The Doctor told him, adding, "I wouldn't call until harvest is over, if I were you. He really wouldn't have time to give you and he'd probably tell you so." Which advice Dan received in silence.

The sun was just up the next morning when John Gardner was. .h.i.tching his team to the big hay wagon. Already the smoke was coming from the stack of the threshing engine, that stood with the machine in the center of the field, and the crew was coming from the cook-wagon. Two hired men, with another team and wagon, were already gathering a load of sheaves to haul to the threshers.

The house dog barked fiercely and the farmer paused with a trace in his hand when he saw a big man turning into the barn lot from the road.

"Good morning!" called Dan cheerily, "I feared I was going to be late."

He swung up to the young fellow who stood looking at him--too astonished to speak--the unhooked trace still in his hand.

"I understand that you need a hand," said Dan briefly. And the farmer noticed that the minister was dressed in a rough suit of clothes, a worn flannel shirt and an old slouch hat--Dan's fishing rig.

With a slow smile John turned, hooked his trace, and gathered his lines.

"Do you mean to say that you walked out here from town this morning to work in the harvest field--a good eight miles?"

"That is exactly what I mean," returned the other.

"What for?" asked the farmer bluntly.

"For the regular wages, with one condition."

"And the condition?"

"That no one on the place shall be told that I am a preacher, and that--for today at least--I pitch against you. If, by tonight, you are not satisfied with my work you can discharge me," he added meaningly. As Dan spoke he faced the rugged farmer with a look that made him understand that his challenge of the night before was accepted.

The blue eyes gleamed. "I'll take you," he said curtly. Calling to his wife, "Mary give this man his breakfast." Then to Dan, "When you get through come out to the machine." He sprang on his wagon and Dan turned toward the kitchen.

"Hold on a minute," John shouted, as the wagon began to move, "what'll I call you?"

The other answered over his shoulder, "My name is Dan."

All that day they worked, each grimly determined to handle more grain than the other. Before noon the spirit of the contest had infected the whole force. Every hand on the place worked as if on a wager. The threshing crew were all from distant parts of the country, and no one knew who it was that had so recklessly matched his strength and staying power against John Gardner, the acknowledged champion for miles around.

Bets were freely laid; rough, but good natured chaff flew from mouth to mouth; and now and then a hearty yell echoed over the field, but the two men in the contest were silent; they scarcely exchanged a word.

In the afternoon the stranger slowly but surely forged ahead. John rallied every ounce of his strength but his giant opponent gained steadily. When the last load came in the farmer threw down his fork before the whole crowd and held out his hand to Dan.

"I'll give it up," he said heartily. "You're a better man than I am, stranger, wherever you come from." Dan took the offered hand while the men cheered l.u.s.tily.

But the light of battle still shone in the minister's eyes.

"Perhaps," he said, "pitching is not your game. I'll match you now, tonight, for anything you want--wrestling, running, jumping, or I'll go you at any time for any work you can name."

John slowly looked him over and shook his head, "I know when I've got enough," he said laughing. "Perhaps some of the boys here--" He turned to the group.

The men grinned as they measured the stranger with admiring glances and one drawled, "We don't know where you come from, pardner, but we sure know what you can do. Ain't n.o.body in this outfit hankerin' to tackle the man that can work John Gardner down."

At the barn the farmer drew the minister to one side.

"Look here, Brother Matthews," he began.

But the other interrupted sharply. "My name is Dan, Mr. Gardner. Don't go back on the bargain."

"Well then, Dan, I won't. And please remember after this that my name is John. I started to ask if you really meant to stay out here and work for me this harvest?"

"That was the bargain, unless you are dissatisfied and want me to quit tonight."

The other rubbed his tired arms. "Oh I'm satisfied all right," he said grimly. "But I can't understand it, that's all."

"No," said the other, "and I can't explain. But perhaps if you were a preacher, and were met by men as men commonly meet preachers, you would understand clearly enough."

Tired as he was, the big farmer laughed until the tears came.

"And to think," he said, "all the way home last night I was wondering how you could stand it. I understand it all right. Come on in to supper."

He led the way to the house.

For three days Dan fairly reveled in the companionship of those rough men, who gave him full fellowship in their order of workers. Then he went back to town.

John drove him in and the two chatted like the good comrades they had come to be, until within sight of the village. As they drew near the town silence fell upon them; their remarks grew formal and forced.

Dan felt as if he were leaving home to return to a strange land where he would always be an alien. At his door the farmer said awkwardly, "Well, goodbye, Brother Matthews, come out whenever you can."

The minister winced but did not protest. "Thank you," he returned, "I have enjoyed my visit more than I can say." And there was something so pathetic in the brown eyes of the stalwart fellow that the other strong man could make no reply. He drove quickly away without a word or a backward look.

In his room Dan sat down by the window, thinking of the morrow and what the church called his work, of the pastoral visits, the committee meetings, the Ladies' Aid. At last he stood up and stretched his great body to its full height with a sigh. Then drawing his wages from his pocket he placed the money on the study table and stood for a long time contemplating the pieces of silver as if they could answer his thoughts.

Again he went to the window and looked down at Denny's garden that throughout the summer had yielded its strength to the touch of the crippled boy's hand. Then from the other window he gazed at the cast-iron monument on the corner--gazed until the grim figure seemed to threaten him with its uplifted arm.

Slowly he turned once more to the coins on the table. Gathering them, one by one, he placed them carefully in an envelope. Then, seating himself, he wrote on the little package, "The laborer is worthy of his hire."

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE WINTER Pa.s.sES

"And, as the weeks pa.s.sed, it came to be noticed that there was often in the man's eyes, and in his voice, a great sadness--the sadness of one who toils at a hopeless task; of one who suffers for crimes of which he is innocent; of one who fights for a well-loved cause with the certainty of defeat."

The harvest time pa.s.sed, the winter came and was gone again, and another springtime was at hand, with its new life stirring in blade and twig and branch, and its mystical call to the hearts of men.

Memorial Church was looking forward to the great convention of the denomination that was to be held in a distant city.

All through the months following Dan's sermon on "The Fellowship of Service," the new note continued dominant in his preaching, and indeed in all his work. Even his manner in the pulpit changed. All those little formalities and mannerisms--tricks of the trade--disappeared, while the distinguishing garb of the clergyman was discarded for clothing such as is worn by the man in the pew.

It was impossible that the story of those three days in John Gardner's harvest field should not get out. Memorial Church was crowded at every service by those whose hearts responded, even while they failed to grasp the full significance of the preaching and life of this manly fellow, who, in spite of his profession, was so much a man among men.

But the att.i.tude of the church fathers and of the ruling cla.s.s was still one of doubt and suspicion, however much they could not ignore the manifest success of their minister. In spite of their misgivings their hearts swelled with pride and satisfaction as, with his growing popularity they saw their church forging far to the front. And, try as they might, they could fix upon nothing unchristian in his teaching.

They could not point to a single sentence in any one of his sermons that did not unmistakably harmonize with the teaching and spirit of Jesus.

It was not so much what Dan preached that worried these pillars of the church; but it was what he did not preach, that made them uneasy. They missed the familiar pious sayings and plat.i.tudes, the time-worn sermon-subjects that had been handled by every preacher they had ever sat under. The old path--beaten so hard and plain by the many "bearers of good tidings," the safe, sure ground of denominational doctrine and theological speculation, the familiar, long-tried type of prayer, even, were all quietly, but persistently ignored by this calm-eyed, broad-shouldered, stalwart minister, who was often so much in earnest in his preaching that he forgot to talk like a preacher.