Hepsey Burke. Frank Nash Westcott
laughed: he felt sure he was going to make friends with this shrewd yet open-hearted member of his flock. The pace slackened as the road began a steep ascent. Mrs. Burke let the horses walk up the hill, the slackened reins held in one hand; in the other lolled the whip, which now and then she raised, tightening her grasp upon it as if for use, on second thoughts dropping it to idleness again and clucking to the horses instead. It was typical of her character—the means of chastisement held handy, but in reserve, and usually displaced by other methods of suasion.
As they turned down over the brow of the hill they drove rapidly, and as the splendid landscape of rolling country, tilled fields and pasture, stretching on to distant wooded mountains, spread out before him, Maxwell exclaimed enthusiastically, drawing a deep breath of the exhilarating air: 19
“How beautiful it is up here! You must have a delightful climate.”
“Well,” she replied, “I don’t know as we have much climate to speak of. We have just a job lot of weather, and we take it regular—once after each meal, once before goin’ to bed, and repeat if necessary before mornin’. I won’t say but it’s pretty good medicine, at that. There’d be no show for the doctor, if it wasn’t fashionable to invite him in at the beginnin’ and the end of things.”
Jonathan, who up to this time had been silent, felt it incumbent to break into the conversation a bit, and interposed:
“I suppose you’ve never been up in these parts before?”
“No,” Maxwell responded; “but I’ve always intended to come up during the season for a little hunting some time. Was there much sport last year?”
“Well, I can’t say as there was, and I can’t say as there wasn’t. The most I recollect was that two city fellers shot a guide and another feller. But then it was a poor season last fall, anyway.”
Maxwell gave the Junior Warden a quick look, but there was not a trace of a smile on his face, and Hepsey chuckled. Keeping her eyes on the horses 20 as they trotted along at a smart pace over a road none too smooth for comfortable riding, she remarked casually:
“I suppose the Bishop told you what we wanted in the shape of a parson, didn’t he?”
“Well, he hinted a few things.”
“Yes; we’re awful modest, like most country parishes that don’t pay their rector more than enough to get his collars laundered. We want a man who can preach like the Archbishop of Canterbury, and call on everybody twice a week, and know just when anyone is sick without bein’ told a word about it. He’s got to be an awful good mixer, to draw the young people like a porous plaster, and fill the pews. He must have lots of sociables, and fairs, and things to take the place of religion; and he must dress well, and live like a gentleman on the salary of a book-agent. But if he brings city ways along with him and makes us feel like hayseeds, he won’t be popular.”
“That’s a rather large contract!” Maxwell replied with a smile.
“Yes, but think what we’re goin’ to pay you: six hundred dollars a year, and you’ll have to raise most of it yourself, just for the fun of it.”
At this point the Junior Warden interrupted: 21
“Now, Hepsey, what’s the use of upsettin’ the young man at the start. He’s–”
“Never mind, Jonathan. I’m tellin’ the truth, anyway. You see,” she continued, “most people think piety’s at a low ebb unless we’re gettin’ up some kind of a holy show all the time, to bring people together that wouldn’t meet anywhere else if they saw each other first. Then when they’ve bought a chance on a pieced bed-quilt, or paid for chicken-pie at a church supper, they go home feelin’ real religious, believin’ that if there’s any obligation between them and heaven, it isn’t on their side, anyway. Do you think you’re goin’ to fill the bill, Mr. Maxwell?”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Maxwell. “Of course I might find myself possessed of a talent for inventing new and original entertainments each week; but I’m afraid that you’re a bit pessimistic, Mrs. Burke, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not. There’s a mighty fine side to life in a country parish sometimes, where the right sort of a man is in charge. The people take him as one of their family, you know, and borrow eggs of his wife as easy as of their next door neighbor. But the young reverends expect too much of a country parish, and break their hearts sometimes because they can’t make us tough old critters all over while you wait. 22 Poor things! I’m sorry for the average country parson, and a lot sorrier for his wife.”
“Well, don’t you worry about me; I’m well and strong, and equal to anything, I imagine. I don’t believe in taking life too seriously; it’s bad for the nerves and digestion. It will be an entirely new experience for me, and I’m sure I shall find the people interesting.”
“Yes, but what if they aren’t your kind? I suppose you might find hippopotamuses interestin’ for a while, but that’s no reason you should like to live with ’em. Anyway, don’t mind what people say. They aint got nothin’ to think about, so they make up by talkin’ about it, especially when it happens to be a new parson. We’ve been havin’ odds and ends of parsons from the remnant counter now for six months or more; and that’s enough to kill any parish. I believe that if the angel Gabriel should preach for us, half the congregation would object to the cut of his wings, and the other half to the fit of his halo. We call for all the virtues of heaven, and expect to get ’em for seven-forty-nine.”
“Well—I shall have to look to you and the Wardens to help me out,” he said. “You must help me run things, until I know the ropes.”
“Oh! Bascom will run things for you, if you let 23 him do the runnin’,” she replied, cracking her whip. “You’ll need to get popular first with him and his—then you’ll have it easy.”
Maxwell pondered these local words of wisdom, and recalled the Bishop’s warning that Bascom, the Senior Warden, had not made life easy for his predecessors, and his superior’s exhortation to firmness and tact, to the end that he, Maxwell, should hold his own, while taking his Senior Warden along with him. The Senior Warden was evidently a power in the land.
They had driven about a mile and a half when the wagon turned off the road, and drew up by a house standing some distance back from it; getting down, Mrs. Burke exclaimed:
“Welcome to Thunder Cliff, Mr. Maxwell. Thunder Cliff’s the name of the place, you know. All the summer visitors in Durford have names for their houses; so I thought I’d call my place Thunder Cliff, just to be in the style.”
Jonathan Jackson, who had kept a discreet silence during Hepsey’s pointers concerning his colleague, the Senior Warden, interjected:
“There ’aint no cliff, Hepsey, and you know it. I always tell her, Mr. Maxwell, ’taint appropriate a bit.”
“Jonathan, you ’aint no Englishman, and there’s no 24 use pretendin’ that you are. Some day when I have a couple of hours to myself, I’ll explain the whole matter to you. There isn’t any cliff, and the house wants paintin’ and looks like thunder. Isn’t that reason enough to go on with? Now, Mr. Maxwell, you come in and make yourself perfectly at home.”
CHAPTER II
GOSSIP
That afternoon Maxwell occupied himself in unpacking his trunks and arranging his room. As the finishing touch, he drew out of a leather case an exquisite miniature of a beautiful girl, which he placed on the mantelpiece, and at which he gazed for a long time with a wistful light in his fine gray eyes. Then he threw himself on the lounge, and pulling a letter from his inner pocket, read:
“Don’t worry about expenses, dear. Six hundred 26 is quite enough for two; we shall be passing rich! You must remember that, although I am a ‘college girl,’ I am not a helpless, extravagant creature, and I know how to economize. I am sure we shall be able to make both ends meet. With a small house, rent free, a bit of ground for a vegetable garden, and plenty of fresh air, we can accomplish almost anything, and be supremely happy together. And then, when you win advancement, as