"I shall go pretty soon," she said, "but you mustn't. The minister ain't expected until the last bell's 'most done. Parson Langley used to wait until the Winslows went in. Gaius Winslow is a widower man who lives up to the west end of the town and he's got nine children, all boys. You'll know 'em because they always drive down to meetin' in one carryall with a white horse. Gaius is as punctual as a boardin'-house dinner. The old parson used to wait until the last Winslow had toddled up the meetin'-house steps and then he'd come out of this side door with his sermon in his hand. It's a pretty good rule to remember and saves watchin' the clock. Besides, it's what we've been used to, and that goes a good ways with some folks. Good-by, Mr. Ellery. You'll see me in the third pew from the back, on the right side, wishin' you luck just as hard as I can."

So, as in couples or family groups, afoot or in all sorts of vehicles, the members of Trumet's Regular society came to the church to hear their new minister, that functionary peeped under the parlor window shade of the parsonage and waited, fidgetting and apprehensive, for the Winslows. They arrived at last, and were not hard to recognize, for ten individuals packed into one carriage are hard to overlook anywhere. As Gaius, with the youngest in his arms, pa.s.sed in at the church door, John Ellery pa.s.sed out of the parsonage gate. The last bell clanged its final stroke, the vibrations ceased, the rustle of skirts and the sounds of decorous coughing subsided and were succeeded by the dry rattle of the hymn-book pages, the organ, presented by Captain Elkanah and played by his daughter, uttered its preliminary groan, the service began.

Outside the spring breeze stirred the budding silver-leafs, the distant breakers grumbled, the crows in the pines near Captain Eben Hammond's tavern cawed ribald answers to the screaming gulls perched along the top of the breakwater. And seated on one of the hard benches of the little Come-Outer chapel, Grace Van Horne heard her "Uncle Eben," who, as usual, was conducting the meeting, speak of "them who, in purple and fine linen, with organs and trumpets and vain shows, are gathered elsewhere in this community to hear a hired priest make a mock of the gospel." (A-MEN!)

But John Ellery, the "hired priest," knew nothing of this. He did know, however, that he was the center of interest for his own congregation, the people among whom he had been called to labor. Their praise or criticism meant everything to him; therefore he preached for dear life.

And Keziah Coffin, in the third pew from the back, watched him intently, her mind working in sympathetic unison with his. She was not one to be greatly influenced by first impressions, but she had been favorably impressed by this young fellow, and had already begun to feel that sense of guardianship and personal responsibility which, later on, was to make Captain Zebedee Mayo nickname the minister "Keziah's Parson."

The sermon was a success.

CHAPTER IV

IN WHICH KEZIAH'S PARSON DECIDES TO RUN IT BLINDFOLD

On Monday afternoon the minister made a few calls. Keziah made out a short list for him to follow, a "sort of chart of the main channel," she called it, "with the safe ports marked and the shoals and risky places labeled dangerous."

"You see," she said, "Trumet ain't a course you can navigate with your eyes shut. We divide ourselves into about four sets--aristocrats, poor relations, town folks, and sc.u.m. The aristocrats are the big bugs like Cap'n Elkanah and the other well-off sea captains, afloat or ash.o.r.e.

They 'most all go to the Regular church and the parish committee is steered by 'em. The poor relations are mainly widows and such, whose husbands died or were lost at sea. Most of them are Regulars. The town folks are those that stay ash.o.r.e and keep store or run salt works or somethin'. And the sc.u.m work around on odd jobs or go fishin'. So, if you really want to be safe, you must call on the aristocrats first, after that on the poor relations, and so on down. You won't be bothered with sc.u.m much; they're mainly Come-Outers."

Ellery took the list from her hand and looked it over.

"Hum!" he said musingly. "Am I supposed to recognize these--er--cla.s.s distinctions?"

"Yes. That is, not in meetin' or sewin' circle or anything like that, or not out and out and open anywhere. But you want to cultivate a sort of different handshake and how-dy-do for each set, so's to speak. Gush all you want to over an aristocrat. Be thankful for advice and always SO glad to see 'em. With the poor relations you can ease up on the gush and maybe condescend some. Town folks expect condescension and superiority; give it to 'em. When it comes to sc.u.m, why--well, any short kind of a bow and a 'Mornin' 'll do for them. 'Course the Lord, in His infinite mercy, made 'em, same as He did potato bugs, but it's necessary to keep both bugs and them down to their proper place."

She delivered this in the intervals between trips to the kitchen with the dinner dishes. The minister listened with a troubled expression on his face.

"Mrs. Coffin," he said, "I guess I'm dull. There was a Scotch professor at college and the fellows used to say his b.u.mp of humor was a dent.

Maybe mine isn't much better. Are you joking?"

Keziah stacked the cups and saucers.

"I ain't jokin'," she declared. "I've been a poor relation in this village for a good while and my brother was a shoemaker and on the upper fringe of the town-folk cla.s.s. My humor b.u.mp would have to stick up like Cannon Hill afore I could see any joke in that."

"But you're not seriously advising me to treat a rich man differently from a poor one?"

"Not openly different--no. But if you want to steer a perfectly SAFE course, one that'll keep deep water under your keel the whole voyage, why, there's your chart."

Mr. Ellery promptly tore the "chart" into small pieces.

"I'm going out," he said. "I shall be back by supper time."

Mrs. Coffin eyed him grimly.

"Goin' to run it blindfold, are you?" she asked.

"Yes, I am."

Her grimness disappeared and she smiled.

