Salem Chapel. Volume 2/2. Oliphant Margaret
using of us well,” said somebody, whom Mrs. Vincent could hear as she made her way to the door. “Business of his own! a minister ain’t got no right to have business of his own, leastways on Sundays. Preaching’s his business. I don’t hold with that notion. He’s in our employ, and we pays him well – ”
Here a whisper from some charitable bystander directed the speaker’s eyes to Mrs. Vincent, who was close behind.
“Well! it ain’t nothing to me who hears me,” said this rebellious member, not without a certain vulgar pleasure in his power of insult. “We pays him well, as I say; I have to stick to my business well or ill, and I don’t see no reason why the minister should be different. If he don’t mind us as pays him, why, another will.”
“Oh, I’ve been waiting to catch your eye,” said Mrs. Pigeon, darting forward at this crisis to Mrs. Tufton; “wasn’t that a sweet sermon? that’s refreshing, that is! I haven’t listened to anything as has roused me up like that – no, not since dear Mr. Tufton came first to Carlingford; as for what we’ve been hearing of late, I don’t say it’s not clever, but, oh, it’s cold! and for them as like good gospel preaching and rousing up, I must confess as Mr. Vincent – ”
“Hush! Mrs. Pigeon – Mrs. Vincent,” said Mrs. Tufton, hurriedly; “you two ladies should have been introduced at the first. Mr. Pigeon is one of our deacons and leading men, Mrs. Vincent, and I don’t doubt you’ve often and often heard your son talking of him. We are always discussing Mr. Vincent, because he is our own pastor now, you know; and a precious young man he is – and all that he wants is a little experience, as Mr. Tufton always says.”
“Oh, I am sorry! – I beg your pardon, I’m sure,” cried Mrs. Pigeon; “but I am one as always speaks my mind, and don’t go back of my word. Folks as sees a deal of the minister,” continued the poulterer’s wife, not without a glance at that cherry-coloured bonnet which had nodded during the sermon, and to which poor Mrs. Vincent felt a certain gratitude, “may know different; but me as don’t have much chance, except in chapel, I will say as I think he wants speaking to: most folks do – specially young folks, when they’re making a start in the world. He’s too high, he is, for us plain Salem folks; what we want is a man as preaches gospel sermons – real rousing-up discourses – and sits down pleasant to his tea, and makes hisself friendly. I never was one as thought a minister couldn’t do wrong. I always said as they were just like other men, liking grand dinners and grand folks, and the vanities of this world; not meaning no offence, Mrs. Vincent, neither to you nor the minister – but I must say as I think, he’s a deal too high.”
“My son has had very good training,” said the widow, not without dignity. “His dear father had many good friends who have taken an interest in him. He has always been accustomed to good society, and I must say, at the same time,” added Mrs. Vincent, “that I never knew Arthur to fail in courtesy to the poorer brethren. If he has done so, I am sure it has been unintentionally. It is quite against my principles and his dear father’s to show any respect to persons. If he has shown any neglect of Mrs. Pigeon’s family,” continued the mild diplomatist, “it must have been because he thought them less, and not more in need of him than the rest of the flock.”
Mrs. Pigeon listened with open mouth, but total discomfiture: whether this was a compliment or a reprimand was totally beyond her power to make out. She cried, “Oh, I’m sure!” in a tone which was half defensive and half deprecating. Mrs. Pigeon, however, intended nothing less than to terminate the conversation at this interesting point, and it was with utter dismay that she perceived Mrs. Vincent sweep past before she had recovered herself – sweep past – though that black silk gown was of very moderate dimensions, and the trim little figure was noways majestic. The minister’s mother made a curtsy to the astonished wife of the poulterer; she said “good morning” with a gracious bow, and went upon her way before Mrs. Pigeon had recovered her breath. Perfect victory attended the gentle widow in this little passage of arms. Her assailant fell back, repeating in a subdued tone, “Well, I’m sure!” Mrs. Pigeon, like Tozer, granted that the minister’s mother was “quite the lady,” henceforward, in her heart.
