The Foe in the Household

CHAPTER VIII.

WHEN Friend Holcombe went home he found a light burning, and his wife waiting for him. She had been looking over one of those books which Edna read so much of late, — a volume Edward Rolfe had given Bishop Rose ; the margins were covered with commentary on the text, and the text was William Shakespeare’s. When she heard her husband in the porch, she rose and carried the volume to a shelf near the door, and then, as if she had forgotten her purpose, brought it back again. She had not forgotten; she wanted to talk about Edna with Friend, and learn his opinion of the book, and whether it was quite well to allow the girl large liberty among those plays. But when he came, looking so weary, she hastily put the volume aside.

“You must be very hungry, and how tired you are! I have tea waiting; come take something, dear, before you drop asleep.”

“ I shall have to get rid of what I have on my mind by sharing it with you, before I can sleep,” said he, following her to the table.

“How did you find Mr. Guildersleeve? The doctor told me where you had gone.” So easily, after all, the question came to her lips ! Ever since the doctor left her, Delia had been thinking that question over, fearing it would be difficult to ask how the sick man was. But indeed it was to her a great matter that Guildersleeve should have sent in his extremity to her husband, — a great matter to her, because the fact would redound to the honor of the church when known. And then, his repentance, how significant !

“ He is really dying, Delia, and quite broken down and penitent. I am to present his contrition to-morrow to the brethren, and ask them to receive him back.”

“ O Friend, is it possible ! ”

“It is a marvel, — if we forget that with God all things are possible.”

“ But you did expect it. You said, ' Moses Guildersleeve isn’t dead yet!’ when you heard that Father Trost had been to see him.”

“ There’s something that weighs heavier than that on my mind, Delia. Deacon Ent loves Mary Trost.” And now he had unburdened himself, had told her all.

Delia looked at her husband as if she could not comprehend what he had said.

“ It is true,” he said, with a heavy sigh. “ He came and told me of it himself.”

“ Did he do that ? Thank God ! ”

“August was the last person I ought to have expected such a thing of, and I did not expect it; but I am sure, Delia, I am sure,” he said, repeating the words he had spoken that afternoon to the young man, “with the temptation there will also be provided a way of escape.”

“ O, do you think so ? But he told you, — that seems a hopeful sign ; but, Friend, this is terrible.”

So terrible did it evidently seem to his wife, that when Friend heard her voice and saw her face, he regretted that he had cast this heavy burden anywhere except upon the Lord.

“Yes,” he said, unconsciously expressing more hope than he actually felt, “ I am sure that with this temptation a way of escape will open.”

“There is one way,” said Delia; “just one, Friend, only one.”

“ What is it?” he asked with a brightening face and almost eager voice. It was not the first time that Delia had opened a door of deliverance for a tempted and tortured soul.

“ Let him go with Mary. Advise him to go. Advise him, Friend ! ”

“Why, Delia! O no, I hope the Lord will show a better way than that.”

“ The Lord will show a way! ” she said, with strange vehemence. “ Hailstones and coals of fire are from the Lord, as well as sunshine and dew. Do not trust that he will wait for the Lord’s showing, for he will not.”

“ Dear wife, I think you do not quite understand August.”

“I think I do. The very fact that our restrictions are what they are convinces me, that he will not succeed in persuading the girl that it is best for her to break her old grandfather’s heart by joining us. If I had August Ent to advise, I should say, 'Go and marry her,’ before everybody. I would tell him so to-morrow. It is not so much to lose a member of the church, even when it’s August Ent, but we have always thought it a great thing to save a soul. We shall be ruined through Christian men, and in the name of the Lord, Friend Holcombe.”

Mr. Holcombe was silent. He repented that he had spoken to his wife on this subject. She seemed not to notice his silence further than to make use of it.

“ He will never give her up. You know how obstinate he is about other things,—he ’ll not change his nature in this business. You must advise him to leave us, and to marry her.”

Then said Friend : “ I think better of August than that, Delia. I think, as you say, that he will not change his nature. He would be very little better than a thief and a liar, if he could deceive us, and keep up a show of membership when he had proved himself no true son of the church. No, no, he is sorely tempted, but he is an honorable, upright man,—a character to be trusted with the honor of the church, in a worse strait even than that he is in. Dear wife, let us pray for him.”

But while he prayed, Delia was repeating to herself those words he had used, — they pierced her heart, — a “liar,” a “thief,” “honorable,” “upright,” “a character to be trusted with the honor of the church.” “It is so,” she said, “ I am all this, — a liar, a thief, trusted with the honor of the church, and, Judas-like, betraying it. O Lord God ! ”

CHAPTER IX.

