Captain Pott's Minister Part 19

The room became quiet with interest in antic.i.p.ation of what might follow. It was true that their minister had come to them as an unknown man, and they were certainly ent.i.tled to any disclosure of his past that the city man might wish to give. But there was nothing more said on the subject, and a murmur of disapproval ran over the audience.

"I have finished, except to say that I honor your Elder for the firm stand he has taken. Mr. Fox, you are to be congratulated on your courage, and although I repeat that I would not think of influencing the action of this a.s.sembly, I hope that every man and woman present may see fit to support you."

Captain Pott had grown more and more restless as time went on, and now as the city minister began to move from the platform the Captain began to move toward the open window.

"I am ready to entertain any motion which you care to make," announced the chairman.

Mr. Beaver rose. With the first hiss from his lips, the Captain dropped his hand over the sill and tapped the outside of the casing. Shouts went up from the boys who stood beneath the window. These were answered by cries of fire from various parts of town. The clang of the gong at the fire-house broke through the stillness of the crowded room. Distant alarms were rung with steady regularity. The meeting adjourned in a body.

The seaman had kept his promise, and "Providence had cut the pack for the new deal."

CHAPTER IX

In an incredibly short time the church was emptied. Each one in the crowd was shouting wild conjectures as to whose place was on fire as they ran in the direction of the blaze. It was a strange sight that met the gaze of the excited people as they came in full view of Dan Trelaw's place. He was busily engaged pouring oil on unburned sections of his hen-coops! Dan's hen-houses were located at the rear of his property, and had been built from a collection of dry-goods boxes. They had been the pride of his life, and as the crowd watched him pour on more oil, some one declared that Dan must have gone out of his senses. Nor would he permit the fire company to play their chemical hose.

"It's come to a purty pa.s.s," Dan stated to the onlookers, "when a man can't burn down his own coops to get rid of the mites without the whole blame town turning out to interfere. If the very last one of you don't clear out, I'll use my office as constable of this town to run the lot of you in!"

Hank Simpson was the chief of the volunteer corps, and Dan was chief of the Little River police system. The two chiefs argued as to the rights of the respective offices. Hank declared it was his official duty to put the fire out. Dan as emphatically declared it was his official duty to disperse the crowd. Finally, Hank admitted that Dan had a right to burn his own property so long as the property of others was not endangered.

Some say that the chief of police answered the chief of the fire corps with a slow and deliberate wink.

"Now, all of you clear out and leave me to my fire," demanded Dan, as he poured on more oil.

Mr. McGowan had gone directly home after the preaching service. But he did not sleep that night. It was very early on Monday morning when he entered the kitchen. Miss Pipkin was already busy with the preparations for breakfast.

"Good morning, Mr. McGowan," greeted Miss Pipkin, cheerily. "Are you all right this morning?"

"Yes, thank you, Miss Pipkin."

"I was afraid you'd be sick after last night. I didn't sleep none, I was that excited when I got home. I've always been used to quiet meetings, and that last night after you left was a disgrace. But you wasn't to blame, no siree!" she finished with a vigorous shake of her head.

"I am not so sure that you would find very many to agree with you."

"Lan' sakes! How you do talk, Mr. McGowan! Don't you think I know what it's all about? I ain't blind, and what I couldn't see through, Josiah helped me with last night. You've got him to thank that they didn't vote you out of your position."

"Miss Pipkin, do you mean that the Captain spoke up in meeting?"

"Well, he didn't exactly talk, but he stopped others from talking, and that's about the same thing."

"How?" asked the minister eagerly.

"He kind of made me promise not to tell a soul, but I don't think he meant you. Anyhow, you should know. You see, he was setting by a window, and some of the boys from your club was on the outside, waiting. He h'isted the window a little so's to get his hand through. Hank Simpson and some others was at the fire-house, and when Josiah give them beneath the window some sort of signal, they all shouted '_Fire_.' That was the sign for others scattered round town, and they begun to shout, too.

Then, those at the fire-house got the cart out and rung the bells. It was real funny, but don't tell Josiah I said so, because he was all puffed up last night. He gave his signal just as Mr. Beaver got up to make a motion to have you put out. Things was pretty strong against you after Reverend Mr. Means spoke."

"Mr. Means!"

