Wesley Elliot regarded her gloomily. “I never liked the idea of church fairs very well,” he returned hesitatingly. “It has always seemed to me like sheer beggary.”
“Then,” said Mrs. Solomon Black, “we will beg.”
Mrs. Solomon Black was a woman who had always had her way. There was not one line which denoted yielding in her large, still handsome face, set about with very elaborate water-waves which she had arranged so many years that her black hair needed scarcely any attention. It would almost seem as if Mrs. Solomon Black had been born with water waves.
She spoke3 firmly but she smiled, as his mother might have done, at the young man, who had preached his innocent best in Brookville for months without any emolument5.
“Now don't you worry one mite6 about it,” said she. “Church fairs may be begging, but they belong to the history of the United States of America, and I miss my guess if there would have been much preaching of the gospel in a good many places without them. I guess it ain't any worse to hold church fairs in this country than it is to have the outrageous7 goings on in the old country. I guess we can cheat a little with mats and cakes and things and not stand any more danger of hell-fire than all those men putting each other's eyes out and killing8 everybody they can hit, and spending the money for guns and awful exploding stuff that ought to go for the good of the world. I ain't worried one mite about church fairs when the world is where it is now. You just run right into your study, Mr. Elliot, and finish your sermon; and there's a pan of hot doughnuts on the kitchen table. You go through the kitchen and get some doughnuts. We had breakfast early and you hadn't ought to work too hard on an empty stomach. You run along. Don't you worry. All this is up to me and Maria Dodge9 and Abby Daggett and a few others. You haven't got one blessed thing to do with it. All you've got to do is to preach as well as you can, and keep us from a free fight. Almost always there is a fuss when women get up a fair. If you can preach the gospel so we are all on speaking terms when it is finished, you will earn your money twice over. Run along.”
Wesley Elliot obeyed. He always obeyed, at least in the literal sense, when Mrs. Solomon Black ordered him. There was about her a fairly masterly maternity10. She loved the young minister as firmly for his own good as if he had been her son. She chuckled11 happily when she heard him open the kitchen door. “He'll light into those hot doughnuts,” she thought. She loved to pet the boy in the man.
Wesley Elliot in his study upstairs—a makeshift of a study—sat munching12 hot doughnuts and reflecting. He had only about one-third of his sermon written and it was Saturday, but that did not disturb him. He had a quick-moving mind. He sometimes wondered whether it did not move too quickly. Wesley was not a conceited13 man in one sense. He never had doubt of his power, but he had grave doubts of the merits of his productions. However, today he was glad of the high rate of speed of which he was capable, and did not worry as much as he sometimes did about his landing at the exact goal. He knew very well that he could finish his sermon, easily, eat his doughnuts, and sit reflecting as long as he chose. He chose to do so for a long time, although his reflections were not particularly happy ones. When he had left the theological seminary a year ago, he had had his life planned out so exactly that it did not seem possible to him that the plans could fail. He had graduated at the head of his class. He had had no doubt of a city church. One of the professors, a rich man with much influence, had practically promised him one. Wesley went home to his doting14 mother, and told her the news. Wesley's mother believed in much more than the city church. She believed her son to be capable of anything. “I shall have a large salary, mother,” boasted Wesley, “and you shall have the best clothes money can buy, and the parsonage is sure to be beautiful.”
“How will your old mother look in fine feathers, in such a beautiful home?” asked Wesley's mother, but she asked as a lovely, much-petted woman asks such a question. She had her little conscious smile all ready for the rejoinder which she knew her son would not fail to give. He was very proud of his mother.
“Why, mother,” he said, “as far as that goes, I wouldn't balk15 at a throne for you as queen dowager.”