"I'll have your supper ready for you," she said. "Bring back a good appet.i.te."

The young man hesitated on the threshold.

"Mrs. Coffin," he demanded, "would YOU have called only on the aristocrats at first?"

She shook her head, smiling still.

"No," she replied, "not me. I've always taken risks. But I didn't know but you might be a safe sailor. It saves a lot of trouble in this world."

"How about the next?"

"Oh, well, perhaps even the sc.u.m may count for somethin' over there."

She turned to face him and her smile vanished. "Go on, Mr. Ellery," she said. "Go and call where you please. Far be it from me that I should tell you to do anything else. I suppose likely you hope some day to be a great preacher. I hope you will. But I'd enough sight rather you was a good man than the very greatest. No reason why you can't be both. There was a preacher over in Galilee once, so you told us yesterday, who was just good. 'Twa'n't till years afterwards that the crowd came to realize that he was great, too. And, if I recollect right, he chummed in with publicans and sinners. I'm glad you tore up that fool paper of mine. I hoped you might when I gave it to you. Now you run along, and I'll wash dishes. If cleanliness is next to G.o.dliness, then a parson ought to eat out of clean plates."

As a matter of fact, the minister's calls were in the nature of a compromise, although an unintentional one. He dropped in on Zebedee Mayo, owner of the big house on the slope of the hill. Captain Zeb took him up into what he called his "cupoler," the observatory on the top of the house, and showed him Trumet spread out like a map. The main road was north and south, winding and twisting its rutted, sandy way. Along it were cl.u.s.tered the princ.i.p.al houses and shops, shaded by silver-leaf poplars, a few elms, and some willows and spruces. Each tree bent slightly away from the northeast, the direction from which blew the heavy winter gales. Beyond the main road were green slopes and pastures, with swamps in the hollows, swamps which were to be cranberry bogs in the days to come. Then the lower road, with more houses, and, farther on, the beach, the flats--partially uncovered because it was high tide--and the bay.

Behind the Mayo house was the crest of Cannon Hill, more hills, pastures and swamps, scattered houses and pine groves. Then began the tumbled, humped waste of sand dunes, and, over their ragged fringes of beach plum and bayberry bushes, the deep blue of the wide Atlantic. The lighthouse was a white dot and the fish shanties a blotch of brown. Along the inner edge of the blue were scars of dancing white, the flashing teeth of hungry shoals which had torn to pieces and swallowed many a good ship.

And, far out, dotted and sprinkled along the horizon, were sails.

"See?" said Captain Zeb, puffing still from the exertion of climbing the ladder to the "cupoler," for he was distinctly "fleshy." "See? The beacon's up. Packet come in this mornin'. There she is. See her down there by the breakwater?"

Sure enough, the empty barrel, painted red, was hoisted to the top of its pole on the crest of Cannon Hill. And, looking down at the bay and following the direction of the stubby pointing finger, Ellery saw a little schooner, with her sails lowered, lying, slightly on her side, in a shallow pool near a long ridge of piled stones--the breakwater. A small wharf made out from the sh.o.r.e and black figures moved briskly upon it. Carts were alongside the schooner and there more dots were busy.

"Eben's pennant's flyin'," said Captain Zeb. "He always sets colors when the packet's in. Keeps packet tavern, Eben does. That's it, that old-fashioned, gambrel-roofed house on the rise by the wharf. Call it 'Saints' Rest,' they do now, 'cause Eben's so mighty religious."

The minister saw the long, rambling house, with one lonely, twisted tree in its yard, a flag flying from a pole beside it. So that was where the Hammonds lived. And where the girl lived who was certain he was a "conceited snippet." Whatever he might be in reality he hoped it was not that. "Snippet" was not in his dictionary, but he didn't like the sound of it.

"Who owns the packet?" he asked, to make conversation.

"Zach Foster. Married Freewill Doane's daughter over to Harniss. She's dead now."

"A good sailor, is he?"

Captain Zeb spat in supreme disgust.

"Good farmer!" he snorted. "Zach took over the packet for a debt when the chap that used to run her died. His dad, old man Foster, raised garden truck at the same time mine went to sea. Both of us took after our fathers, I guess. Anyhow, my wife says that when I die 'twill be of salt water on the brain, and I'm sure Zach's head is part cabbage. Been better for him if he'd stuck to his garden. However, I s'pose he does his best."

"They say angels can do no more."

"Um-m. Well, Zach'll be an angel pretty soon if he keeps on cruisin'

with that old hooker as she is. 'Bijah Perry, he's mate and the only good seaman aboard, tells me that most of the riggin's rotten and the main topmast ain't sound, by a good deal. The old man's put off havin'

her overhauled for two reasons, one that repairs cost money, and t'other that puttin' off is the main sheet of his gospel. When there's no rain the roof don't leak and long's it don't blow too hard 'most any kind of gear'll hold. That's philosophy--cabbage philosophy."

Ellery decided that he should like Captain Zeb, although it was evident that the old whaler had decided opinions of his own which he did not hesitate to express. He judged that the Mayos were of the so-called aristocracy, but undoubtedly unique specimens. He visited four more households that afternoon. The last call was at Mrs. Thankful Payne's, and while there, listening to the wonderful "poem," he saw Miss Van Horne pa.s.s the window, as has already been told. He came home to a Cape Cod supper of scalloped clams, hot biscuits, and baked Indian pudding, and Keziah greeted him with a cheery smile which made him feel that it WAS home. His summary disposal of the "chart" had evidently raised him in his housekeeper's estimation. She did not ask a single question as to where he had been.