SOMEWHERE in the foregoing pages mention has been made of Mr, Christopher Boyd. The name was of consequence in Swatara and in the world, and the person bearing it worthy of consideration. From Boyd’s house you might see the sun set beyond the low line of hills more than thirty miles away. The proprietor seemed to live nearer to the sunrise than any of his men ; he had he could n’t tell how many hours of sunlight more than the people in the valley. It might do for miners and tradesmen to live down there; but a workman of a different sort from these, a working-man for whom life at the utmost would be short, must get the longest days out of Nature that she would give.

Perhaps he said that because he had never lived on a mountain-top until he came to Swatara; perhaps he would never have built that gray stone cottage on the rocky west edge of old Blue, had not the foundations been already laid there, and the walls half built, and trees well cleared from the level when he came. Perhaps Mr. Boyd was indebted to Edward Rolfe considerably more even than he deemed.

It was poor Rolfe, who perished untimely, that purposed to live on the mountain-top ; and Boyd was in his place. How goes the Scripture ? “One man soweth and another reapeth.” We cannot say, however, if we speak with precision, that Mr. Boyd’s sickle was in Mr. Rolfe’s field. The work of the two men differed as they themselves did. But we can say truly, no Rolfe in Swatara no Boyd, and no Boyd no Swatara — for us. Swatara for Swatara’s self however, in spite of world, flesh, and devil ; and thirty miles of hill and valley between the top of old Blue and sunset, though in the wilderness were no man. Mr. Boyd was heard to talk sometimes about that prospect. When he first became a settler he had artists up there early in the spring, late in the fall, and in the midsummer heat, to see what could be done with that great arc of red, blue, green, and purple, and the miles and miles of gold and stiver mist; for it was not in his nature to let riches run to waste. There was one among these, who came year after year, and not because he found a princely patron in the gray stone house. He had conceived such a love for the region, and such an admiration of Mr. Boyd, that he made the yearly pilgrimage, and always took away with him some of the “ strength of the hills.”which he transferred to canvas for exhibition walls.

Mr. Boyd sat on his piazza, smoking, on that evening of the week so momentous in the church history of Swatara. While he smoked he looked over the latest report on the market, which had just been brought to him from the Emerald Station ; for he had his daily paper, though he seemed to be out of the world. He was thus occupied when Mr. Elsden came. Mr. Boyd was not very well pleased when he saw this gentleman approaching; yet knowing that the superintendent was of all men not the one to volunteer a visit, unless there were reason good, he rose and stepped forward to receive him. It this gray-haired man, who, under the most abject circumstances, must have made dear his right to be treated as a gentleman, could not be received with cordiality, that lack must be made up by more civility than could have been demanded by any mere business agent. If Boyd was Boyd, still more indisputably Elsden was Elsden.

The superintendent took the chair placed for him, and then the proprietor expected to be informed in regard to the occasion of this visit. Mr. Eldsen had no time to waste, of course.

It was about the patent to be secured for some important simplification of machinery devised by one of the workmen. John Edgar. Mr. Elsden wanted Mr. Boyd’s opinion. That was easily given.

“Secure it, by all means.”

“Then I shall take the necessary measures ? ”

“Certainly ; yes. At once.”

“Edgar is making himself very useful, Mr. Boyd. I think if his wages were increased, we should have the benefit.”

“ Do you think so ? He has thirty dollars a month, has n’t he ? We raised once. Make it forty, if he really deserves it. I suppose we should all like to be paid for doing our best.”

Was that all Mr. Elsden wanted ? It was hardly what he wanted at all, if the fact must be known ; though he did want to use John Edgar, and saw that the way it could be done most easily was by conferring a favor upon him. But the thing Mr. Elsden had come at this time expressly to accomplish was the destruction of Hook ; in other words, he wished to convince Mr. Boyd that there was no use in going on any longer, as they had been going on now three months, throwing money into Hook Mountain and getting nothing back but labor and vexation. Twice already the superintendent had attempted to show the proprietor that the search was useless, as it had been fruitless, that there wasn’t any coal there worth mining Mr. Boyd had conceived a confidence in Hook which it seemed impossible to destroy ; so he had insisted that the work should go on, and the work had gone on. He looked a little impatient when Mr. Elsden now touched on the subject again, but the superintendent continued to dwell upon it in spite of that, and ended by making out so clear a case against old Hook, that Mr. Boyd became at last convinced. “ Very well,” he said, “we leave Hook. Where shall we begin next ? ”

Mr. Elsden had determined that the question should be asked, and, now that it was asked, had his answer ready ; his advice was to begin at once on that abandoned mine under Chestnut Ridge, there was every indication of a great harvest there. It had been deserted by former proprietors, as he had found, because of inadequate machinery ; there was no such want existing now ; they were prepared to work any ground, however stubborn or difficult. Boyd knew that very well; he had spent a fortune in machinery already. If Mr. Elsden was prepared to promise success, it was n’t any particular field he insisted upon working ; only he wanted a crop.

