Up The Hill And Over Part 28

"Naughty dog!" said the voice outside the window. "Go home! Don't dare to lick my hand!"

One of the choir members grew red in the face and choked. It was outrageous! And then, as if nothing at all had happened, the girl who had been the cause of the whole unfortunate incident entered and walked down the aisle. She appeared to be quite undisturbed; was, in fact, smiling. Every eye in the church followed her as, a little out of breath, a little flushed, with dark hair slightly disarranged as if from an exciting chase, she took her seat, unconscious, or careless, of them all. The minister, who had paused with almost reproachful obviousness, gave out the opening psalm and the congregation freed itself from embarra.s.sment with an accustomed flutter of hymn-books.

Going to church was somewhat interesting after all, thought Professor Willits. Then, in common with the rest of the congregation, he detached his eyes from the girl's exquisite profile and focused them upon the minister.

Friends of the Rev. Angus Macnair a.s.serted that he was a man in a thousand. For that matter he was a man in any number of thousands; for his was a personality, true to type, yet not likely to be duplicated.

Born of a Highland Scotch father and a Lowland Scotch mother, he developed almost exclusively in his father's vein. Loyal in the extreme, narrow to fanaticism, pa.s.sionate, emotional, yet trained to the cold control of a red Indian, he was a man of power, at once the victim and the triumph of his creed.

Early in life he had come under a conviction of sin, had received a.s.surance of forgiveness and of election and, before he had left the Public School, his Call had come. From that time forward he had burnt with a fierce fire of G.o.dliness which, together with a natural incapacity for seeing two sides to anything, had carried him safely through the manifold temptations to unbelief and heresy which beset a modern college education. Many wondered that a man so gifted should remain in Coombe, but the explanation is simple. He suited Coombe; the larger churches of the larger cities he did not suit. Lax opinions, heretical doctrines, outlooks appallingly wide were creeping in everywhere. It is safe to say that in most of the churches of his own faith he would have seemed bravely but hopelessly behind the times. But in Coombe he had found his place. Coombe was conservative. Coombe Presbyterians were still content to do without frills in the matter of doctrine. Coombe could still listen to h.e.l.l fire and, if not unduly disturbed, did not at least smile behind its hand.

Something of all this the b.u.t.ton-Moulder, student of men, felt as he watched the sombre yet glowing face of the preacher.

The sermon that morning was one of a series dealing with the Commandments and the text was, "Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour." The speaker had the scholar's power of concentration, the orator's power of delivery. He was both poignant and personal. He seemed to do everything save mention names. Some sinners in that congregation, thought Willits, had undoubtedly been bearing false witness, and were now listening to a few plain words! Cautiously he glanced around, almost expecting to see the tale of guilt and sorrow legibly imprinted upon some culprit's face. But no one seemed at all disturbed, save one old lady who glared back at him an unmistakable "Thou art the man!" The congregation sat, serenely, soberly attentive, testifying their entire agreement with the speaker by an occasional sigh or nod. The more fiery the preacher's denunciations, the more complacent his hearers. In astonishment Willits realised that, if appearances go for anything, no one in Knox Presbyterian Church had ever borne false witness against anybody!

The collecting of the offering was somewhat of an anti-climax, as was also the anthem by the choir, the latter consisting of a complicated arrangement of the question, "If a man die shall he live again?"

reiterated singly by all parts in succession, by duets and quartets and finally by the whole choir, without so much as a shadow of an answer appearing anywhere.

Willits gave a long sigh as they stepped into the summer day again. It had not been uninteresting, but he was quite ready for lunch. The doctor, on the contrary, seemed unaccountably to linger. He even paused to talk to a fat lady in mauve velvet who had mauve cheeks to match.

"So glad to see you in church, Doctor! Young men, you know, are inclined to be young men! And these nice days--very tempting, I'm sure! Is your friend a stranger?"

Callandar gravely introduced Willits, who became immediately convinced that this mauve lady was the most unpleasant person he had ever seen and doubtless the very person to whom the minister had spoken in his sermon.

Why had Callandar let him in for this? Why was he waiting around for anyway? There he was, shaking hands with some one else--this time it was the girl who had laughed.

"May I present my friend, Professor Willits, Miss Coombe?"

The girl extended a graceful hand and for an instant the professor was permitted a look into eyes which caused him to set his firm lips somewhat grimly.

"And I know, Willits, you will be delighted to meet our pastor, Mr.

Macnair."

A spark began to glow in the professor's eye, but Callandar's face was guileless. The minister shook hands with professional heartiness, but his gaze, Willits thought, was wandering. He began to feel interested.

"Very fine day," he remarked imperturbably.

