The boom of "Amens" from the back seat was tremendous. Brother Wilkins, rising after his prayer, looked at the four young men for a long moment, over his gla.s.ses. Then he said:

"Let us sing

'From Greenland's icy mountains To India's coral strands.'"

This was sung with tremendous vim, and the minister began his sermon.

Jason's father was a good preacher. His vocabulary was rich and his ideas those of a thinking man whose religion was a pa.s.sion. But the young men on the rear seat were unimpressed. One of them snored. Brother Wilkins stopped his sermon.

"Be silent, ye sons of Satan," he thundered. There was silence and he took up the thread of his talk. A low cat call interrupted him. The minister stopped and slipped off his coat, folding it carefully as he laid it on his desk. It was old and the seams would not stand strain. He rolled up his cuffs as he descended from the pulpit, the congregation watching him spell-bound. Jason had seen his father in action before and was deeply embarra.s.sed but not surprised.

Brother Wilkins strode up to the pew where the offenders sat and seized by the ear the largest of the group, a hulk of twenty-one or so, larger than the minister. He led the young man into the aisle and reached up and boxed his ears, with the sound of impact of a club on an empty barrel.

"Now leave this house of G.o.d," roared the minister. The young fellow sneaked out the door. Brother Wilkins turned back to the pew.

"Don't you tech me or I'll brain ye," cried the youth who was about Brother Wilkins' own size.

"Hah!" snorted the minister. There was the sound of blows, a quick scuffling of feet and the second offender was booted out of the door.

The remaining two made a quick and una.s.sisted exit. Breathing a little heavily, Brother Wilkins returned to his sermon; and to his hypnotized and immensely regaled congregation it seemed that the rest of his preaching was as from one inspired by G.o.d.

Jason sat brooding deeply. Something within him revolted at the spectacle of his father descending from the pulpit to beat recalcitrant members of his congregation. An old and familiar sense of shame enveloped him, and he was thankful when once again darkness had enveloped them and they were traveling rapidly along the mountain road.

They were to have a late supper and spend the night at a cabin well along the road they must travel on the morrow.

Brother Wilkins was in the abstracted state that always followed his preaching and Jason was glad to respect his silence, until it had lasted so long that he became uneasy.

"Father, didn't you say that Herd's was five miles beyond the church?"

The minister pulled up his horse. In the darkness Jason could barely see the outlines of his body.

"Heavens, Jason! Why didn't you rouse me sooner? This isn't the main traveled road. When did we leave it?"

"I don't know, sir. I thought you knew this part of the country so well--"

"So I do, ordinarily. But I can't recognize by-paths on a night like this. Wait, isn't that a light up the mountainside yonder? Come along, my boy, we'll find out where we are."

The light glowed only faintly from the open door of a cabin. An old woman, with a pipe in her mouth, sat crooning over a little fire in the crude fireplace. She looked up in astonishment when the two appeared in the doorway.

"Why, it's Brother Wilkins!" she cackled. "Lord's sake, what you doin'

clar up hyar!"

"Why, Sister Clark! I am glad to see you," exclaimed Jason's father, shaking one of the old woman's hands, and shouting into her other, which she cupped round her ear. "My son and I must have got off the main road five miles back. We're on our way to Milton."

Sister Clark was visibly excited. "Ye ain't going on a step tonight. I can fix a shake-down for ye. Thing like this don't happen to a lone old woman twice in a lifetime. Bring in your saddle-bags--but Lord!" she stopped aghast. "I ain't got a bit of pork in the house, nor there ain't a chicken on the place. All I got is corn-meal and mola.s.ses."

"Plenty, Sister Clark! Plenty! Get the saddle-bags, Jason, and tie the horses to graze."

They ate their supper by candle-light after their hostess had cooked the mush in a kettle hanging from the crane. Brother Wilkins had a violent choking fit during the meal and Sister Clark pounded him on the back, apologizing as she did so for her familiarity with the minister.

Jason slept profoundly on his share of the shake-down that night, and at dawn, after more mush, they were up and away.

Twice on this day, Sunday, Brother Wilkins held service in the mountains and it was nine o'clock at night when they started toward the Ohio again. It was not until they had reached the river at dawn and had roused the ferryman that the minister recovered from his Sunday abstraction.

"Did you have a pleasant trip, Jason?" he asked as they led the horses into the boat.

"Yes, father," answered Jason dutifully.

Brother Wilkins looked at the boy, as if he were beholding him from a new angle.

"You don't look as much like your dear mother as you did in your childhood, my boy. Sometimes--I wonder--Jason, do you think this life has been too hard on your mother?"

"Yes, sir, I do. It's hard on a boy, why shouldn't it be doubly hard on a woman?"

The minister sighed. "Your reply is hardly polite, Jason, though I suppose my question merited it." Then with sudden heat: "Never mistake this cold frankness of yours for courage, my son. It takes more courage usually to be courteous than to be impolite. Did you notice that I coughed violently yesterday evening at Sister Clark's?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, the cause of it was this. She went down to the spring and fetched a pail of water for the mush. When I was eating my helping, I felt a lump in my mouth. But the old lady had her eye on me every minute for fear I wouldn't enjoy the frugal meal, so I could only investigate with my tongue. I found that she had cooked a little bit of a frog in the mush. Now, Jason, if she had discovered that she never would have recovered from the mortification. The only time in her life the minister stopped with her. So, though it made me choke, I swallowed it. That, sir, is my idea of courtesy. I wish you not to forget it."

Jason's cool, speculative young gaze was on his father's face as he answered:

"I understand, father."

The minister turned away. "No, you don't. I doubt if you ever do." And he did not speak again until they reached home.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

III

WAR

[Ill.u.s.tration]

III

WAR

And so Jason went away to study medicine. He worked very hard and progressed very rapidly. By the time he was twenty he was no longer "the doctor's boy." He was a real a.s.sistant in all but fees. He had no share in the doctor's income and always was desperately hard up.

At first, he did not ask his father and mother for help. He did all sorts of odd ch.o.r.es to pay his way. But as he progressed in his profession, he had less and less time for earning his up-keep and had finally to write home for money. His mother always answered his letters and she never failed to send him money when he asked for it. How she managed it, Jason never asked. Perhaps he was ashamed to know.

In all these four years he did not come home. He would have liked to but the trip was prohibitively expensive.

Late in the fall of 1861, he received a letter from his mother containing a ten-dollar bill. It was a short letter. "Your father can't live more than a week. Come at once."