When he had said that, Mr. Boyd arose and walked across the piazza. He had hardly patience to think on this subject as long as they had been talking about it. “ I forgot to mention to you,” he said, returning to his chair, “ I am expecting my brother to-night. He is coming to live with me.”

Now this information surprised Mr. Elsden, for it was the first intimation given by Mr. Boyd to Swatara that lie had brother or kin in the world.

Considering the nature of the information, and the manner in which it was communicated, Mr. Elsden received it with remarkable self-possession. A man who lives in one idea, and exerts himself in furtherance of a solitary object, finds it at least difficult to sympathize with the interests and operations of another sphere. If his life is a selfish one, he will not be able to speak the natural language of the affections with the purity and grace of one whose mother tongue it is. Old Guildersleeve would doubtless find it a hard matter, when he should presently attempt the speech of Gabriel.

Mr. Elsden was not prepared to smile in the face of Christopher Boyd, as Dr. Detwiler would have done, with cordial congratulation that his solitary life was to have some variation. He had neither the heart nor, at that instant, the will. For a moment his eyes were averted. The next, they were turned on Boyd, and he said such things as became him, not worth much, but they pleased the man who received them. Further efforts in this direction were spared the superintendent, for the attention of Boyd was now attracted to the walk leading towards the south piazza ; with a quick glance at Mr. Elsden he stepped out on the greensward. Nothing lower than God’s heaven should crowd upon the meeting, — for nobody need tell him, that of the two figures approaching one was Max.

Mr. Elsden was astonished by the emotion Boyd evinced when he received his brother. The young man was evidently surprised at the cordiality of his reception, and embarrassed by it. He had his recollections of Christopher, but they were not of a character that prophesied the embrace he now received, and the tender words he heard ; such words as a father might have spoken to a son for whom he had long been waiting. Indeed, there was a difference of twenty years between the brothers.

However cordially Mr. Elsden musthave wished himself out of the way, at the moment when the brothers walked up the steps, it was quite certain that he would not betray his sense of the inopportune.

Going or coming, his presence was something to be considered, and so now, when after introduction and a few words he departed, the eyes of the new comer followed him, and he asked: “ Have you a colony of gentlemen up here to equal that one ? He looks like a college professor who has plenty of stock.”

“Paying?” asked Christopher, leading the way into the house.

“ Fifty per cent at least.”

“He has taken his turn at being cleaned out, —was president of a bank once, and rode a high horse. But, as you say, he never forgets himself if that’s being a gentleman. Hungry, Max ? ”

“ As a wolf.”

“ That’s a thing we manage well up here, if we fail in everything else ; your appetite won’t run down. Let’s see what Mrs. Wayne can do for us. We waited dinner for you. How did you get here ?”

“A left-handed fellow drove me up. What a capital road you have, Christopher ; so good for the eyes, too, winding in and out amongst the green. Not a particle of dust.”

Boyd cast a queer look at his brother while he said that, and nodded.

“ You found dust enough on the cars, though, I ’ll be bound. Come and see your private quarters. There ! can you make yourself comfortable in that room ? ”

The door was standing open, and Max, glancing in the direction pointed out by his brother, saw a handsome apartment, which had gray walls, and was carpeted with green. Boyd had commissioned his artist friend to order the furniture, and nobody had as yet occupied the room. It was reserved for Maxwell.

“ I 'll try to manage it,” said he ; “ I have been able to get into closer quarters.”

Well, go in and take possession.”

Mr. Boyd was, in fact, glad to be rid of his brother for a moment. He walked away to the farther end of the piazza, when he found himself alone, and wiped his eyes.

Dinner was soon served, in Christopher’s usual style,—abundant, excellent, well ordered. While the elder served the younger, he took note that he had received under his roof a companion who was neither a glutton nor an epicure.

When they returned to the piazza, Christopher pointed out the main features of the prospect he commanded, but did not dwell upon them. Something better was in process than that glorious down-going of the sun. Such a talk as now began, it is safe to say, had never before been carried on under that roof. For what memories were revived ! What hopes were now to be verified, or — not!

Maxwell remembered how full of grief and trouble his heart had been when they parted, and how his brother had on that occasion turned toward him the face of a stoic, dry-eyed and uncomplaining. Also he must remember how, on all those stormy occasions of his life which stood out so distinctly in his memory, seasons of chaos and of ruin, Christopher had stood immovable as rock. Max had thought he knew his brother when he ascribed to him merely will and daring. The reception he had now met seemed to indicate other and very different qualities in addition.

When Boyd placed Maxwell in the institution from which the latter had just come a graduate, he had, indeed, parted from the lad without the most distant intimation of regret; and this silence had urged the young student along through the first months of school life, in a way that drew to him attention which a youth of his character would take pride in sustaining. He could not forget what Christopher had said when he first entertained the project of securing for him a thorough education : “ It’s too late for me to think of learning what they say every school-boy knows. I have no education, and I shall suffer on that account as long as I live. But no matter ! I have made up my mind to go through as I am. You shall have the learning. Stick at it. It will be almost the same to me as if I had it myself. If I were you, — but of course you can’t feel about it as I do ! Take my advice, and make the most of yourself. You have the chance ; I ’ll stand by you.”

