"It is so," continued I, "with all student-tools. There are a few which the minister uses over and over again; his dictionaries, commentaries, and cyclopedia, if he has one. There are a few treaties that are worth reading and re-reading; but they are exceptional. Generally the student gets the gist of a book in one reading, as a squirrel the kernel of a nut at one crack. What remains on his shelves thereafter is only a sh.e.l.l. A book that has been dulled can rarely be sharpened and put to use again. There is no ministerial hone. The parson must replenish his bench every year.

At least he ought to."

"I haven't no great opinion of larned ministers no-how," said Mr.

Hardcap. "It isn't larnin' we want, Mr. Laicus. It is the Gospel, the pure, unadulterated Gospel."

Mr. Hardcap was incorrigible. I might as well try to explain to a North American Indian the cost and the value of a modern cotton mill as the cost and the value of student tools to Mr. Hardcap.

But I believe I produced some impression on the others. Deacon Goodsole still pondered my figures. "I never thought of the cost of minister's tool before," said he. "It's quite an item."

"Well," said Mr. Hardcap, "for my part I don't see why the parson can't live on a thousand dollars a year as well as I can."

I had failed to produce conviction on the subject of tools. I resolved to try another tack. "What do you pay for help?" said I.

"Help?" said he interrogatively.

"Yes," said I. "What do you pay your cook and chambermaid?"

"Hoh!" said he contemptuously. "I don't keep no help. My Bible tells me that G.o.d made the wife to be a help-meet for man, and my wife is all the help I want. I wouldn't have a servant round my house at no price."

"Do you suppose our pastor and his wife can get along the same way?"

I asked.

"Don't see why not," said he sententiously.

"What!" said Mr. Wheaton. "Would you have your pastor's wife do her own work, Mr. Hardcap? I hope we haven't got so poor as that. She must be a lady, Mr. Hardcap; a lady, sir."

"Well," said Mr. Hardcap, "and can't a lady do her own work? High and mighty notions these that a woman must eat the bread of idleness to be a lady."

"Oh! it's all very well, Mr. Hardcap," said Mr. Wheaton; "but our pastor's wife has a position to maintain. She owes a duty to the parish, sir. She can't be maid of all work at home. I should be ashamed of the church to suffer it."

"There certainly is a difference, Mr. Hardcap," said the Deacon.

"Mrs. Hardcap may do her own washing. And if anybody finds her over the washtub Monday morning no one thinks the worse of her for it.

But it really wouldn't do for our pastor's wife."

Mr. Hardcap shook his head resolutely. "I don't see it," said he. "I don't believe a minister's wife is too good to work."

"She isn't," said the Deacon. "But if she washes Monday, and irons Tuesday, and sweeps Wednesday, and bakes Thursday, and sews Friday and Sat.u.r.day, what time has she left to make calls or receive them?"

Mr. Hardcap only shrugged his shoulders.

"How many calls does your wife make in a year?" I asked.

"Oh! we don't make no calls," said Mr. Hardcap. "We've got other work to do."

"And yet you expect your minister and his wife to call on you?" said I interrogatively.

"I s'pose so," said he.

"I remember hearing you say that you thought it rather hard of Mrs.

Work, just before they left, that she hadn't been inside of your house for six months. How many calls do you suppose Mrs. Mapleson would have to make in a year in order to call on every family once in six months?"

"Don't know," said Mr. Hardcap, shortly.

"Well," said the Deacon, "we've got over a hundred families in our parish. It would take nearly one call every day."

"Beside extra calls on the sick," I continued. "You will either have to give Mrs. Mapleson a servant or relinquish your expectation of receiving any calls from her; that is very evident."

Mr. Hardcap made no reply.

"There are one or two other items that ought to be considered in deciding what the pastor's salary should be," said a gentle but tremulous voice at my side. I turned about to see the speaker. It was old Father Hyatt, who had joined our group, unperceived.

"I suppose Mr. Hardcap's best broadcloth coat and Mrs. Hardcap's black silk gown last them a good many years. Isn't it so, Mr.

Hardcap?"

Mr. Hardcap confessed that it was.

"The minister has to wear broadcloth, Mr. Hardcap, all the week. He must be always in society dress. So must his wife. With the utmost economy their bill for clothes mounts up to a frightful sum. I know, for I have tried it."

"There is something in that," said Mr. Hardcap.

Old Father Hyatt is a great favorite with Mr. Hardcap, as indeed he is with all of us. And no one ever accused Father Hyatt of extravagance.

"I know a city clergyman," continued the old man, "who always preaches in a silk gown, though he is a Congregationalist. 'It saves my coat', said he to me once in explanation. 'I can wear a seedy coat in the pulpit and no one is the wiser.' 'But,' said I, 'how about the silk gown?' 'Oh!' said he, 'the ladies furnish the gown.'"

We laughed at the parson's shrewdness. Even Mr. Hardcap smiled.

"And there are some other items, too, gentlemen," added Father Hyatt, "which I hope you will consider. The churches don't ordinarily know about them. At least they do not consider them. The company item alone is an enormous one. Not once in six months now do I have a friend to pa.s.s the night with me. But when I was settled here my spare room always had a guest, and half the time my stable an extra horse. Every benevolent agent, every traveling minister, every canva.s.ser makes straight for the minister's house. He has to keep an inn for the benefit of the parish, and gets no pay for it."

"Cut them off," said Mr. Hardcap. But he said it good naturedly.

"'Given to hospitality,' says the Apostle," replied Father Hyatt.

"Well," said Deacon Goodsole, with a sigh, "we ought to pay the fifteen hundred a year. It's none too much. But I don't see where it's coming from."

"Oh! never you fear," said Mr. Wheaton. "Mr. Mapleson is worth fifteen hundred, and we'll have to pay it. We'll get it somehow.

Write him it's fifteen hundred, Mr. Laicus. You'll be safe enough."

With which our informal conference came to an end. But I have not written. I wonder if Jim Wheaton runs the Koniwa.s.set Coal Company, and the Newtown railroad, and the Wheathedge bank on the "somehow"

principle. I wish had asked him. I am glad I have no stock in them.

CHAPTER XXII.

Ecclesiastical Financiering.