The Fourth Watch Part 21

"I'm rale glad to see ye, nevertheless," she continued, "fer it's been a month of Sundays sense I sot eyes on ye last. How've ye been? An' yer old man, is he well?"

"Only fairly," replied Mrs. McKrigger, laying aside her bonnet and shawl, and taking the proffered chair. "Abraham went to the mill this mornin' an'

I came this fer with 'im. We were clean out of flour, an', although the roads are bad, there was no help fer it, so he had to go, poorly as he is.

He'll stop fer me on his way back."

"An' what's wrong with 'im?" asked Mrs. Stickles, going back to her was.h.i.+ng.

"The doctor thinks he's got delapitation of the heart. Abraham was never very strong there, and suffers most after eatin'. I'm gittin' very nervous about 'im."

"Oh, is that all?" and Mrs. Stickles paused in her work. "I wouldn't worry about that. Mebbe he eats too much. Men's hearts an' stummicks are purty closely kernected, an' what affects the one affects t'other. It's indisgestion the man's got-that's what 'tis. It's a wonder to me they don't all hev it."

"Mebbe yer right, Mrs. Stickles. 'Abraham is certainly a big eater. But it wasn't eatin' which gave 'im the delapitation yesterday."

"What was it, then?"

"It was Si Farrington who gave it to 'im. That's who it was."

"Ugh!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mrs. Stickles. "Surely a cur like that wouldn't affect anyone, would it? I'm jist waitin' to run agin Farrington meself, an' then we'll see who'll hev palputation of the heart. It'll not be me, I reckon."

"It's very true what ye say," replied Mrs. McKrigger, bringing forth her knitting, "but when ye owe the man a bill at the store, an' heven't the money to pay, it makes a big difference."

"So he's been at you, has he? I s'pose he's been tryin' to git yer cow, horse or farm. He tried it here, but Parson John, bless his soul, soon stopped that."

"No, not like that. He only hinted what he'd do if Abraham didn't sign the pert.i.tion."

"Oh, I see. He's goin' to run fer councillor, an' wanted yer husband to sign his denomination paper, did he?"

"No, no, not that. It's about the parson."

"What! Parson John?"

"Yes, it's about 'im, poor man."

"Land sakes! What's up now?" and Mrs. Stickles paused in her work and stood with arms akimbo.

"Farrington thinks the parson's too old fer the work, an' that we should hev a young man with snap an' vim, like Mr. Sparks, of Leedsville. He believes the young people need to be stirred up; that they're gittin'

tired of the old humdrum way, an' that the parish is goin' to the dogs.

But that wasn't all. He thinks the parson isn't a fit man to be here after that disgraceful racin' scene on the river last Sunday. He sez it's an awful example to the young. So he's gittin' up the pert.i.tion to send to the Bishop."

Mrs. Stickles had left the wash-tub now and was standing before her visitor. Anger was expressed in her every movement.

"An' do ye tell me!" she demanded, "that yer husband signed that paper?"

"W-what else was there to do?" and Mrs. McKrigger dropped her knitting and shrank back from the irate form before her. "How could he help it?"

"Betsy McKrigger, I never thought ye'd come to this. Help it! Why didn't yer husband help Farrington out of the door with the toe of his boot?"

"But think of that unpaid bill, Mrs. Stickles."

"Unpaid bill, be fiddlesticks! Would ye turn aginst yer best earthly friend fer the sake of a bill?"

"What else could we do?"

"Do? Let yer cow or anything else go! What do sich things amount to when yer honour's at stake. Dear me, dear me! has it come to this?"

"Ye needn't make sich a fuss about the matter," and Mrs. McKrigger bristled up a bit. "It's a purty serious thing when yer whole livin's in the fryin'-pan."

"Livin', livin'! Where does yer livin' come from anyway, Mrs. McKrigger?

Doesn't the Lord send it? I reckon He'll look after us. Didn't He tend to old 'Lijah when he done his duty. Didn't the ravens feed 'im? An' what about that widee of Jerrypath? Didn't her meal and ile last when she done what was right? Tell me that!"

"Oh, yes, that may be as ye say. I ain't botherin' about old 'Lijah an'

that widow. If them people lived to-day they'd jine forces an' start the biggest flour an' ile company the world has ever seen. I wish 'Lijah 'ud come our way some day, fer me an' Abraham hev often sc.r.a.ped the bottom of the flour barrel an' poured out the last drop of ile, not knowin' where any more was comin' from."