Remembering these words, and how they were spoken, Maxwell Boyd had studied to some purpose, and had now brought with him, not only his diploma, but also the gold medal for general scholarship, for which he had worked hard.

And so he had come proudly, prepared to serve stern-hearted Christopher, not knowing but he would prove a hard master. That doubt was swept out of mind in the first hour of reunion.

The younger brother was a fair copy of the elder. He had the same wellshaped, compact, not lofty figure ; the same honest, manly features ; the same light brown hair and clear hazel eyes. The expression of the two faces was very different. When twenty years had passed over Maxwell, the same lines would not mark his face as now marked that of Christopher. Maxwell had labored, on the whole, in pleasant paths. He had not been tossed about by circumstances, to make at last the marvellous discovery that there were place and power for him also ; he had never advanced alone and self-reliant, to take upon himself responsibilities which, if he failed of an anticipated result, would bury him in ruin, assuming them with the conscience and the purpose of a man who sees his way clear, though the men who stand beside him cannot guess the end.

Christopher Boyd had passed through dismal experiences,—had borne sharp reverses, suspicions, was not well understood. But constantly he had pushed on towards success, and finally had triumphed. He too had looked forward to this meeting with anxiety. He had rarely been mistaken in his estimate of men. He would certainly criticise the youth who had come to live with him ; but he had almost feared to think what might be the result of his first investigation.

The result had pleased him. Max was strong, manly, courteous ; voice, bearing, and address were all in his favor ; his attire became him ; he had remembered that Christopher was twenty years his senior.

When Max understood that whatever he had to tell in regard to college experiences would interest Christopher beyond any other information, he dwelt at length on his past year, and finally produced diploma and medal.

The diploma certified to the young student’s good scholarship, attested his fidelity, integrity, and progress, and declared that he went from his tutors and professors bearing their confidence, respect, and good wishes. The scroll was signed by a dozen names, every one of which, conferred special honor on the graduate.

Christopher Boyd read the document in silence. Long after he had read it, he sat gazing on the parchment and seals, thinking of Boyd professorships Boyd scholarships, and endowments, so grateful was he. At last he exhibited his satisfaction by an act. Without a word of comment, he went to the wall, where his friend Barlow’s finest picture hung, and loosened the cord by which it was suspended. He then removed the picture from its frame, and in its stead placed this realization of a great hope; then, stepping on a chair, he made conspicuous on the wall the precious evidence of human love, manly fidelity, and power.

“ You are a good fellow,” he said, turning his flushed face towards Max, who stood the image of expostulation and embarrassment before him.

“ You don’t actually mean to let that diploma hang there in place of this fine picture.”

“ You ’ll see a finer, maybe, if you step to the door ; but a thing like that. Max, is n’t offered every day. I could n’t have bought that, at any price.”

“ O, but to go and stick a fellow up like that, to be read and known of all men ! ”

“ Good enough reason for it. It does n’t lie, — does it ? It says you have ability and self-respect, — education too. What more would a man have ? There that diploma hangs. You won’t be apt to live it down. Now, my boy, time you went to bed.”

Boyd took Richard Barlow’s picture as he spoke, and held it at arm’s length from the lamp. Having surveyed it, he deposited it in a corner. Max shook his head, and looked ruefully at the diploma, staring at him from the wall with its red eyes.

“ Barlow is n’t a fool,” said Christopher ; “ and I can order a cart-load of frames any day I please ; but there’s only one thing of that kind to be had by us. Breakfast at seven, Sundays included ! Good night, Max.”

“ Good night, Christopher.”

“ I am just across the hall,” said Boyd, coming back. “ There’s a bellrope at the head of your bed. Call for what you want. Mrs. Wayne and her Molly think I made the mines.”

Look from the heavens, poor mother, who gave the best of your life for these sons ! Know at last what you believed possible while you tarried on earth, cramped by poverty and sickness, and thwarted and discouraged whichever way you turned! It was worth your while to sojourn in the miserable shed within sight of the great canal embankment that bounded your horizon, — worth while to bring into being these strong souls, to give of your scant life to make their fulness !

Rejoice in heavenly places, because this night two stout-hearted men recall your patient suffering, your valiant endurance, your charities which cost so much, and were so freely rendered, in spite of want and labor ! They remember well, though they cannot speak of such things even to each other, — they remember well the hope and courage which survived long winters, employment uncertain, uncertain wages ; and how you rejoiced in a sunbeam, were quick to smile, and even to sing. Rest, in the splendor of the unclouded heavens !

