An Unofficial Patriot Page 4

  CHAPTER IV.--THE REV. GRIFFITH DAVENPORT.

  So desirable a candidate was speedily ordained, and Brother Prouthimself rode with the boy on his two first rounds of the not far-distantcircuit which was soon to be placed in charge of this youth who had sosuddenly taken on the duties, responsibilities and desires of a man.Grif s temperament had always been so merry and frank and full ofthe joyful side of life that he found himself at once ill at ease andhampered by the feeling that he must curb his spirits. Brother Prout,whose own nature was only less buoyant, patted Grif on the back andadvised against the change which he clearly saw the boy was trying tocompass.

  "Don't grow dull, Brother Davenport," he said one day, as they wereriding toward the home of one of their members to make a pastoral visit."Don't grow dull and old before your time. Religion is joy, not gloom.Your message to these people is happiness. Let your bright young faceand voice bear testimony for the Lord, and prove to them that all Hisways are ways of pleasantness, and all His paths are paths of peace. Letyour neighbors see that in forsaking your old life you have not lost thebest and most glorious part of it. You take that with you in addition tothe rest. Laugh with them that laugh, and weep with them that weep. I'man old man, now, and I never did have your spirits; but we need justthat in our labors, my son. Don't allow yourself to grow dull. With yournature you will win and not drive souls to the Lord."

  Such advice cheered the boy and made him feel less strongly the greatchange in his life. The long hours of riding his fine horse over theroads and by-paths of his beloved and beautiful valley; the talks withfriends or strangers who were never strangers for long, since mutualacquaintance or intermarriage had made of the whole state almost onefamily, proved attractive and interesting to him. He found in this newwork a real and fresh happiness. Fording swollen streams, searching forobscure mountain passes, riding alone or with a chance companion throughextensive stretches of woodland, listening to, and often answering thenotes of birds or the cry of some animal, were congenial occupationsto the young parson, and his form rounded out and his face graduallysettled into mature but gentle and kindly lines, and it was now grown tobe his invariable rule to compose his sermons as he rode. He never wrotethem. Some text would fix itself in his mind as he read his little blackTestament night or morning, and upon that text he would build a simpleand kindly talk which reached and touched his handful of listeners as noelaboration of rhetoric could have done.

  Some days he would ride along for miles, humming or singing a singletune, while a train of thought for his next sermon was building itselfup in his mind. Selim, the fine young sorrel, knew quite well what todo, and fell into a walk or a gentle canter, according to thebriskness or volume of the notes that rose over his back. If"How-tedious-and-tasteless-the-hours, when-Jesus-no-longer-I-see,"trailed out softly, with long and undevised breaks in the continuity ofsound and sense, Selim walked demurely, and saw no ghosts or interestingthings whatsoever in woods or stream or distant valley. But when "Joyto the world! The Lord has come!" rang out, continuous and clear, Selimknew that he might even shy at a stone, and make believe a set state ofterror at sight of a familiar old post or a startled groundhog; or thatif he were to break into an unexpected gallop, no harm would be done,and that he would be pretty sure of some playful remarks and a bitof teasing from the rider, whose sermon, Selim knew full well, wasfinished. But so long as "Joy to the mm-mmmm-mmmmm-mmm-Let earthmmmm--mmmmmmmmher King," greeted his ears, Selim knew that theresponsibility of ford or path rested with him, and many a ford didSelim take before his rider realized that he had come to it. If swimmingwere necessary, Selim struck out with a powerful stroke, and came up onthe other bank with a proud stamp of his feet and a whinny that bid forthe recognition of his prowess that he knew was sure to come to him.

  "Whoa, old fellow! Stop and get your wind! Steady! That was a prettystiff current, wasn't it? There, take a nibble! Been some pretty heavyrains around here, haven't there? But what do you and I care about rainsand currents? Whoa, there, you rascal, keep your nose off my sleeve! O,you will, will you? Well, there, there, there, I've wiped it all off asgood as ever. T-h-a-t's right; nip off some of these fresh buds. Here,let's take our bit out. Tastes better, doesn't it? Oh, you will, willyou, old wet nose? Ha! ha! ha! Selim, you know more than most folks, youold hum-bug!"