"Lovely, lovely," agreed the minister, still heartily. The mauve lady was waiting for the pastoral handshake, but he did not notice her. He was watching the dark girl talking to Callandar.

"What is so rare as a day in June?" said Willits, with deliberate malice.

"Ah, yes, very much so. Delighted to have met you. You will excuse me, I'm sure. Annabel," with an impatient glance toward a stout, awkward woman in the background, "if you are not quite ready I think Miss Coombe and I will walk on." He moved toward the dark girl as he spoke and Willits followed.

"Then I'll have to come some other day to get the roses," they heard Callandar say. "But remember I haven't a single flower in the office. So it will have to be soon."

"At any time," answered the girl, flushing slightly.

"No flowers?" repeated the minister, a little fussily, "dear me, I will speak to my sister. Annabel will be delighted to send you any quant.i.ty, Doctor. You must really drop in to see our garden, some day. Sunday, of course, is a busy day with me. Come, Miss Esther. Good morning, Doctor.

Good morning, Professor. Glad to see you at our services any time--"

Bowing courteously, the minister moved away, followed perforce by Miss Coombe. (An invitation to lunch at the manse is an honour not to be trifled with.) Perforce also the doctor stood aside and Willits caught the look, half shy, half merry, which the girl threw him from the depths of her remarkable eyes. It was really quite interesting, and rather funny. Not often had he seen fair ladies carried off from under the nose of Henry Callandar. Transferring his glance quickly to the face of his friend, he hoped to surprise a look of chagrin upon his abashed countenance, but the countenance was not abashed, and the look which he did surprise there startled him considerably. Henry Callandar, of all men, to be looking after any girl with a look like that!

Well, he had been invited to come and see. And he had seen.

CHAPTER XVI

As Esther walked away, demurely acquiescent, by the side of the Rev. Mr.

Macnair she was conscious of a conflict of emotions. The sight of the doctor's disappointed face as he stood hat in hand, awoke regret and perhaps a trifle of girlish gratification. She had been sorry herself to miss that half hour among the roses but she was still too young and too happy to know how few are such hours, how irrevocable such losses. Also, it had seemed good to her maidenly pride that Dr. Callandar should know--well, that he should see--just exactly what he should know and see she did not formulate. But underneath her temporary disappointment she felt as light and glad as a bird in springtime.

The minister was speaking, but he had been speaking for several moments before Esther's delighted flutter would permit of her listening to him.

When at last her thoughts came back she noticed, with a happy-guilty start, that his tone was one of dignified reproof.

"Naturally we all understand," he was saying, "at least I hope we all understand, that you are not primarily to blame. At the worst one can only impute carelessness--"

"Oh, but it wasn't carelessness! You don't know Buster. He's the _cleverest_ dog! He hid. I had no idea that he was with me until he bounded past me at the church door. And though I whistled and tried to grab him he was in before I knew it. I'll make him sit up meekly and beg your pardon."

A flush of what in a layman might have been anger crimsoned the minister's cheek.

"You are well aware," stiffly, "that I am not referring to the incident of the dog."

"To what then? I am sorry I wasn't listening but you seemed to be scolding and I couldn't think of anything else." Even the abstruse Mr.

Macnair saw that her surprise was genuine. His tone grew gentler.

"You are very young, Miss Esther. But since I must speak more plainly, I was referring to that mad escapade of a week ago. Don't misunderstand me, the blame undoubtedly rests upon the man who was thoughtless enough, selfish enough, to put you in such a position."

"Whatever do you mean?" Esther was torn between anger and a desire to laugh. But seeing the earnestness in his face, anger predominated. "Can you possibly be referring to the breakdown of Dr. Callandar's motor?"

she asked coldly.

"I refer to the whole unfortunate adventure. If your step-mother had been at home I feel sure it would not have happened. She would never have permitted the excursion to take place."

The girl's dark brows drew together in their own peculiar manner.

"Let us be honest," she suggested. "You know quite well that my step-mother would not have bothered about it in the least."

"I feel it my duty," went on the minister, "to tell you that there were some peculiar features in connection with the disablement of the motor.

I understand from the mechanician who accompanied Dr. Callandar to the spot for the recovery of the machine that there was really very little the matter. A short ten minutes completed the necessary repairs."

"Ten minutes? Oh, how silly he must have felt--the doctor I mean. After all the hours he spent and the things he said." She laughed with reminiscent amus.e.m.e.nt. "He threw the monkey wrench at it, too. And he thought he knew so much about motors!"

Her companion observed her with sombre eyes. Was it possible that she had actually missed the point of his remark?

"Can you understand," he said slowly, "how a man used to driving a motor car can have been entirely baffled by so slight an accident? To me it seems--odd!"

"So Dr. Callandar thought, only he expressed it more forcibly."