Surely, the Angel of the Lord encamped among these mountains.

CHAPTER X.

WHEN, on Sunday morning, Mr. Holcombe passed up to his desk between the rows of well-filled benches, his aspect indicated to such as knew him best that there was work of unusual solemnity to be performed by him that day.

The women and girls belonging to the church, according to the Mennonite custom, had taken off their bonnets and left them in the room adjoining that in which the people assembled for worship. They sat, with bared heads in the congregation, their attire, in style and color, presenting a grave contrast to that of the women, belonging to other denominations, who had come to meeting because they liked Friend Holcombe, or for the reason that they had nowhere else to go.

The garb of the brethren, also, was such as would have attracted attention to them, by reason of its marked simplicity, among any other than a worldrenouncing people. As the preacher looked around him, a glance told him how large a proportion of the little company was composed of the “peculiar people.” He was glad to see that the fine morning had brought out so fair a number of poor Guildersleeve’s brethren.

The day was delightful in its early hours. The morning mists had long since passed up the valley and above the mountain-tops ; and a breeze was stirring, which made its own music as it blew through the pine groves and along the mountain passages. Birds sang with the Swatara, and glad as the waters in their flowing were the feathered creatures in their flight. All things seemed moving on,—moving on to judgment, thought Delia Holcombe, as, sitting in her usual place, she saw the congregation gather. There was a word about to be delivered, for which she waited as if it were a word of deepest personal concernment.

The confession of Guildersleeve, the temptation of Ent, the use Mr. Trost might make of these facts when they came to his knowledge, were subjects of thought sufficient to fil her with apprehension. Sore would be the loss if Deacon Ent should leave them, but terrible the victory if he should succeed in the thing he would of course attempt, and make a convert of Mary. More awful yet to think of was the compromise which it was not impossible he might make between the creed of his fathers and the passion of his heart!

While she sat there in her corner of that quiet house of God, Delia trembled, thinking of Father Trost. She shuddered, thinking of him, for suddenly she seemed to see his dreadful eyes fixed upon her, in the triumph of the moment when he should give his daughter to Deacon Ent, who, for a woman, could give up his creed. At that moment, looking up, she saw the deacon enter the meeting-house door, and with him Mary Trost. She had come with him! This, then, was to be the result! Would it not be better to see triumph in the eyes of Father Trost than defeat? to hear him say, “ You see we don’t have any works of darkness going on among us,” than to hear what he might say if he found that his own flesh and blood had surrendered to the system against which he was carrying on a crusade ?

August looked towards Delia, evidently seeking a vacant seat; near her there was none, but Edna, rising, beckoned, and Mary sat down beside her, while the deacon went on to his accustomed place. He was full of hope. Mary might perhaps learn that day that it was impossible he should leave the brotherhood, and perhaps would lose her wish that he should do so.

She had come to meeting with August comforted by the feeling that her grandfather had consented to her coming. He had returned unexpectedly last evening, but this morning had set forth again, to preach four times before he slept again. Whatever he may have thought when he saw Mary and August standing by the table on which his Bible lay, he expressed no dissatisfaction, but made Ent sit down while he ate his supper. It may have been that then, for the first time, he thought it possible that this fine young man and his Mary might find in each other everything desirable in a lifelong companionship. Mary, however, must bring him round. It would not do for Father Trost to begin with obstinacy. And so he had willingly consented that, as he was to hold services at a distance from home, which she could not possibly attend, she should go down with Mr. Ent to Preacher Holcombe’s meeting. Thus he would lend his child to the service of the Lord ! Let her tempt a good man from his allegiance, if she could!

And so there Mary sat beside Edna Gell; and Edna Gell, having noticed that she came with Deacon Ent (she must have come with him, for they were neighbors, and he had looked around to secure a seat for her), became presently so much absorbed in her own thoughts, that when Mr. Holcombe’s voice broke on the stillness, after the silent prayer with which their service began, she started and blushed, as if her secret mind had been laid bare, and looked towards John Edgar, whose black eyes met hers, as if they had been seeking them.

The people were gathering in larger numbers than usual that bright morning. They came from far and near. Strong men like Dr. Detwiler felt and acknowledged Mr. Holcombe’s influence, and were glad to be guided by a preacher of the gospel who preached of Truth which could conquer the grave, and which lived and walked among the Swatara hills as surely as it had once walked among the hills of Judæa.

Mr. Christopher Boyd also had the greatest respect for Mr. Holcombe ; he was present with Maxwell; and so was Mr. Elsden, who was a judge of men, and careful of what he said about this gospel teacher.

Never did the minister’s commission seem more rightfully and manifestly Friend Holcombe’s than it did this day. Never did he seem to be more assured of his calling than on this morning, when he arose in his place and looked around upon the people with a deliberation of survey that seemed numbering and individualizing, that he might know the spirit of the congregation.

