Dominie Dean. Ellis Parker Butler
and his fingers entangled themselves in his curly hair. He sat so for many minutes.
“Thank you, Benedict,” he said at length. “I understand. I am through with 'Thusia!”
“Mind you,” drawled Benedict, “I say nothing against the girl. I helped her into the world, Davy. I've helped a lot of them into the world. It is not for me to help them through it. When I put them in their mothers' arms my work is done.”
“I know what you mean,” said David. “If her mother had lived 'Thusia might have been different. But does that concern me, Benedict?”
“It does not,” grinned the old doctor. “How long have you been calling her 'Thusia, Davy?”
“My first duty is to my church,” said David. “A minister should be above reproach in the eyes of his people.”
“That hits the nail on the head, fair and square,” said Benedict. “You're right every time, Davy. How long have you been calling her 'Thusia?”
“I am not right every time, Benedict,” said David, arising and walking slowly up and down the floor, his hands clasped behind him, “but I am right in this. You are wrong when you allow yourself, even for a day, to fall into a state in which you cannot be of use to your sick when they call for you, and I would be wrong if I let anything turn my people from me, for they need me continually. My ministry is more important than I am. If my right hand offended my people I would cut it off. I have been careless, I have been thoughtless. I have not paused to consider how my harmless chance meetings with Miss Fragg might affect my work. Benedict, a young minister's work is hard enough—with his youthfulness as a handicap—without—”
“Without 'Thusy,” said Benedict.
“Without the added difficulties that come to an unmarried man,” David substituted. “The sooner I marry the better for me and for my work and for my people.”
“And the sooner I'll be chased out of this easy-chair for good and all by your wife,” said Benedict, rising, “so, if that's the way you feel about it—and I dare say you are right—I'll try a sample of absence and go around and see how Mrs. Merkle's rheumatism is amusing her. Well, Davy, invite me to the wedding!”
This was late November and the ice was running heavy in the river although the channel was not yet frozen over, and for some days there had been skating on the shore ice where the inward sweep of the shore left a half moon of quiet water above the levee. When Benedict left him David dropped into his chair. Ten minutes later his mind was made up and he drew on his outer coat, put on his hat and gloves and went ont. He walked briskly up the hill to the Wiggett home, and went in. Mary was not there; she had gone to the river with her skates. David followed her.
No doubt you know how the shore ice behaves, freezing at night and softening again if the day is warm; cracking if the river rises or falls; leaving, sometimes, a strip of honeycombed ice or a strip of bare water along the shore until colder weather congeals it. This day was warm and the sun had power. Here and there, to reach the firmer ice across the mushy shore ice, planks had been thrown. David stood on the railroad track that ran along the river edge and looked for Mary Wiggett. There were a hundred or more skaters, widely scattered, and David saw Mary Wiggett and 'Thusia almost simultaneously. 'Thusia saw David.
She was skating arm in arm with some young fellow, and as she saw David she pulled away from her companion. “Catch me!” she cried and darted away with her companion darting after her. She was the most graceful skater Riverbank boasted, and perhaps her first idea was merely to show David how well she could skate. Suddenly, however, as if she had just seen David, she waved her muff at him and skated toward him. The young fellow turned in pursuit, but almost instantly shouted a warning and dug the edges of his skates into the ice. 'Thusia skated on. Straight toward the thin, decayed ice she sped, one hand still waving her muff aloft in signal to David. He started down the bank almost before she reached the bad ice, for he saw what was going to happen. He heard the ice give under her skates, saw her throw up her hands, heard her scream, and he plunged through the mud and into the water. Before anyone could reach them he had drawn her to the shore and 'Thusia was clinging to him, her arms dose around him. She was laughing hysterically, but her teeth were already beginning to chatter. Her skates raised her nearer David's face than ordinarily, and as the skaters gathered she put up her mouth and kissed him. Then she fell limp in his arms.
She had not fainted and David knew it was all mere pretense. He knew she had been in no danger, for his legs were wet only to the knees, and if 'Thusia was drenched from head to foot it was because she had deliberately thrown herself into the water. He felt it was all a trick and he shook her violently as he tried to push her away.
“Stop it!” he cried. “Stop this nonsense!” but even as a dozen men crowded around them he lifted her in his arms and carried her up the railway embankment. Below them Mary Wiggett stood, safely back from the dangerous edge of the ice.
“Get a rig as quickly as you can,” David commanded. “She's not hurt, but she'll take cold in these wet clothes. Mary Wiggett,” he called, seeing her in the group on the ice, “I want you to come with us.”
He carried 'Thusia to the street and rested her on a handcar that stood beside the railway and wrapped her in his greatcoat. The crowd, of course, followed. David sent a boy to tell Mr. Fragg to hurry home. And all this while, and while they were waiting for the rig that soon came, 'Thusia continued her pretended faint, and David knew she was shamming. He lifted her into the buggy. It was then she opened her eyes with a faint “Where am I?”
“You know well enough,” David answered and turned to Mary Wiggett. “Come! Get in!” he ordered. “She has been pretending a faint.” David, who tried to keep an even mind under all circumstances, never quite understood the reasoning that led him to drag Mary Wiggett into the affair in this way. He felt vaguely that she was protection; it had seemed the thing he must do. He was angry with 'Thusia, so angry that he felt like beating her and he was afraid of himself because even while he hated her for the trick she had played the clasp of her arms had filled him with joy. He was afraid of 'Thusia.
Without hesitation or demur Mary clambered into the buggy, and David helped 'Thusia in and drove the heavy vehicle through the muddy streets to 'Thusia's door. He lifted her out and carried her into the house and helped her up the stairs to her room, and there he left her with Mary. From the sitting room below he could hear Mary moving about. He heard her come down and put the sadirons on the stove to heat and heard her mixing some hot drink. When Mr. Fragg reached the house 'Thusia was tucked between blankets with hot irons at her feet, and Mary came down as David ended his explanation of the affair.
“I think she'll be all right now,” Mary said. “She has stopped shivering and is nice and warm. We'll stop for Dr. Benedict, Mr. Fragg, just to make sure.”
On the way home David asked Mary to marry him. She did not pretend unwillingness. She was surprised to be asked just then, but she was happy and she tucked her arm under his affectionately and David clasped her hand. He was happy, quite happy. They stopped to send Dr. Benedict to the Fraggs and then David drove Mary home. She held his hand a moment or two as she stood beside the buggy at her gate.
“You'll come up this evening, David, won't you?” she asked. “Wait, David, I'll have our man drive you home and take this rig back wherever it came from,” she added with a pleasing air of new proprietorship; “you must go straight home and change into something dry. And be sure to come up this evening.”
“I will,” said David, and she turned away. She turned back again immediately.
“David,” she said hesitatingly; “about 'Thusia—I feel so sorry for her. She has no mother and I think lately she has been trying to be good. I feel as if—”
“Yes,” said David, “I feel that too.”
“Well, then, it will be all right!” said Mary happily. “And remember, change your clothes as soon as you get home, David Dean!”
When David opened the door of the manse he stood for a minute letting