And Mrs. Vincent passed on victorious; yes, victorious, and conscious of her victory, though giddy with secret anguish, and feeling as if every obstacle that hindered her return was a conscious cruelty. They could not have arrived this morning – it was impossible; yet she burned to get back to see whether impossibility might not be accomplished for once, and Susan be there awaiting her. The first to detain her was Mrs. Tufton, who hurried, with added respect, after her, triumphing secretly in Mrs. Pigeon’s defeat.
“I am so glad you gave her her answer,” said Mrs. Tufton; “bless me! how pleased Adelaide will be when I tell her! I always said it would be well for a minister’s wife to have a spirit. Won’t you come and take a bit of dinner with us, as Mr. Vincent is not at home? Oh, I daresay somebody will ask Mr. Beecher. It does not do to pay too much attention to the young men that come to preach – though I think he was clever. You won’t come? – a headache? – poor dear! You’re worrying about your daughter, I am sure; but I wouldn’t, if I were you. Young girls in health don’t take infection. She’ll come back all right, you’ll see. Well – good-bye. Don’t come in the evening if you have a headache. I shouldn’t, if I were you. Good-bye – and to-morrow, if all is well, we’ll look for you. Siloam Cottage – just a little way past Salem – you can’t miss the way.”
“Yes, thank you – to-morrow,” said Mrs. Vincent. If only anybody could have known what dreadful work it was keeping up that smile, holding upright as she did! Then she went on a little way in peace, half-crazed with the misery that consumed her, yet unnaturally vigilant and on the alert, always holding up Arthur’s standard at that critical hour when he had no representative but herself in his field of battle. But the poor mother was not long allowed this interval of peace. After a few minutes, the Tozers, who were going the same way, came up to her, and surrounded her like a bodyguard.
“I liked that sermon, ma’am,” said Tozer; “there was a deal that was practical in that sermon. If ever we should be in the way of hearing candidates again – and shortsighted creatures like us never knows what’s a-going to happen – I’d put down that young man’s name for an ’earing. There ain’t a word to be said again’ the minister’s sermons in the matter of talent. They’re full of mind, ma’am – they’re philosophical, that’s what they are; and the pews we’ve let in Salem since he come, proves it, let folks say what they will. But if there is a want, it’s in the application. He don’t press it home upon their consciences, not as some on us expected; and Mr. Tufton being all in that line, as you may say, makes it show the more. If I was going to make a change again – not as I mean nothing of the kind, nor as the Salem folks has ever took it into their heads – I’d like to have a little o’ both ways, that’s what I’d like.”
“When you get a minister of independent-mind, Mr. Tozer, if he gives you the best he has, he ought to be allowed to choose his own way,” said Mrs. Vincent. “My dear husband always said so, and he had great experience. Mr. Vincent’s son, I know, will never want friends.”
“I am sure as long as the minister keeps to his duty, he’ll always find friends in Tozer and me,” said the deacon’s wife, striking in; “and though there may be folks in a finer way, there ain’t no such good friends a pastor can have as in his own flock. As for hearing candidates and that, Tozer ought to know as none on us would hear of such a thing. I don’t see no reason why Mr. Vincent shouldn’t settle down in Carlingford and make himself comfortable. We’re all his friends as long as he’s at his post.”
“Oh, ma, I am sure he is at his post,” cried Phoebe; “he has gone away because he could not help it. I am quite sure,” continued the modest maiden, casting down her eyes, “that he would never have left but for a good reason! Oh, I am confident he is fond of Carlingford now. He would not go away if he had not some duty – I am certain he would not!”
“If Phoebe is better informed than the rest of us, it ain’t nobody’s business as I can see,” said the father, with a short laugh. “I always like the young folks to manage them matters among themselves; but I take my own view, miss, for all that.”
“Oh,