The heavens above, and the earth beneath, inspired him,—love of Him whom the confession of penitent age was about to honor; sympathy with those who had come to receive what he could give them,—tender, patient women with their little ones in their arms, gray-haired men, young men and maidens.

For a while, in the first quarter of his address, he seemed to be struggling with words ; but at last, in a triumphant moment, the spirit mounted strong and free, and clear as a bugle note rose the preacher’s voice.

He carried the people with him, and must have known that he did so. He saw that all eyes were fixed on him, and that there was an eager waiting for his message. The old men who sat in their shirt-sleeves, with their coats spread on their knees, their bodies bent forward, testifying by significant looks and gestures to the truth of his teaching; the children, whose fascinated gaze was upon him, their attention won by a gentleness and earnestness of utterance that helped to make his words intelligible to them; the women,—he could not have asked for better audience, had he been thinking of himself with the impassioned love he had for truth.

When he came to speak of Guildersleeve, it was in a way that banished, at least from sight, every feeling in the congregation that might have been acknowledged out of place and cruel among the members of a family. There was a momentary stir, and then the preacher seemed to hold every heart in his hand ; nor did the announcement that the alien had returned to them, with confession of sin and prayers of forgiveness, lose any of its force when Mr. Holcombe addressed the old men, Eby and Ahern, reminding them of their often-expressed hope, while at the same time he mildly rebuked the unbelief of others, rehearsing for them the story of that prodigal whom his father went to meet with kisses and a ring.

Strange if, in the hour of such pleading, anything like ill-will or pride or exasperating memories should have been allowed a place! A softening light seemed to fall on the wondering faces, — mild evidence of the softening influence with which every heart was surrounded ; and when he said, “ Let us pray for our departing brother, that he may reach our Father’s house in safety,” there was a movement among the people, so immediate and so reverent that the fervor of the prayer seemed to do no more than express their mood.

When the congregation had dispersed, the brethren of the church, in compliance with Mr. Holcombe’s request, still remained for consultation, the old man and the young; and conspicuous in the observation of all, but surely not because he sought pre-eminence among them that day, was Deacon August Ent.

The preacher was going immediately to visit Moses Guildersleeve ; the sick man expected him. What would they ? What message should he carry ? What recollection of the household of faith would they let him have to enlighten the dying man’s dark hour ? What words of brotherly comfort would they give the afflicted and tortured soul, to carry with it from earth ?

Mr. Holcombe addressed them in a manner that told how greatly his own spirit was disturbed ; when he had spoken, he sat down in the midst of profound silence. He and his Master ruled that hour, and pity stood in the place of judgment and justice.

At last Eby, the oldest man among them, who, as was well known, had condemned harshly, albeit with hopeful expectation, the contumacious behavior of Guildersleeve, arose in his place. He began to speak in a low monotone ; but as he went on his voice rose higher and higher, till at the conclusion a shrill song was resounding in the ears of the listeners.

“ I believed in my heart, brethren, it must come to this at last, blessed be the Lord ! ” said he. “ Nevertheless, I am amazed at it. The goodness of God is always amazin’. We are beholden now to forget everything, — everything except that Moses has repented and done the first works. He has confessed to God and to the brethren. God be his judge ! Brethren, can’t we send him word that we’re prayin’ for him down here ? Prayin’ not as ef he was the chief of sinners, nuther, but as we should wish to be prayed for if we was in his case, — his dyin’ case. He is goin’ on the long journey which no man e'er came back from. Will our preacher tell him kindly that some on us have n’t never disremembered the days when he used to stand with us, and was a brother amongst us, and how we mourned after him when Bishop Rose told us that Brother Guildersleeve was n't likely to come back no more ? But now he has come back firstly, and secondly he is going again, to our beloved bishop as we trust in God, and we can all rejoice together that bymeby we shall meet as friends. For we know, Brother Ahern, that once here amongst us they was such friends that, if the bishop’s right hand had been took off, he could n't have felt it no more.”

Deacon Ent’s face was covered, and his head bowed, as was that of many another strong man, while venerable Eby, with many tears, delivered this message in behalf of the brethren.

He had been thinking, while the old man was speaking, of another than Guildersleeve, who Mr. Holcombe had said was as his right hand, and thinking too of all that Guildersleeve had said concerning himself to the minister.

At last, feeling that men were waiting for his word, he arose and looked around upon the little company. But he saw only three faces. One of these he feared, — Mr. Holcombe’s ; the others were the faces of Guildersleeve and Mary; all these were bent on him with seriously questioning eyes.

His bearing was noticeable. No man seemed as much moved as he, by what had taken place. No other could have sent a message more expressive of loving fellowship. By not one word did he refer to the sinner’s repentance or to the forgiveness of the brethren. He could hardly have spoken otherwise had the old man always maintained his integrity, and remained in the society, a brother approved and beloved.

