The Unknown Wrestler Part 11

Through one of the side windows he was enabled to obtain a partial view of the interior. The ceiling and walls were stained, and in places the plaster had fallen off and was lying on the floor. The sight saddened him, so sitting down under the shade of a big maple tree he gazed thoughtfully at the church. What labour and high ideals had gone into the erection of that building, he mused, and how the whole parish must have rejoiced when it was completed. He pictured the animated scene on the day of its consecration, and what a crowd must have been present.

He thought, too, of the part it had taken in the life of the community during the long years it had been standing there; of the baptisms, weddings, and burials, and how many had been helped by the services in this, their spiritual home. But now it was deserted, the bell rusting overhead, and the door securely locked.

For some time Douglas sat there thinking of such things. Then he rose and moved away. He needed a brisk walk to shake off the feeling of depression that had taken possession of him. Going home to the house, he found Jake stretched out comfortably under the shade of an apple tree. Douglas sat down by his side.

"Been down to the church?" Jake enquired.

"Yes. It's pretty well deserted, isn't it? You must have had several funerals lately. Who attended the services?"

"Oh, a parson from Mapledale fer two of 'em, an' Joe Benton read the service over little Bennie Clark."

"You must feel lost without any service in the church," Douglas remarked.

"Naw, not a bit, though I must say I did like to hear the bell ring. I hain't been to church fer over three years."

"Why?"

"I didn't like the last parson we had, nor the style of them who set themselves up as great Christians."

"What about Joe Benton?"

"Oh, he's all right as fer as he's concerned, an' so is his wife. But what has religion done fer their family, I'd like to know? Their boys are all wild, an' I've heard stories about the girls since they left home."

Jake paused and bit thoughtfully at a blade of gra.s.s he was holding in his hand.

"But it ain't the Bentons I'm thinkin' so much about," he continued.

"There are others. Look at Mike Gibband, fer instance, an' him a churchwarden, too. Why, he swears like a trooper, an' would do a man a mean trick whenever he could. I could tell ye what he did to poor widder Stanley."

"What was wrong with the last clergyman you had?" Douglas questioned.

"Well, he was mighty stuck up, an' thought it beneath himself to soil his nice white hands at anything. You should have seen the way he kept his barn over there. Why, it was a fright. An' as fer his knowledge of farmin', he didn't know a thing, and as fer as I could see he didn't want to. Bless my soul, he couldn't tell a bean from a pea, nor a carrot from a turnip."

"But a man might not know anything about such things and yet be a good clergyman," Douglas reasoned.

"That's very true," and Jake ran his fingers through his hair. "We would have overlooked sich things if he had been all right as a parson.

But he wasn't, fer he used no tact, an' got Si Stubbles down on him, an' so that finished him as fer as this parish is concerned."

"Did all the people follow Mr. Stubbles in disliking the clergyman?"

"Nearly all of them."

"Why was that?"

Jake looked quizzically at his companion before replying. Douglas thought of Joe Benton's action when Stubbles had been mentioned, and his interest was now much aroused.

"I guess ye'll need to understand this parish quite a bit better before ye can git that question answered," Jake explained. "Ye'll have to know more about Si Stubbles, too."

"He rules things here, then?"

"Should say he does."

"So any clergyman who wishes to get along in this parish must keep on the good side of Mr. Stubbles?"

"That's jist it. He must knuckle down to him or git out."

"But why do the people allow that?"

"Allow what?"

"Mr. Stubbles to rule things in such a way?"

"H'm, they can't help it. Why, Si Stubbles owns most of the people in this place, body an' soul. The men work fer him in the woods in the winter time, an' in his mill the rest of the year. They git nearly everything at his store, an' are generally in debt to him, so that's where he has 'em. What Si says goes in this parish, an' any one who bucks him has to git out. Several tried it in the past, but they didn't stay here long. Things got too hot fer 'em. It pays a man to keep on the good side of Si, if he expects to hold on here."

"You must be independent of him, though. You have your farm, and do not look to him for anything."

"Not a bit of it. I'm in his clutches jist as much as the rest of the folks. He buys all of my stuff, an' I haul logs fer him in the winter.

It means quite a bit to me. An' besides, if Si should git down on me, why all the rest would do so, too. He's got us all in the same box."

"So, it's chiefly through him, then, that the church is closed in this parish?"

"That's about it."

"But why doesn't some other man come, say a Methodist or Baptist minister? Surely all of the people here do not belong to the Church of England?"

"Most of 'em do, but there's a sprinklin' of Baptists and Methodies, with here an' there a Presbyterian. Their men did come, an' started meetin's. But they didn't stay long when Si once got after 'em. He boasts that he is a loyal member of the Church of England, an' a church warden, so he can't stand any other form of 'ligion."

"Oh, I see," Douglas mused. "It's a case of the dog in the manger."

"Put it any way ye like," Jake replied, as he once more stretched himself out on the gra.s.s. "Si Stubbles rules this place, an' I guess will rule it as long as he stays here."

Douglas looked at his watch and rose suddenly to his feet. It was later than he had imagined.

"I'm going for a walk," he said, "and will not be back for dinner."

"Where will ye git anything to eat?" Jake asked.

"Oh, I'll pick up a bite somewhere. But if I don't, I won't starve, as I had such a good breakfast."

Douglas walked rapidly up the road, for he wanted to be in time for the service at the shoe-maker's, and he had only a quarter of an hour to get there. He saw, in pa.s.sing, what he supposed was the Stubbles'

home. It was a large house with the grounds well kept, and surrounded by fine trees. He observed several people upon the s.p.a.cious verandah, who watched him as he went by. He longed to see Stubbles, that he might judge for himself what kind of a man he was. Perhaps he was not such a terrible person, after all, and one with a little common sense and tact might handle him all right.

When Douglas reached Joe's place, he was surprised to find the door of his little shop partly open. Peering in, he saw the old man in his accustomed place, with his head buried in his hands. Thinking that he might be sick, Douglas entered and asked him what was the matter.

Somewhat startled, Joe lifted his head and Douglas was shocked at the haggard expression, upon his face, and the look of wretched misery in his eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asked, laying his hand upon the old man's shoulder.

"Are you ill?"

"Jean's coming home," was the low reply.

"So you told me. Isn't that good news?"