  If his master sat down and became absorbed in thought, or in his littleblack book, Selim would browse about for an hour; but at the first noteof a hymn the faithful fellow came to have his bridle replaced, and wasready for a gallop or a walk, as his rider should indicate.

  At first the young circuit rider would take a swollen ford, when a saferone could have been found a mile or two farther on, or he would ridemiles out of his way to make a pass in the mountains, when, had he knownthe fact, an obscure but safe one was near at hand. But, as the yearspassed by, both Selim and his master would have scorned a guide, and,night or day, the country became to them like the fields of one's ownestate, so familiar were they with it all. In this pass was a greatnesting place, where, year after year, the circuit rider talked aloud tothe birds, and fancied that they knew him. Many a friendly note of replyto his whistle or call gained a hearty laugh.

  "Feel jokey to-day, do you, you ridiculous Bob White? Wish I couldtranslate that into English. Know it was a good joke from the twist yougave it, but I'm no linguist. You'll have to excuse me if I don't replyintelligently," he would call out to some unusually individualized note,and Selim would whisk his tail in utter disapproval of a man who wouldso foolishly converse with birds--such little insignificant things asthey were--when here was a full-grown, blooded horse, right under hisnose! The pride and arrogance of species is great within us all--andSelim had associated much with man.

  "Hello! Where's that great-grandfather of yours that I saw here the lasttime we crossed jour ford?" Griffith remarked aloud to a frisky littletrout, as it whisked past Selim's feet. "Hope nobody's caught him. Givehim my regards when you get home."

  Just then Selim's feet struck the bank, and, as he scrambled up, heshied a little, and his master recognized the long legs before him asthose of the mountaineer in homespun trousers and hickory shirt, who hadvexed the old Major at the baptizing in the Opquan that now seemed solong ago.

  "Good-morning----" began the young minister, when Lengthy's gun wentsuddenly to his shoulder, there was a flash, a report, Selim sprang toone side, and the mountaineer poked with his gun where the horse hadstood. "Look down. Say nothin'." Few words comprehend th' whole heremarked to the astonished circuit rider, as he held up on the end ofhis gun a still writhing, ugly, dying snake, which had been coiled tospring. He was too confused, or too mentally embryonic to do more thangrin in gratified silence at the thanks and compliments from the youngpreacher; for it was somewhat infrequently that Lengthy was addressed byone of Griffith's type, and the very sincerity of his evident admirationfor the circuit rider still farther handicapped his already abnormallydeveloped awkwardness of manner. It is possible that the vocabulary ofthis swarthy mountaineer (whose six feet and seven inches of bone andsinew had fixed upon him the only name that Pastor Davenport had everheard applied to him), it is possible, I say, that his vocabulary mayhave been fuller than it was generally supposed to be. Among his fellowsit is just possible that he may have ventured upon language with morefreedom; but certain it is that when Lengthy was in the presence ofwhat he was pleased to call "quality," the limitations were painfullyapparent, and there was a legend---which appeared to have as solida basis as belongs to most--that whatever slight variations he mightventure upon as an opening remark, the _finale_, if one may so expressit, was sure to be the same.

  Mr. Davenport asked after his health, that of his family, theneighborhood in general and finally, unable to extract anything beyond anod or a single word from the giant who had pitched the still squirmingrattlesnake from the end of his gun into the river, Griffith tookanother tack.

  "River seems to be unusually high. Selim had all he could do, didn'tyou, old fellow? Been having
a freshet here, haven't you?"

  Lengthy pointed with his gun, to the remnants of a rail fence, now highon the bank, in the top rails of which clung half-dry weeds and riverrefuse.

  "Look there. Few words comprehend th' whole."

