Chapter VIII

by Kate Douglas Wiggin

　　VIII"Put the things down on the front steps," said Dick to the driver ashe neared the parsonage. "If there's nobody at home I'll go on up tothe church after I've got this stuff inside."

　　"Got a key?"

　　"No, don't need one. I've picked all the locks with a penknife many atime. Besides, the key is sure to be under the doormat. Yes, here itis! Of all the unaccountable customs I ever knew, that's the mostlaughable!"

　　"Works all right for you!"

　　"Yes, and for all the other tramps,"—and Dick opened the door andlifted in his belongings. "Good-night," he called to the driver; "I'llwalk up to the church after I've found out whether mother keeps themince pie and cider apple sauce in the same old place."

　　A few minutes later, his hunger partially stayed, Dick Larrabee lockedthe parsonage door and took the well-trodden path across the churchcommon. It was his father's feet, he knew, that had worn the shoveledpath so smooth; his kind, faithful feet that had sped to and fro onerrands of mercy, never faltering in all the years.

　　It was nearly eight o'clock. The sound of the melodeon, withchildren's voices, floated out from the white-painted meeting-house,all ablaze with light; or as much ablaze as a kerosene chandelier andsix side lamps could make it. The horse sheds were crowded with teamsof various sorts, the horses well blanketed and standing comfortablyin straw; and the last straggler was entering the right-hand door ofthe church as Dick neared the steps. Simultaneously the left-hand dooropened, and on the background of the light inside appeared the figureof Mrs. Todd, the wife of his ancient enemy, the senior deacon. Dickcould see that a sort of dressing-room had been curtained off in thelittle entry, as it had often been in former times of tableaux andconcerts and what not. Valor, not discretion, was the better policy,and walking boldly up to the steps Dick took off his fur cap andsaid, "Good-evening, Mrs. Todd!"

　　"Good gracious me! Where under the canopy did you hail from, DickLarrabee? Was your folks lookin' for you? They ain't breathed a wordto none of us."

　　"No, I'm a surprise, Mrs. Todd."

　　"Well, I know you've given me one! Will you wait a spell till therecitations is over? You'd scare the children so, if you go in now,that they'd forget their pieces more'n they gen'ally do."

　　"I can endure the loss of the 'pieces,'" said Dick with a twinkle inhis eye.

　　At which Mrs. Todd laughed comprehendingly, and said: "Isaac'll get astool or a box or something; there ain't a vacant seat in the church.I wish we could say the same o' Sundays!—Isaac! Isaac! Come out andsee who's here," she called under her breath. "He won't be long. He'stendin' John Trimble in the dressin'-room. He was the only one in thevillage that was willin' to be Santa Claus an' he wa'n't over-willin'.Now he's et something for supper that disagrees with him awfully andhe's all doubled up with colic. We can't have the tree till theexercises is over, but that won't be mor'n fifteen minutes, so I sentIsaac home to make a mustard plaster. He's puttin' it on John now.John's dreadful solemn and unamusin' when he's well, and I can't thinkhow he'll act when he's all crumpled up with stomach-ache, an' themustard plaster drawin' like fire."

　　Dick threw back his head and laughed. He had forgotten just howunexpected Beulah's point of view always was.

　　Deacon Todd now came out cautiously.

　　"I've got it on him, mother, tho' he's terrible unresigned to it; an'I've given him a stiff dose o' Jamaica Ginger. We can tell pretty soonwhether he can take his part."

　　"Here's Dick Larrabee come back, Isaac, just when we thought he hadgiven up Beulah for good an' all!" said Mrs. Todd.

　　The Deacon stood on the top step, his gaunt, grizzled face peeringabove the collar of his great coat; not a man to eat his words veryoften, Deacon Isaac Todd.

　　"Well, young man," he said, "you've found your way home, have you?It's about time, if you want to see your father alive!"

　　"If it hadn't been for you and others like you, men who had forgottenwhat it was to be young, I should never have gone away," said Dickhotly. "What had I done worse than a dozen others, only that Ihappened to be the minister's son?"

　　"That's just it; you were bringin' trouble on the parish, makin' talkthat reflected on your father. Folks said if he couldn't control hisown son, he wa'n't fit to manage a church. You played cards, youdanced, you drove a fast horse."

　　"I never did a thing I'm ashamed of but one,"—and Dick's voice wasfirm. "My misdeeds were nothing but boyish nonsense, but the villagenever gave me credit for a single virtue. I ought to have rememberedfather's position, but whatever I was or whatever I did, you had noright to pray for me openly for full five minutes at a public meeting.That galled me worse than anything!"

　　"Now, Isaac," interrupted Mrs. Todd. "I hope you'll believe me! I'vetold you once a week, on an average, these last three years, that youmight have chastened Dick some other way besides prayin' for him inmeetin'!"

　　The Deacon smiled grimly. "You both talk as if prayin' was one of theseven deadly sins," he said.

　　"I'm not objecting to your prayers," agreed Dick, "but there wereplenty of closets in your house where you might have gone and told theLord your opinion of me; only that wasn't good enough for you; youmust needs tell the whole village!"

　　"There, father, that's what I always said," agreed Mrs. Todd.

　　"Well, I ain't one that can't yield when the majority's against me,"said the Deacon, "particularly when I'm treatin' John Trimble for thecolic. If you'll stop actin' so you threaten to split the church, DickLarrabee, I'll stop prayin' for you. The Lord knows how I feel aboutit now, so I needn't keep on remindin' Him."