' t' Spirit s'all oppen a way through walls o' bra.s.s an' iron yats (gates). Wen't ye jine His conquerin' army? He's willin' te list ye noo. There's none o' yer short service whilst ye de t' Lord's work--it's for ivver an' ivver, an' yer pension is life ivverlastin'."

And so the curious service went to its end, which came not until various members of the congregation made public confession of faith, personal statements which often consisted of question and answer between pastor and penitent. It was a strange interrogatory. Eli Todd had a ready quip, a quick appreciation, an emphatic or amusing disclaimer, for each and every avowal of broad-minded Christianity or intolerant views. For these dalesfolk did not all think alike. Some were inclined to d.a.m.n others who did not see through the myopic lenses of their own spiritual spectacles.

The preacher would have none of this exclusive righteousness. As he said, in his own strenuous way:

"The Lord is ivverywhere. He isn't a prisoner i' this little room te-night. He's yonder i' t' street amang t' organs an' shows. He's yonder i' t' tent where foolish youths an' maidens cannot see Him. If ye seek Him ye'll find Him, ay, in the abodes of sin and the palaces of wantonness. No door can be closed to His saving mercy, no heart too hardened to resist His love."

As it happened, his glance fell on Mrs. Saumarez as he uttered the concluding words, and his voice unconsciously tuned itself to suit her understanding. She dropped her eyes, and the observant minister thought that she was reading a personal meaning into his address.

At once he began the "Doxology," which was sung with great fervor, and the love feast broke up after a brief prayer. Mr. Todd overtook Mrs.

Saumarez on the green. Bolland and his wife were escorting her to The Elms.

"I hope you liked the service, madam," he said politely.

"I thought it most interesting," she answered slowly. "I think I shall come again."

He took off his hat and a.s.sured her that she would always be welcome at Bethel Chapel. He, worthy man, no less than the Bollands, could little guess this woman's motives in thus currying favor with the villagers.

Had an angel from Heaven laid bare her intent, they would scarce have believed, or, if conviction came, they would only have deemed her mad.

A breathless Franoise met her mistress at the gate. Angle was not to be found anywhere, and it was so late, nearly eight o'clock. Nor was Martin to be seen. Madam would remember, they had gone off together.