  Griffith smiled, gave up the task of conversing with his admirer, shookthe bridle on Selim's neck and with a cheery "Well, I'm glad to have metyou. Good-bye," rode on toward the village where he was soon to beginhis first year's pastorate as a "located" preacher. As he rode alonghe almost regretted the change. These had been happy years to thesimple-hearted, but ardent young fellow; but he was consoled when hesaw before him in mental vision the home in which pretty, black-eyedKatherine LeRoy was to preside--for the young circuit rider had foundhis fate and, alas! it had not been inside the Episcopal paddock noreven in the Methodist fold--such pranks does Fate play with us, suchliberties does Cupid take, even with the hearts of those whose missionit is to deal with other things! Very early in the new life Griffith hadstayed one night at the hospitable home of Katherine's father. In spiteof all, his heart was lonely and his face less bright than in the olddays. Miss Katherine saw. Miss Katherine was kind--and Miss Katherine'ssweet face traveled many a mile with the young preacher after he, asSelim was well aware, should have been humming a hymn and composing thatsermon for the morrow. But Selim was discreet; and when he shook hishead or whinnied or changed his gait and Griffith did not heed, Selimplodded demurely on and waited. But as the months had gone by andSelim had carried the young master up the same lane a few times and hadobserved the same silent abstraction after each visit, he had grown toknow very well indeed that this was a marked house and that Griffithliked to go there. So it came to pass that after the dark eyes hadtraveled with the young preacher and peered over his shoulder into hisTestament and interfered sadly with the trend of his thoughts on sacredthings, it had grown to be very certain to Griffith that something wouldhave to be done. Then it was that for the first time he thought howlittle he had to offer. Not even a home! Not even his own companionship!For all these six years he had traveled his different circuits and sleptwhere he found himself as night came on, and preached here or there ashe had been directed. His home had been literally in his saddle, and hissalary had been too insignificant to mention. The old Major, who to adegree, had become reconciled to the new order of things, had at firstinsisted that Jerry follow and care for the young master; but Griffithhad argued that it ill became one who had taken such a step to takewith him a body servant, and it had almost broken Jerry's heart to becompelled to stay at the old home-place and allow young Mos' Grifto saddle and feed Selim, if need be, and care for and brush his ownclothes. This latter had, indeed, led to the loss of most of his limitedwardrobe, for he had left behind him, at the house of some "member" apiece of clothing or some toilet article very often, at the first; butas it never failed to be returned to him on his next round, the leathersaddle-bags retained about the same proportions from month to month,replenished as they were by his mother and Jerry on his frequent visitshome.

  But it was when the thought of a wife and a home of his own first cameto Griffith that the life of a circuit rider grew less attractive and hewondered if it would be right to ask to be "located" or "stationed"as some of the married men were. To be sure they must change their"station" year by year and so tear up the little roots they could strikein so brief a period, but at least it gave something like a home and a"charge" to the preacher, and he--not his family--was the sole subjectof solicitude and consideration to the authorities who governed hismovements. Had not the Lord said to those whom He sent forth to preachthat they must go from place to place leaving behind all family ties?Had not He so lived? Had not Paul and Timothy and the twelve? Later onhad it not been so with the many until wealth and love of ease and thethings of this world undermined the true faith?

  But human nature is strong, and all faiths in the past have--as all inthe future will continue to do--accommodated themselves to the humanneeds and demands of those who sustain the theory as infallible,immutable, unchangeable and unchanging; but modify it to fit the times,the natures and the conditions in which they strike root. If Mohammedwill not go to the mountain, the mountain will come to Mohammed.

  So when the young circuit rider had stopped again, as had grown to behis habit, with the family of Katherine LeRoy, and when she, with quaintcoquetry, had met his equally quaint courtship by finally accepting himon condition that he "take a charge" he had asked the presiding elderto locate him as a married man for the next year since he was about tomarry. Brother Prout had approved, and the matter had been settled withlittle difficulty.

  The courtship was unique. The young parson had grown to be so great afavorite where-ever he went that his cheerfulness, his kindly, simpleand sincere nature insured him hearty welcome even outside of his ownflock. His superior birth and breeding made him a marked man withinhis denomination. Many were the speculations as to which rosy-cheekedMethodist girl he would find nearest his ideal, and jokes were many atthe expense of this or that one if he but stopped twice at her father'shouse.