“You are a silly boy,” said Mrs. Elliot, but she stole a glance at herself in an opposite mirror, and smiled complacently16. She did not look old enough to be the mother of her son. She was tall and slender, and fair-haired, and she knew how to dress well on her very small income. She was rosy17, and carried herself with a sweet serenity18. People said Wesley would not need a wife as long as he had such a mother. But he did not have her long. Only a month later she died, and while the boy was still striving to play the r?le of hero in that calamity19, there came news of another. His professor friend had a son in the trenches20. The son had been wounded, and the father had obeyed a hurried call, found his son dead, and himself died of the shock on the return voyage. Wesley, mourning the man who had been his stanch21 friend, was guiltily conscious of his thwarted22 ambition. “There goes my city church,” he thought, and flung the thought back at himself in anger at his own self-seeking. He was forced into accepting the first opportunity which offered. His mother had an annuity23, which he himself had insisted upon for her greater comfort. When she died, the son was nearly penniless, except for the house, which was old and in need of repair.
He rented that as soon as he received his call to Brookville, after preaching a humiliating number of trial sermons in other places. Wesley was of the lowly in mind, with no expectation of inheriting the earth, when he came to rest in the little village and began boarding at Mrs. Solomon Black's. But even then he did not know how bad the situation really was. He had rented his house, and the rent kept him in decent clothes, but not enough books. He had only a little shelf filled with the absolutely necessary volumes, most of them relics24 of his college course. He did not know that there was small chance of even his meager25 salary being paid until June, and he had been ordained26 in February. He had wondered why nobody said anything about his reimbursement27. He had refrained from mentioning it, to even his deacons.
Mrs. Solomon Black had revealed the state of affairs, that morning. “You may as well know,” said she. “There ain't a cent to pay you, and I said when you came that if we couldn't pay for gospel privileges we should all take to our closets and pray like Sam Hill, and no charge; but they wouldn't listen to me, though I spoke right out in conference meeting and it's seldom a woman does that, you know. Folks in this place have been hanging onto the ragged28 edge of nothing so long they don't seem to sense it. They thought the money for your salary was going to be brought down from heaven by a dove or something, when all the time, those wicked flying things are going round on the other side of the earth, and there don't seem as if there could be a dove left. Well, now that the time's come when you ought to be paid, if there's any decency29 left in the place, they comes to me and says, ‘Oh, Mrs. Black, what shall we do?’ I said, ‘Why didn't you listen when I spoke out in meeting about our not being able to afford luxuries like gospel preaching?’ and they said they thought matters would have improved by this time. Improved! How, I'd like to know? The whole world is sliding down hill faster and faster every minute, and folks in Brookville think matters are going to improve, when they are sliding right along with the Emperor of Germany and the King of England, and all the rest of the big bugs30. I can't figure it out, but in some queer, outlandish way that war over there has made it so folks in Brookville can't pay their minister's salary. They didn't have much before, but such a one got a little for selling eggs and chickens that has had to eat them, and the street railway failed, and the chair factory, that was the only industry left here, failed, and folks that had a little to pay had to eat their payings. And here you are, and it's got to be the fair. Seems queer the war in Europe should be the means of getting up a fair in Brookville, but I guess it'll get up more'n that before they're through fighting.”
All this had been the preliminary to the speech which sent Wesley forth31 for doughnuts, then to his study, ostensibly to finish his lovely sermon, but in reality to think thoughts which made his young forehead, of almost boyhood, frown, and his pleasant mouth droop33, then inexplicably34 smooth and smile. It was a day which no man in the flush of youth could resist. That June day fairly rioted in through the open windows. Mrs. Black's muslin curtains danced in the June breeze like filmy-skirted nymphs. Wesley, whose imagination was active, seemed to see forced upon his eager, yet reluctant, eyes, radiant maidens35, flinging their white draperies about, dancing a dance of the innocence36 which preludes37 the knowledge of love. Sweet scents38 came in through the windows, almond scents, honey scents, rose scents, all mingled39 into an ineffable40 bouquet41 of youth and the quest of youth.
