Hepsey Burke

“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 of course you will very soon, we shall appreciate the comforts all the more from the fact that we were obliged to live the simple life for a while.

“You can’t possibly imagine how I miss you, sweetheart. Do write as soon as possible and tell me all about Durford. If I could just have one glimpse of you in your new quarters—but that would only be a wretched aggravation; so I keep saying to myself ‘Some day, some day,’ and try to be patient. God bless you and good-by.”

Donald folded the letter carefully, kissed it, and tucked it away in his pocket. Clasping his hands behind his head, he gazed at the ceiling.

“I wonder if I’d better tell Mrs. Burke about Betty. I don’t care to pass myself off as a free man in a parish like this. And yet, after all, it’s none of their 27 business at present. I think I’d better wait and find out if there’s any possibility of making her happy here.”

There was a knock at the door.

“Talk of angels,” murmured Maxwell, and hurriedly returned the miniature to its case before opening the door to Mrs. Burke, who came to offer assistance.

“Don’t bother to fuss for me,” she said as he hastened to remove some books and clothes from a chair, so that she might sit down. “I only came up for a moment to see if there was anything I could do. Think you can make yourself pretty comfortable here? I call this room ‘the prophet’s chamber,’ you know, because it’s where I always put the visitin’ parsons.”

“They’re lucky,” he replied. “This room is just delightful with that jolly old fireplace, its big dormer windows, and the view over the river and the hills beyond: I shall be very comfortable.”

“Well, I hope so. You know I don’t think any livin’-room is complete without a fireplace. Next to an old friend, a bright wood fire’s the best thing I know to keep one from getting lonesome.”

“Yes—that and a good cigar.”

“Well, I haven’t smoked in some time now,” Mrs. 28 Burke replied, smiling, “so I can’t say. What a lot of things you’ve got!”

“Yes, more than I thought I had.”

“I do love to see a man tryin’ to put things to rights. He never knows where anything belongs. What an awful lot of books you’ve got! I suppose you’re just chuck full of learnin’, clean up to your back teeth; but we won’t any of us know the difference. Most city parsons preach about things that are ten miles over the heads of us country people. You can’t imagine how little thinkin’ most of us do up here. We’re more troubled with potato bugs than we are with doubts; and you’ll have to learn a lot about us before you really get down to business, I guess.”

“Yes, I expect to learn more from you than you will from me. That’s one of the reasons why I wanted to come so far out in the country.”

“Hm! I hope you won’t be disappointed.”

Mrs. Burke adjusted her glasses and gazed interestedly about the room at some pictures and decorations which Maxwell had placed in position, and inquired:

“Who is the plaster lady and gentleman standin’ on the mantelpiece?”

“The Venus de Milo, and the Hermes of Praxiteles.” 29

“Well, you know, I just can’t help preferrin’ ladies and gentlemen with arms and legs, myself. I suppose it’s real cultivated to learn to like parts of people done in marble. Maybe when I go down to the city next fall to buy my trousseau, I’ll buy a few plasters myself, to make the house look more cheerful-like.”

Maxwell caught at the word “trousseau,” and as Mrs. Burke had spoken quite seriously he asked:

“Are you going to be married, Mrs. Burke?”

“No such thing! But when a handsome young widow like me lives alone, frisky and sixty-ish, with six lonesome, awkward widowers in the same school district, you can never tell what might happen any minute; ‘In time of peace prepare for war,’ as the paper says.”

Maxwell laughed reassuringly.

“I don’t see why you laugh,” Mrs. Burke responded, chuckling to herself. “’Taint polite to look surprised when a woman says she’s a-goin’ to get married. Every woman under ninety-eight has expectations. While there’s life there’s hope that some man will make a fool of himself. But unless I miss my guess, you don’t catch me surrenderin’ my independence. As long as I have enough to eat and am well, I’m contented.” 30

“You certainly look the picture of health, Mrs. Burke.”

“Oh, yes! as well as could be expected, when I’m just recoverin’ from a visit from Mary Sam.”

“What sort of a visitor is that?” asked Maxwell, laughing.