August was not always so lenient, as was well known. He was jealous of the honor of the church. Uprightness, integrity of purpose and of action, the single eye, the open act, were virtues, qualities, powers, which he loved to dwell upon. And there was not a man that heard him now, who would not gladly have trusted him to train all the Mennonite children in the most true faith and doctrine. But now, unflinching readiness in service, obedience at whatever cost, fiery ardor,— nothing of all this was to be discerned in his speech ; only human sympathy, and Christian gentleness in view of human frailty.

He was the last that spoke. It seemed to be the general conviction that he had said all that need be said. The pastor himself had not spoken, could not speak, more to the purpose. The younger brethren would long remember the eloquence of August Ent that day. They might well light theirlamps at the light he bore.

Any one who saw him going up the mountain road, arm in arm with Mr. Holcombe, when the meeting was finally dismissed, might have sung in very joy of heart, “ As the trees of lignaloes which the Lord hath planted, and as the cedar-trees beside the waters ! ”

CHAPTER XI.

JOHN EDGAR had not yet been told that his wages were to be increased ten dollars a month. That was news that “would keep ” till Monday morning. So Mr. Elsden thought, sitting in his office and meditating thereupon. It would keep till Monday morning, and even for a longer time. The superintendent had procured the increase, not because he deemed it absolutely necessary in order to secure, for future time, the services of the young workman; but because he could make the favor to Edgar serve a purpose of his own — could use it as a sort of platform on which he might advance and take a survey of the surrounding region. There was Pit Hole abandoned ; and here was Hook abandoned. Pit Hole he had bought of a now extinct company, “for nothing ” as he deemed, when that company was in the act of expiring. Pit Hole might have been worked till doomsday in search of coal, and the coal would not have been found, because it was not there. But something else was there, which by and by might be developed, when it was discovered, — that was iron. Mr. Elsden was in no haste to have it discovered, he had waited a great many years for successes, and had received failures in the end ; he had learned better than to snatch at fortune now. When the time for discovery should come, John Edgar was the man by whom it must be made. “ Reckless dare-devil,” he had called him once; but now he was “invaluable.”

This John Edgar sat in the machineshop Sunday afternoon, receiving a visit from Mr. Maxwell Boyd, who stayed long and at length fell asleep. That was not strange ; it was so still there ; and mountain air is famous for serving the new-comer a trick like that. John was at work over his drawings ; and when he saw what had happened, he went on working, whistling, and singing snatches of songs, by turns, in a happier mood than he had been when Maxwell surprised him ; for he had not heard that Mr. Boyd’s brother had arrived, or had been expected, till Max announced himself. Edgar was in a happier mood,— this young gentleman was so intelligent, so interested in everything he saw, and withal so friendly. It was a hard matter to get much speech out of the elder Boyd. A nod and a word were as much as any workman expected ; yet all the men liked Christopher. Their liking, though, was probably a mixture of respect and admiration for the successful man. But it seemed to John that he had found almost a friend in the stranger who had sought him out that afternoon. Now and then he broke off from his work to look at Maxwell ; though he had worked diligently, he had not for a moment been unmindful of his presence.

“ I don't envy any fellow living,” said he to himself, leaning his elbows on the table and fixing a long, steady glance on Max; “but if I had such a brother to help me along as he has I,— good for me I have n’t ! Let alone what you can’t get! that’s my ticket.”

But it happened that, in looking for a pencil, Edgar went around Max Boyd and looked on the table whereon he was leaning his head. The pencil had slipped under the sleeper’s hair ; Edgar picked it up, but that was not why he started when he did so, as if a bee had stung him ; nor why he went off into the middle of the shop, and tossed the pencil two or three times in the air, before he returned to his place and sat down ; nor why his aspect was so changed when he resumed his drawing; nor why he now made such bad work of it.

Half an hour went by, then there was a knock at the door ; it wakened Max. He looked up and saw Edgar sitting with his elbows on the table, his head buried in his hands, evidently in deep study. The knock was repeated, but he did not stir.

“ Did you hear that ? ” asked Max.

“ Yes,” he answered, without moving, or even looking up. “ I heard it, but I’m my own man Sundays. I know what the fellows would like ; but I ’ll not have them in here making a row, because they have nothing else to do. I have something to do. If they sat and rattled on till morning, what good would that do me ?”

“ I am not going to be your janitor in spite of you,” said Max, laughing; “but I should think a little recreation might serve you a good turn.”

“ Are you going, sir? What’s your hurry ? ” said Edgar, for Max now arose.

“ Well, I don’t see that I can assist you in your work.”

“ My work won’t come to anything to-day. I suppose, sir, if I had studied as many things as you have, I should be saved a great deal of trouble ; as it is, I have to grope.” There was surely no vaunting in the voice or the mood of the young machinist now.