"Um-hm. He was there as big as life and sad as Job. He talked so tearful-like that everybody was upset, but they didn't get to take a vote, and that was a good thing, for there were some there that would have voted against you, being so worked up, who wouldn't think of it in their right senses. Mr. McGowan, them boys down to the Inn ain't going to let you go from the town if they can keep you here. Them boys with Josiah got up that fire scare last night."

"But it was more than a scare, I saw the fire."

"Course you did. 'Twas old Dan Trelaw's hen-house that was burned down.

The mites was bothering him, and he wanted the insurance to build a better one."

"He burned his hen-house to collect insurance?"

"That's what Josiah said."

"That's absurd. There isn't an insurance company in Suffolk County that would write a policy on such junk, and if they did he could never collect a cent if it is known he burned it on purpose."

"Josiah said it wasn't a regular company, just local. I guess he'll get his money, all right. Are you ready for your breakfast?"

A boyish grin slowly lighted the minister's face as the truth of what had happened dawned on him.

"Do you mean----"

"I ain't saying right out just what I mean," she broke in as she paused on the kitchen threshold. "If you're real bright on guessing, you'll be able to figure that out for yourself. The thing that's most interesting to me is that the Lord is wonderful in the performing of all His works, and we ain't to question how He brings 'em to pa.s.s. I wasn't much in favor of the way Josiah done last night when he first told me, but the more I think about it, the more it seems all right to me. It didn't seem dignified and nice to break up even a bad meeting that way, but what else was he to do? You've got to stay here, that's plain, and if He ain't got saints enough to keep you He'll use the heathen.... Go right in and set down."

"I'm not sure that it will bring Providence or any one else much glory if I stay here," said the minister, with a faint smile.

Miss Pipkin returned with a steaming pot of coffee. She took her place at the table and for some time eyed the minister in silence. She was a thoroughgoing mystic in her religious faith, but her mysticism was tempered with such a practical turn of mind that it was wholesome and inspiring.

"Mr. McGowan, it is the will of G.o.d that you stay right here in this town. If we do His will we ain't to worry about the glory part," she emphatically affirmed. She placed the cups and saucers beside the coffee-pot and filled them. "You hit 'em hard last night, and that is exactly what's ailing them. You've been hitting 'em too hard for comfort. The shoe's pinching and they're not able to keep from showing how it hurts. You hit me, too," she observed, looking earnestly into the minister's eyes.

"I'm sorry."

"You needn't be, 'cause it wasn't you speaking. It was G.o.d speaking through you. Them words you used for your text rung in my ears all night long. I could hear 'em plainer than when you spoke 'em from the pulpit: 'Launch out into the deep.' Mr. McGowan, do you believe there is any forgiveness for the unpardonable sin?"

Evidently knowing that a minister of the Presbyterian faith could entertain but one answer and remain a moral man, she did not wait for a reply.

"It was years ago when I first heard them words. They were just as plain to me then as they was last night, but I refused to obey 'em. I didn't think I could stand the ocean. You know the way I was coming over from Riverhead. Well, I'm always sick on the water, and so I said right out that I wouldn't set sail as a seaman's wife. I was young and strong-headed then, and didn't understand. The man I said 'No' to went off, and I never heard from him but three times since. Some said he was drowned at sea, but I know he wasn't. I've been true to him all these years, trying to atone for my sin of disobedience. If he'd come back now, I'd go with him though he'd slay me."

Mr. McGowan wanted to smile at the mixed figure, but the serious face before him prevented him. "Did you say you never heard from him?" he asked, sympathetically.

"No. I didn't say that." She spoke sharply, but immediately her face and tone softened. "I didn't mean to speak cross, but I ain't spoke of this for years, and it upsets me when I think of what I done."

"We'll not speak of it, then."

"It won't disturb me the least bit. It sort of helps to talk about it.

I'm thinking all the time about him, how brave he was. He was so manly, too, was my Adoniah."

"Adoniah?" questioned the minister, sitting up with a suddenness that astonished Miss Pipkin.

"Adoniah was his first name. I ain't spoke it out loud for years. It does sound sort of queer, doesn't it? I didn't think so then." She sighed deeply. "The spirit of the Lord seemed to go away from me when Adoniah did. If only he'd come back."

"He has not left you. G.o.d is not a hard master, leaving people alone for their shortcomings."