Wesley rose stealthily; he got his hat; he tiptoed across the room. Heavens! how thankful he was for access to the back stairs. Mrs. Black was sweeping42 the parlor43, and the rear of the house was deserted44. Down the precipitous back stairs crept the young minister, listening to the sound of the broom on Mrs. Black's parlor carpet. As long as that regular swish continued he was safe. Through the kitchen he passed, feeling guilty as he smelled new peas cooking for his delectation on Mrs. Black's stove. Out of the kitchen door, under the green hood32 of the back porch, and he was afield, and the day had him fast. He did not belong any more to his aspirations45, to his high and noble ambitions, to his steadfast46 purpose in life. He belonged to the spring of the planet from which his animal life had sprung. Young Wesley Elliot became one with June, with eternal youth, with joy which escapes care, with the present which has nothing to do with the past or the future, with that day sufficient unto itself, that day dangerous for those whose feet are held fast by the toils47 of the years.
Wesley sped across a field which was like a field of green glory. He saw a hollow like a nest, blue with violets, and all his thoughts leaped with irresponsive joy. He crossed a brook4 on rocky stones, as if he were crossing a song. A bird sang in perfect tune48 with his mood. He was bound for a place which had a romantic interest for him: the unoccupied parsonage, which he could occupy were he supplied with a salary and had a wife. He loved to sit on the back veranda49 and dream. Sometimes he had company. Brookville was a hot little village, with a long line of hills cutting off the south wind, but on that back veranda of the old parsonage there was always a breeze. Sometimes it seemed mysterious to Wesley, that breeze. It never failed in the hottest days. Now that the parsonage was vacant, women often came there with their needlework of an afternoon, and sat and sewed and chatted. Wesley knew of the custom, and had made them welcome. But sometimes of a morning a girl came. Wesley wondered if she would be there that morning. After he had left the field, he plunged50 knee-deep through the weedage of his predecessor's garden, and heart-deep into luxuriant ranks of dewy vegetables which he, in the intervals51 of his mental labors52, should raise for his own table. Wesley had an inherent love of gardening which he had never been in a position to gratify. Wesley was, in fancy, eating his own green peas and squashes and things when he came in sight of the back veranda. It was vacant, and his fancy sank in his mind like a plummet53 of lead. However, he approached, and the breeze of blessing54 greeted him like a presence.
The parsonage was a gray old shadow of a building. Its walls were stained with past rains, the roof showed depressions, the veranda steps were unsteady, in fact one was gone. Wesley mounted and seated himself in one of the gnarled old rustic55 chairs which defied weather. From where he sat he could see a pink and white plumage of blossoms over an orchard56; even the weedy garden showed lovely lights under the triumphant57 June sun. Butterflies skimmed over it, always in pairs, now and then a dew-light like a jewel gleamed out, and gave a delectable58 thrill of mystery. Wesley wished the girl were there. Then she came. He saw a flutter of blue in the garden, then a face like a rose overtopped the weeds. The sunlight glanced from a dark head, giving it high-lights of gold.
The girl approached. When she saw the minister, she started, but not as if with surprise; rather as if she had made ready to start. She stood at the foot of the steps, glowing with blushes, but still not confused. She smiled with friendly confidence. She was very pretty and she wore a delicious gown, if one were not a woman, to observe the lack of fashion and the faded streaks59, and she carried a little silk work-bag.
Wesley rose. He also blushed, and looked more confused than the girl. “Good morning, Miss Dodge,” he said. His hands twitched60 a little.
Fanny Dodge noted2 his confusion quite calmly. “Are you busy?” said she.
“You are laughing at me, Miss Dodge. What on earth am I busy about?”
“Oh,” said the girl. “Of course I have eyes, and I can see that you are not writing; but I can't see your mind, or your thoughts. For all I know, they may be simply grinding out a sermon, and today is Saturday. I don't want to break up the meeting.” She laughed.
“Come on up here,” said Wesley with camaraderie61. “You know I am not doing a blessed thing. I can finish my sermon in an hour after dinner. Come on up. The breeze is heavenly. What have you got in that bag?”