  At last it became plain that in one neighborhood he preferred to stayovernight with the family of Bernard LeRoy, a staunch and uncompromisingPresbyterian, and it did not take long for others to discover why; butso sure was Mr. LeRoy, himself, that it was to his own superiority tohis neighbors that the visits were due, that the times when a few wordsalone with Miss Katherine were possible were few indeed. The large,ready, hearty hospitality of the time and of Virginia were exemplifiedin this household. All welcomed him. Old, young, white and black alike;and the wide porch or great rooms and halls gave space and heartyinvitation to family and neighborly gatherings. So it came about that atlast Griffith felt that he could wait no longer. He must know his fate.The demure Katherine had reduced him to a mere spirit of unrest in spiteof the presence of others, and while all sat talking of crops, politics,religion, neighborhood happenings, rains, swollen streams and the recentfreaks of lightning, the young minister took from his pocket the littleblack Testament and drew a line around the words, "Wilt thou go withthis man?" and handing it to Miss Katherine he asked: "Will you readand answer that question for me, Miss Katherine?" Their eyes met, andalthough Griffith returned to his seat and essayed to go on with theconversation with her father, they both understood.

  Her dark eyes ran over the words, her color rose and fell, but, contraryto the hope of the young preacher, she did not mark and return thereply. She carelessly turned the leaves and his heart sank. He gaveabstracted replies to her father and twice failed to hear what was said,and still Miss Katherine turned the leaves. At last he believed that shehad either not understood or that she did not intend to reply, and witha sinking heart he rose to go. Selim had been put away. The circuitrider was always expected to stay overnight. He explained in a vague waythat this time it would be best for him to go to a Methodist neighbor'stwo miles farther on. Was it that reply which decided darkeyed Katherinenot to farther tease her lover? Did she fear the wiles of the plump,demure girl in the quaint, unribboned bonnet who looked such openadmiration into the eyes of the young preacher. However that may be,certain it is that at this juncture and under cover of the generalmovement to send for the guest's horse, Miss Katherine took from herbelt a pansy and putting it between the pages to mark where she haddrawn a line, she gave the little book back to its owner. He saw themovement and glanced within: "Why have I found grace in thine eyes thatthou shouldst take knowledge of me--seeing I am a stranger?" He read andhis heart leaped. "A stranger!" She was not of his fold! It was _that_she thought of! He looked at her and both understood. He could ride awaynow and both would be content, even though he were under the roof withthe quaint little Methodist bonnet.

  As they moved toward the door the two young people managed to pass outalone and Griffith took her in his arms for one brief instant and kissedher lips.

  "Thank God!" he whispered. "Thank God, for this last and holiestblessing! I love you next to my Saviour, Katherine. Sometimes
I pray itmay not be more than I love Him."

  She laughed, a soft little ripple, and drew back just as her fatherappeared at the door.

  "I shall not pray that," she said, as he mounted, and the young preacherrode away into the darkness with no disapproval of the heresy upon hisradiant face. Selim knew that this was a strange proceeding--this latedeparture--and he shook his head so violently that the buckles of hisbridle rattled. The young minister made no sign, but when, a littlefarther on, there suddenly arose over his back, the notes of along-forgotten song, Selim cast one eye backward and started at thebreak-neck pace of his youth.

  "The moon is beaming brightly, love. Te tom te turn te te! A trusty crew is waiting, love, Away, away with me!"

  Selim's surprise knew no bounds. He had not beard that song since beforethe day his young master went, for some strange reason, into the Opquanriver, with Brother Prout. Something unusual had happened, that was veryclear. Something that carried the young preacher quite out of himselfand into a world where sermons and hymns were not; and, although thesong was gay, Selim felt a tag at his bridle that meant a slower pace.

  "Yea! old fellow, y-e-a!" Selim was surprised again. He stopped short.

  "G'ap! g'lang!

  "Far o'er the deep, o'er the deep, o'er the d e-e-o p, Far o'er the deep blue sea! Far o'er the deep, o'er the deep, o'er the d-o-o-o-p, Far o'er the deep blue sea! Oh, come and share a sailor's heart--for o'er the deep blue sea!"

  Perhaps Selim was not exactly scandalized, but he felt that it wouldnot be judicious to reach the home of the quaint Methodist bonnet tooprematurely. And Selim walked.