"I am glad I went in your company," said the minister.

"Thank you," said Elizabeth.

"Your are welcome," said her brother, and then he added, laughing, "I hope all the rest of the world will be as well pleased."

This was to be doubted. Mrs Jacob was by no means pleased for one.

She had said nothing to Elizabeth on the occasion when Mr Maxwell had stayed away from the sewing-circle, but Elizabeth knew that her silence did not imply either forgetfulness or forgiveness. She could wait long for an opportunity to speak, and could then put much into a few words for the hearing of the offender. It was a renewal of the offence that the minister should have been taken to the hill-farm by Clifton, and then to Ythan Brae by him and his sister, though why she could not have easily explained. Whatever Clifton did was apt to take the form of an indiscretion in her eyes, but neither her sharp words nor her soft words were heeded by him, and she rarely wasted them upon him. But it was different where his sister was concerned. She had turns now and then of taking upon herself the responsibility of Elizabeth, as of a young girl to whom she stood as the nearest female relation, and she knew how to hurt her when she tried. Elizabeth rarely resented openly her little thrusts, but all the same, she unconsciously armed herself for defence in Mrs Jacob's presence, and an att.i.tude of defence is always uncomfortable where relations who meet often are concerned.

They had met a good many times, however, before any allusion was made to the visits which had displeased her. She came one day into Elizabeth's sitting-room to find Mr Maxwell there in animated discussion with Clifton. She hardly recognised him in the new brightness of his face, and the animation of his voice and manner. He was as unlike as possible to the silent, constrained young man who daily sat at her table, and who responded so inadequately to her efforts for his entertainment. She liked the minister, and wished to make him happy in her house, and there was real pain mingled with the unreasonable anger she felt as she watched him. Her first few minutes were occupied in answering the old squire's questions about Jacob and the children. She had startled him from his afternoon's sleep, and he was a little querulous and exacting, as was usual at such times. But in a little she said:

"Mr Maxwell had good visits at the Hill, and at Mr Fleming's, he told us. It is a good thing you thought of going with him, Elizabeth. You and Cousin Betsey have become reconciled."

"Reconciled!" repeated Elizabeth; "we have never quarrelled."

"Oh, of course not. That would not do at all. But you have never been very fond of one another, you know."

"I respect Cousin Betsey entirely, though we do not often see one another," said Elizabeth. "I did not go to the Hill the other day, however. Clifton went with Mr Maxwell, and they enjoyed it, as you say."

The squire was a little deaf, and not catching what was said, needed to have the whole matter explained to him.

"Betsey is a good woman," said he; "I respect Betsey. Her mother isn't much of a business woman, and it is well Betsey is spared to her. It'll be all right about the place; I'll make it all right, and Jacob won't be hard on them."

And so the old man rambled on, till the talk turned to other matters, and Mrs Jacob kept the rest of her remarks for Elizabeth's private ear.

"I am so glad you like Mr Maxwell, Elizabeth. I was afraid you would not; you are so fastidious, you know, and he seems to have so little to say for himself."

"I like him very much, and so does Clifton," said Elizabeth, waiting for more.

"I am very glad. He seems to be having a good influence on Clifton. He hasn't been in any trouble this time, at all, has he? How thankful you must be. Jacob is pleased. I only hope it may last."

The discussion of her younger brother's delinquencies, real or supposed, was almost the only thing that irritated Elizabeth beyond her power of concealment; and if she had been in her sister-in-law's house, this would have been the moment when she would have drawn her visit to a close. Now she could only keep silence.

"I hope Clifton may do well next year," went on Mrs Jacob; "you will miss him, and so shall we."

"We must do as well as we can without him. In summer he will be home for good, I hope."

"Yes, if he should conclude to settle down steadily to business. Time will show, and this winter we have Mr Maxwell. It depends some on Miss Martha Langden, I suppose, how long we shall have him in our house. You have heard all about that, I suppose?" said she, smiling significantly.

Elizabeth smiled too, but shook her head.

"I have heard the name," said she.

"Well, you must not ask me about her. I only know that she gets a good many letters from Gershom about this time. It is not to be spoken of yet."

She rose to go, and Elizabeth went with her to the door, and she laughed to herself as she followed her with her eye down the street. She had heard Miss Martha Langden's name once. It was on the night when Mr Maxwell called on his way from the Hill-farm. He had said that he liked Miss Betsey, and that she reminded him of one of his best friends, Miss Martha Langden, one who had been his mother's friend when he was a child.

Miss Elizabeth laughed again as she turned to go into the house, and she might have laughed all the same, if she had known that the frequent letters to Miss Martha Langden never went without a little note to some one very different from Miss Martha. But she did not know this till long after.

Clifton Holt went back to college again, and Elizabeth prepared for a quiet winter. She knew that, as in other winters, she would be held responsible for a certain amount of entertainment to the young people of the village in the way of gigantic sewing-circles, and no less gigantic evening parties. But these could not fall often to her turn, and they were not exciting affairs, even when the whole responsibility of them fell on herself, as was the case when her brother was away. So it was a very quiet winter to which she looked forward.

And because she did not dread the utter quiet, as she had done in former winters, and because she was able to dismiss from her thoughts, with very little consideration of the matter, a tempting invitation to pa.s.s a month or two in the city of Montreal, she fancied she was drawing near to that period in a woman's life, when she is supposed to be becoming content with the existing order of things, when the dreams and hopes, and expectations vague and sweet, which make so large a part in girlish happiness, give place to graver and more earnest thoughts of life and duty, to a juster estimate of what life has to give, and an acquiescent acceptance of the lot which she has not chosen, but which has come to her in it. It is not very often that so desirable a state of mind and heart comes to girls of four-and-twenty. It certainly had not come to Elizabeth. However, it gave her pleasure--and a little pain as well--to think so, and it was a good while before she found out that she had made a mistake.

As for Mr Maxwell, he was "coming to himself," as Mrs Fleming had predicted. His health improved, and as he grew familiar with his new circ.u.mstances, the despondency that had weighed him down was dispelled.

Before the snow came, he was making visits among the people, without any one to keep him in countenance. Not regular pastoral visits, but quite informal ones, to the farmer in his pasture or wood-lot, or as he followed his oxen over the autumn fields. He dropped now and then into the workshop of Samuel Green, the carpenter, and exchanged a word with John McNider as he pa.s.sed his forge, where he afterward often stopped to have a talk. The first theological discussion he had in Gershom was held in Peter Longley's shoe-shop, one morning when he found that amiable sceptic alone and disposed--as he generally was--for a declaration of his rather peculiar views of doctrine and practice; and his first temperance lecture was given to an audience of one, as he drove in Mark Varney's ox-cart over that poor man's dreary and neglected fields.

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 repet.i.tion 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 unembarra.s.sed 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 circ.u.mstances 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 pa.s.s 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.