“I,” stated Fanny Dodge, mounting the steps, “have my work in my bag. I am embroidering63 a center-piece which is to be sold for at least twice its value—for I can't embroider62 worth a cent—at the fair.” She sat down beside him, and fished out of the bag a square of white linen64 and some colored silks.
“Mrs. Black has just told me about that fair,” said Wesley. “Say, do you know, I loathe65 the idea of it?”
“Why? A fair is no end of fun. We always have them.”
“Beggary.”
“Nonsense!”
“Yes, it is. I might just as well put on some black glasses, get a little dog with a string, and a basket, and done with it.”
The girl giggled66. “I know what you mean,” said she, “but your salary has to be paid, and folks have to be cajoled into handing out the money.” Suddenly she looked troubled. “If there is any to hand,” she added.
“I want you to tell me something and be quite frank about it.”
Fanny shot a glance at him. Her lashes67 were long, and she could look through them with liquid fire of dark eyes.
“Well?” said she. She threaded a needle with pink silk.
“Is Brookville a very poor village?”
Fanny inserted her pink-threaded needle into the square of linen.
“What,” she inquired with gravity, “is the past tense of bust68?”
“I am in earnest.”
“So am I. But I know a minister is never supposed to know about such a word as bust, even if he is bust two-thirds of is life. I'll tell you. First Brookville was bust, now it's busted69.”
Wesley stared at her.
“Fact,” said Fanny, calmly, starting a rose on the linen in a career of bloom. “First, years ago, when I was nothing but a kid, Andrew Bolton—you have heard of Andrew Bolton?”
“I have heard him mentioned. I have never understood why everybody was so down on him, though he is serving a term in prison, I believe. Nobody seems to like to explain.”
“The reason for that is plain enough,” stated Fanny. “Nobody likes to admit he's been made a fool of. The man who takes the gold brick always tries to hide it if he can't blame it off on his wife or sister or aunt. Andrew Bolton must have made perfectly70 awful fools of everybody in Brookville. They must have thought of him as a little tin god on wheels till he wrecked71 the bank and the silk factory, and ran off with a lot of money belonging to his disciples72, and got caught by the hand of the law, and landed in State's Prison. That's why they don't tell. Reckon my poor father, if he were alive, wouldn't tell. I didn't have anything to do with it, so I am telling. When Andrew Bolton embezzled73 the town went bust. Now the war in Europe, through the grinding of wheels which I can't comprehend, has bankrupted the street railway and the chair factory, and the town is busted.”
“But, as you say, if there is no money, why a fair?” Wesley had paled a little.
“Oh,” replied the girl, “there is always the hoarding74 instinct to be taken into account. There are still a lot of stockings and feather beds and teapots in Brookville. We still have faith that a fair can mine a little gold out of them for you. Of course we don't know, but this is a Yankee village, and Yankees never do spend the last cent. I admit you may get somebody's funeral expenses out of the teapot.”
“Good Lord!” groaned75 Wesley.
“That,” remarked the girl, “is almost swearing. I am surprised, and you a minister.”
“But it is an awful state of things.”
“Well,” said Fanny, “Mrs. B. H. Slocum may come over from Grenoble. She used to live here, and has never lost her interest in Brookville. She is rich. She can buy a lot, and she is very good-natured about being cheated for the gospel's sake. Then, too, Brookville has never lost its guardian76 angels.”
“What on earth do you mean?”
“What I say. The faith of the people here in guardian angels is a wonderful thing. Sometimes it seems to me as if all Brookville considered itself under special guardianship77, sort of a hen-and-chicken arrangement, you know. Anyhow, they do go ahead and undertake the craziest things, and come out somehow.”
“I think,” said Wesley Elliot soberly, “that I ought to resign.”
Then the girl paled, and bent78 closer over her work. “Resign!” she gasped79.
“Yes, resign. I admit I haven't enough money to live without a salary, though I would like to stay here forever.” Wesley spoke with fervor80, his eyes on the girl.
