_ CHAPTER SEVEN. MINISTER AND PEOPLE
In Gershom in these primitive days, a deep interest in the affairs of their neighbours, private, personal and relative, and a full and free discussion of the same, implied to the minds of people in general no violation of any law of morals or expediency. It was a part of the established order of things, which had its advantages and disadvantages. Almost everybody had a measure of enjoyment in it, and everybody had to submit to it.
Even those among the people who would have found little to interest them in the comings and goings of their neighbours generally, took part in the admiring discussion of the comings and goings of the minister. There was a comfortable sense of duty about the matter, a feeling that they were manifesting an interest in "the cause," and "holding up the minister's hands" on such occasions that was agreeable. There was a sense of satisfaction in the frequent allusions made to the Sunday's sermon, in the repetition of the text and "heads," and in the admiring remarks and comparisons which usually accompanied this, as if it were religious conversation that was being carried on and enjoyed. The pleasing delusion extended to the old people's endless talks about subscription-lists, and ways and means of support and to the young people's plans and preparations for a great fair to be held for the purpose of obtaining funds for the future furnishing and adorning of the parsonage. So it was a happy era in the history of the congregation and the village. Everybody was interested, almost everybody was pleased.
If Mr Maxwell had heard half the kind and admiring things that were said of him, or if he had known a tenth part of what he was expected to accomplish by his sermons, his example, his influence, he would have been filled with confusion and dismay. But happily "a wholesome silence" with regard to these things was at first for the most part preserved toward him, and he took his way among his people unembarrassed by any over-anxious effort to meet expectations too highly raised.
To tell the truth, he was getting a good deal more credit than he deserved just at this time. His devotion to his work, his labours "in season and out of season," his zeal and energy, and kindness in the way of visiting and becoming acquainted with the people, were due less to a conscious desire to do them good, or to serve his Master, than to a growing pleasure in friendly contact with his fellow-creatures. He was entering on a new and wonderful branch of study, the study of living men, and he entered upon it with earnestness and delight.
Hitherto his most intimate acquaintance had been with men, the greater number of whom had been dead for hundreds of years. His living friends had, for the most part, been men of one type, men of more or less intelligence, educated on the same plan, holding the same opinions--men of whose views on most subjects he might have been sure without a word from them. His intercourse with the greater number of them had been formal and conventional; upon very few had he ever had any special claim for sympathy or interest.
All this was different now. The interest of the Gershom people was real and evident, and he had a right to it; and he owed to them, for his Master's sake, both love and service. They were real men he had to deal with, not mere embodiments of certain views and opinions. They were men with feelings and prejudices; they were men who, like himself, sinned and suffered, and were afraid. They had opinions also, on most subjects, firmly held and decidedly expressed. Indeed, some of them had a way of putting things which was a positive refreshment and stimulus to him. It had, for the moment, the effect of genius and originality, and in the first pleasure of contact, he was inclined to give to some of his new friends a higher place intellectually than he gave them afterward. Happily, he kept his opinions of men and things very much to himself in these first days, and scandalised no one by declaring Peter Longley to be a genius, or John McNider to be a hero, or by taking the part of poor Mark Varney, as one more sinned against than sinning.
He owed his reputation for wisdom in these first months quite as much to his silence as to his speech. His own superficial knowledge of men and things got easily from books, seemed to him--as indeed it was--a poor thing in comparison with the wisdom which some of these quiet, unpretending men had almost unconsciously been gathering through the experience of years. But it did not seem so to them. When he did speak, he could, through the discipline of education and training, put into clear right words the thoughts which they found it not easy to utter, and they gave him credit for the thought as his, when often he was only giving back to them what he had received. And he listened well, and he chose his subjects judiciously when he did talk. It was iron with the blacksmith, and wood with the carpenter, and seeds and soils and the rotation of crops with the farmer, and without at all meaning to exalt himself thereby, he would put the reading of some leisure hour into a few well-chosen words, which seemed like treasures of wisdom to men who had gathered their knowledge by the slow process of hearsay and observation; and what with one thing, and what with another, the minister grew in favour with them all.
That there had ever been a latent sense of disappointment in the minds of any great number of the people on his first appearance among them would have been indignantly denied. Possibly, in the varied course of events, some in the parish might have their eyes opened to see failings and faults in him, but in the meantime there existed in the congregation a wonderful unanimity of feeling with regard to him.
"The cause was prospering in their midst," that was the usual formula by which was expressed the satisfaction of the staid and elderly people among them. It meant different things to different people: that the church was well filled; that the weekly meetings were well attended; that the subscription-list looked well; that the North Gore folks were drawing in generally, and identifying themselves with the congregation.
This last sign of prosperity was the one most generally seen and rejoiced over. There had all along been a difference of opinion among the wise men of the church as to the manner in which the desired union was to be brought about. The bolder spirits, and the new-comers, who did not remember the well-meant, but futile attempts of Mr Hollister and Deacon Turner in that direction, were of opinion that formal prospects for union should be made to the North Gore men; that matters of doctrine and discipline should be discussed either publicly or privately as might be decided, and that in some way the outsiders should be made to commit themselves to a general movement in the direction of union. But the more prudent and easy-going of the flock saw difficulties in the way. It was not impossible, the prudent people said, that in the course of discussion new elements of disagreement might manifest themselves, and that the committing might be to the wrong side. The easy-going souls among them were of opinion that it was best "just to let things kind o' happen along easy"--saying that after a while the sensible people of the North Gore would "realise their privileges" and avail themselves of the advantages which church fellowship offered to true Christians, and all agreed, before a year were over, that Mr Maxwell's influence and teaching would help to bring about all that was so much desired.