"Tut, tut, woman!" remonstrated Mrs. Stickles. "It's wrong fer ye to talk that way. Hev ye ever really wanted? Didn't the flour and the ile come somehow? Whenever we're sc.r.a.pin' the bottom of the barrel it seems that the Lord allus hears us, and doesn't let us want. I guess, if we stan' by the Lord, He'll stan' by us. I'm mighty sorry yer man signed that pert.i.tion aginst that man of G.o.d. It don't seem right nohow."

"I'm not worryin' about that, Mrs. Stickles. Farrington has considerable right on his side. The parson is old. We do need a young man with snap an'

vim. The parson's sermints are too dry an' deep. Abraham sleeps right through 'em, an' says it's impossible to keep awake."

"Well, I declare!" and Mrs. Stickles held up her hands in amazement. "To think that I should live to hear sich words in me own house. Ye say the parson's too old. Ain't ye ashamed of them words? Too old! D'ye want some new dapper little sn.o.b spoutin' from the pulpit who hasn't as much knowledge in his hull body as Parson John has in his little finger? I know there's many a thing the parson talks about that I can't understan', an'

so there is in the Bible. I often talk the matter over with John. 'John,'

sez I, 'Ye recollect when ye was makin' that wardrobe fer me out in the shed two springs ago?'

"'Well,' sez he.

"'An' ye remember how the children used to watch ye an' wonder what ye was makin'!'

"'Sartinly,' sez he.

"'An' how they used to pick up the shavin's ye planed off, an' brung them inter the house.'

"He kalkerlated he did.

"'Well then,' sez I, 'John, them children didn't understan' what ye was makin', but they could pick up the shavin's an' make use of 'em. So when Parson John is preachin' an' I can't altogether foller him, I kin pick up somethin' here an' thar which I do understand, an' them are the shavin's which I kin use, an' do use. Oh! John,' sez I, 'hasn't the parson been droppin' shavin's fer over thirty years, an' not allus in the pulpit either, an' haven't we ben helped 'cause we picked 'em up an' made 'em our own?' John said I was right, an' he knows, dear soul."

"That may be all very well fer you an' John," replied Mrs. McKrigger, "but what about the young people, an' the older ones fer all that, who won't pick up the shavin's? Farrington sez we want a poplar young man who kin speak without any preparation, like Mr. Dale, the missionary who was here last summer. Now, there was a man up to whom the young men could look, a reglar soldier, who had been in the fight in Africy, had lived among lions, tagers and n.i.g.g.e.rs. He was a hero, an' if we could git a rale live missionary like that, he'd make Glendow hum, an' the old church 'ud be packed to the doors every Sunday. It's them missionaries who has the hard time. Oh, they're wonderful people. Parson John's a good man, but he ain't in the same line with them nohow. He's too commonplace, an' don't stir the people up."

For a while Mrs. Stickles did not reply. She wiped her hands on her ap.r.o.n, and crossing the room took down a small pot, put in a little tea, filled it with water, and set it on the back of the stove to draw. Next she brought forth some large frosted doughnuts, and after she had poured a cup of tea for Mrs. McKrigger and one for herself she sat down upon an old splint-bottomed chair.

"Did I ever tell ye the conversation I had with Mr. Dale, that missionary from Africy?" she at length asked.

"No, I never heerd it," came the reply.

"Well, that's queer, an' it happened only last summer, too. Ye see, we all went to the missionary meetin' in the church, an' Mr. Dale told us about that furren land. Somehow I didn't take to the man, an' I liked 'im less as he went on. All the time he was speakin' I noted how eagerly Parson John listened. Often his buzum heaved-like, an' I thought I heerd 'im sigh. But when the speaker 'gun to compare Africy with Canada and Glendow, I got mad. 'Here the work is small,' sez he; 'thar it's mighty! Here ye hev yer hundreds; thar we hev our thousands. Here things is easy; thar hard.' As he talked on that way I looked at the parson an' saw a pained expression on his dear face. I jist longed to jump to me feet, an' pint out that old grey-headed man a sittin' thar, an' tell a few things I know.

But I got me chance later."

"What! ye didn't say anything hard, I hope?" interrupted Mrs. McKrigger.

"Only the plain truth; jist what he needed. Ye see, me an' John was axed into the Rectory afterwards to meet the missionary an' hev a cup of tea.

Mr. Dale did most of the talkin', an' told us a hull lot more about his experiences in Africy. But somehow he rubbed me the wrong way. He had little use fer Canada, an' said so, an' that was mor'n I could stan'.