“Oh, no, you wouldn't.”
“I most certainly would, but I can't run in debt, and—I want to marry some day—like other young men—and I must earn.”
The girl bent her head lower. “Why don't you resign and go away, and get—married, if you want to?”
“Fanny!”
He bent over her. His lips touched her hair. “You know,” he began—then came a voice like the legendary81 sword which divides lovers for their best temporal and spiritual good.
“Dinner is ready and the peas are getting cold,” said Mrs. Solomon Black.
Then it happened that Wesley Elliot, although a man and a clergyman, followed like a little boy the large woman with the water-waves through the weedage of the pastoral garden, and the girl sat weeping awhile from mixed emotions of anger and grief. Then she took a little puff82 from her bag, powdered her nose, straightened her hair and, also, went home, bag in hand, to her own noon dinner.
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1
baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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emolument
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| n.报酬，薪水 | |
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mite
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| n.极小的东西；小铜币 | |
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outrageous
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| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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maternity
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| n.母性，母道，妇产科病房；adj.孕妇的，母性的 | |
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chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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munching
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的现在分词 ) | |
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conceited
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| adj.自负的，骄傲自满的 | |
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doting
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| adj.溺爱的，宠爱的 | |
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balk
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| n.大方木料；v.妨碍；不愿前进或从事某事 | |
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complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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stanch
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| v.止住（血等）；adj.坚固的；坚定的 | |
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thwarted
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| 阻挠( thwart的过去式和过去分词 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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annuity
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| n.年金；养老金 | |
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relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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meager
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| adj.缺乏的，不足的，瘦的 | |
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ordained
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| v.任命（某人）为牧师( ordain的过去式和过去分词 )；授予（某人）圣职；（上帝、法律等）命令；判定 | |
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reimbursement
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| n.偿还，退还 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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bugs
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| adj.疯狂的，发疯的n.窃听器( bug的名词复数 )；病菌；虫子；[计算机]（制作软件程序所产生的意料不到的）错误 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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inexplicably
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| adv.无法说明地，难以理解地，令人难以理解的是 | |
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maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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preludes
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| n.开端( prelude的名词复数 )；序幕；序曲；短篇作品 | |
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scents
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| n.香水( scent的名词复数 )；气味；（动物的）臭迹；（尤指狗的）嗅觉 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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ineffable
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| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
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bouquet
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| n.花束，酒香 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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steadfast
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| adj.固定的，不变的，不动摇的；忠实的；坚贞不移的 | |
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toils
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| 网 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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52
labors
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| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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53
plummet
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| vi.(价格、水平等)骤然下跌；n.铅坠；重压物 | |
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54
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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57
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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delectable
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| adj.使人愉快的；美味的 | |
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59
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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60
twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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61
camaraderie
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| n.同志之爱，友情 | |
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62
embroider
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| v.刺绣于(布)上；给…添枝加叶，润饰 | |
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embroidering
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| v.（在织物上）绣花( embroider的现在分词 )；刺绣；对…加以渲染（或修饰）；给…添枝加叶 | |
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64
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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65
loathe
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| v.厌恶，嫌恶 | |
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66
giggled
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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67
lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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68
bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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69
busted
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| adj. 破产了的，失败了的，被降级的，被逮捕的，被抓到的 动词bust的过去式和过去分词 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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72
disciples
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| n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 )；门徒；耶稣的信徒；（尤指）耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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73
embezzled
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| v.贪污，盗用（公款）( embezzle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74
hoarding
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| n.贮藏；积蓄；临时围墙；囤积v.积蓄并储藏（某物）( hoard的现在分词 ) | |
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75
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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76
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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guardianship
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| n. 监护, 保护, 守护 | |
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78
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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80
fervor
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| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
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81
legendary
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| adj.传奇（中）的，闻名遐迩的；n.传奇（文学） | |
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82
puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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