And as time went on, one thing worked with another toward the desired end. In the course of the winter, several of those who were looked upon as leaders among the North Gore people, both for intelligence and piety, cast in their lot with the village people by uniting formally with the church. A good many more became constant hearers without doing so; some hesitating for one reason, and some for another. Among these were the Flemings, whose reason for keeping aloof was supposed to be Jacob Holt, though no one had a right to speak by their authority, of the matter.
Of course Mr Maxwell had been made acquainted with the peculiar circumstances of the place, and he rejoiced with the rest at such evidences of success in his work as the gathering in of the North Gore implied, but no one had ever told him of any serious difficulty existing between old Mr Fleming and Jacob Holt. It was Squire Holt who first spoke to him about it, and the winter was nearly over before that time.
The squire in one of his retrospective moods went over "the whole story," speaking very kindly of the young lad who had gone astray, and of his brother who had died. He spoke kindly, too, of the old man, with whom he had always been on the most friendly terms, but he did not hesitate to say that he thought him foolish and unreasonable in the position he took toward Jacob.
"It was because of something that happened when his son Hugh went away, but Jacob was no more to blame than others; and it might have been all right if the foolish young man had only stayed at home and taken the risk. I tried at the time to talk things over with the old man, but he never would hear a word. There are folks in Gershom who think hard of Jacob, because of old Mr Fleming's opinion, though they did not know a word about the matter. And I'm afraid it's going to do mischief in the church."
"It is strange that I should never have heard of all this before," said Mr Maxwell, at a loss to decide how much of the regret and anxiety evidently felt by Mr Holt was due to the weakness of age. "During all my visits to Mr Fleming, and you know I saw him frequently during his illness, not a word was ever spoken that could have reference to any trouble between the two, nor has your son--"
Mr Maxwell paused. He was not so sure of the exact correctness of what he had been about to say. A good many hints and remarks of Jacob, and of his wife also, which had seemed vague at the time, and which he had allowed to pass without remark, occurred to him now as possibly having reference to this trouble.
"Probably there has been misunderstanding between them," said he after a little.
"Just so," said the old man eagerly. "Jacob aint the man to be hard on anybody--to say hard; he likes to have what is his own, and being a good man of business he hates shiftless doings, and so shiftless folks think and say hard things of him. But as to taking the advantage of an old man like Mr Fleming--why, it would be about as mean a thing as a man could do, and Jacob aint the man to do it, whatever may be said of him.
"Why, look here, Mr Maxwell. Just let me tell you all about it." And the old man, with perfect fairness and sufficient clearness, went into all particulars as to the state of Mr Fleming's affairs at the time of his son's death, and of Jacob's claims upon him. His real respect and friendship for the old man was evident in all he said, and when he lamented that his old friend's unreasonableness should make a settlement of his affairs so difficult, and should make unpleasant talk and hard feelings in the community, Mr Maxwell could not but spare his regret.
"Why, look here, Mr Maxwell. There hasn't been a cent paid on the principal yet, and not all the interest, though it is years ago now, and some of that has been borrowed money. And there is little prospect of its being any different for years to come. If it had been almost any one else but Jacob, he'd have foreclosed long ago, and I don't know but he had better when the right time comes."
It was on Mr Maxwell's lips to express assent to this, when a glance at the face of Miss Elizabeth arrested his words. It wore a look which he had sometimes seen on it when she wished to turn her father's thoughts away from a subject which was becoming painful to him. There was anxiety, even pain in her face as well, on this occasion, and these deepened as her father went on.
"Only the other day Jacob was talking to me about it. 'Father,' says he, 'why can't you just say a word to the old man about letting me have a piece of his land on the river, and settle matters all up. He'll hear you,' says he. 'I don't want to make hard feelings in the church, or anywhere else,' says he. 'It's as much for the old man's interest to have his affairs all straightened out, as it is for me, and more. There need be no trouble about it, if he'd only listen to reason.' I expect I shall have to have a talk with Mr Fleming about it some time," added the old man gravely. "Or you might speak, Mr Maxwell. He would listen to you."
"Only, father, it would be as well to wait till the old gentleman is quite well and strong again," said Elizabeth, rising and folding up her work, and moving about as if to prevent the chance of more talk.
"Well, I guess so, and then I don't suppose it would amount to much anything I could say to him. I wouldn't like to say anything to vex or worry him. He has had a deal of trouble one way and another, since he came to the place, and it has kind of soured him, but he is always as sweet as milk to me. You aren't going away, are you, Mr Maxwell? There, I have tired you all out with my talk, and I've tired myself too. But don't you hurry away. I'll go and step round a little to get the fresh air, and then I'll lie down a spell, and rest. And, Lizzie, you find 'The Puritan' for Mr Maxwell, and he can take a look at that in the meantime."
Elizabeth did as she was bidden, and managed to make the minister understand, without saying so, that she would like him not to go away. So he sat down to the doubtful enjoyment of the paper while Elizabeth followed her father from the room. _