“ It’s not by studying books that men get the constructive faculty,” answered Max, gravely. He instantly sympathized with John, recognizing in his words a repetition of the lament, or regret, to which he had already heard Christopher give expression. “ That is a sort thing,” he went on, “that’s put into a body before it can talk or walk. Curious, is n’t it ? You have it; I have n’t. You can get at the books, anybody can ; but I cannot get at the invention. Things are dealt about with an even hand, you see. I hope I shall have the pleasure of helping you to what you want badly. Tell me when you need anything to — to get on with your work, I sha’ n’t be likely to find it out myself, for I am slow at that; besides, not being an inventor I don’t know enough.”

“ O you fellow,” exclaimed Edgar, jumping up from his chair, his eyes glittering with delight; “you go and tell Mr. Elsden what you have been saying to me and he ’ll have you shipped for Botany Bay, you or me, one of us, sure. He would think this region not big enough for both of us. It is n’t his way of talking to the hands I can tell you.”

“Just hold me to my word, that’s all,” said Max, in the glow of his generous feeling. “ Have you a pipe here, Edgar ? ”

“It’s against the regulations, sir, to smoke in the building.”

Max turned towards the door, about to go, when another knock arrested him.

This time John Edgar exhibited a very different degree of interest from that he showed when the first application was made ; he evidently recognized the knock, and when it was repeated walked rapidly across the shop, and opened the door.

“ O, you are here,” said a girl’s voice, “ I was just going away. Here are your papers, John ; I am much obliged to you.”

“ Have you been able to make anything out of them?” he asked, in a voice which had quite another tone from that in which he had been talking with Maxwell Boyd.

“You may see for yourself.” Then there was a rustling of papers.

“ Well enough ! did you use a rule, Miss Edna? ”

“ Not once.”

Max thought he would like to look at the face of the speaker, but he could not without forcing himself upon the evidently sufficient company of the two.

“ You have a truer eye than mine, Miss Edna. Mr. Barlow said — ”

“ Said ! has he gone ? ”

“ Yes ; he said you might do excellent things. Bat study from nature, draw everything you see, try faces. He told me to say that to you.”

“ Shall I try your face to begin with, now ? ”

Edgar hesitated; if Maxwell Boyd had been without instead of within, he would have said yes ; but now he said : “ I am afraid not to-day. Begin with a beautiful little face that you can look at and study every hour in the day.”

“ You mean Rosa’s. I will. You are very kind, John. Good night.”

“ Good night, Miss Edna.”

“ Were you at the meeting this morning, John ? ”

“ Yes. You have got old Guildersleeve back, it seems.”

“ They have. Yes. John, I brought a book with me which I should like to lend you; I covered it because it is not mine. Will you care about reading it ? ”

“ I shall, certainly, if you have read it, and like it.”

“ I want to know whether you like it; I do not quite know what I think; and it is out of their way over there. They don’t care about such things.”

“ Then I will read it carefully,” said John ; and he had now evidently forgotten that Max Boyd stood within, or he would have shortened this conversation, brief though it was, in spite of the evident wish of Miss Edna to prolong it.

“ There is a great deal in it. It seems like all the world — so much there is,” said Miss Edna; and then she said “ Good night ” again, and went away.

“ There’s plenty of pluck there,” said John, going back into the shop, and speaking to Maxwell. He laid the book on a high shelf, and glanced at a bit of looking-glass which was fastened to the wall beneath it.

“ One of your pupils ? ” asked Max.

“ Not exactly. The doctor took some of my drawings down to the preacher’s one day, and she copied them; afterwards she came and asked me to explain what they all meant; since then I have helped her some. Did you see her ? ”

“No, but I heard her. And who is Rosa ? ”

“ She ’s the preacher’s daughter ; this one lives with them,—adopted I believe. The girls are about as much alike as the sun and the moon are. Would you like to see the preacher’s house ? ”

“ I dare say I have seen it already, for I have walked all the afternoon; but, yes, I should like to know who’s who, and where’s where.”

And so the two young men walked about, Edgar as a guide, pointing out one place and another, which he supposed would interest the brother of Mr. Boyd, who had come to live in the neighborhood, and to find his work there.

By and by Max thought of Christopher, and signified his intention to return. Edgar then made known his preference for the valley road, and so they separated.

And this was the reason why he determined suddenly to go by himself down the railroad track, rather than up with Max towards the mountain-top.

Max had taken a glass of wine with Christopher at dinner, according to the Sunday custom of the elder brother. It was a single glass, but the subtle aroma was not yet entirely dissipated when he went into the machine-shop, and the sense that was keenest in Edgar had discerned it as he bent over sleeping Max, looking for his pencil. He wanted to get away by himself where he should have an opportunity of fighting his tempter. He sought the solitude which he should have shunned, for the Devil’s favorite lair is solitude.