In the long months since Mr. Cameron's death, his days had been filled with anxiety and fear for his covenant1. When the first sharpness of grief at the loss of his old friend had passed, the Watchman slowly awakened2 to the knowledge that he was living among a strange people. Under Mr. Cameron's wise, loving rule all classes in the congregation had been unanimous; the elder folk believed him perfect and the younger respected him too deeply to disagree with him. But when the bond of union was severed4, a new party with alarmingly progressive ideas, suddenly came to life. They were fain to introduce many improvements into the church service which the fathers of the sanctuary5 considered unsound and irreverent. They wanted a choir6 and an organ like the Methodists; they desired to sing hymns8 as did their sister congregation over on the Tenth; and, most of all, they considered it imperative9 that they should stand to sing and sit to pray, as did all respectable people.
Andrew Johnstone, who represented the old school and its traditions, stood at the head of the ancient party as immovable as the church foundations. Some of the elders might counsel yielding, or at least compromising, but not Splinterin' Andra. He regarded all these youthful aspirations10 as signs of the degeneracy of the times and a decay of spiritual life and, therefore, to be immediately quenched12.
So the two parties stood arrayed against each other and the chief cause of their dissension was the choice of a new minister. The more youthful party wanted a young man, or at least one who was "lively," while old Glenoro held to its ideal—a man as much as possible like Hector Cameron, or, if it were not looking for too much on this earth, a second John McAlpine. But the young people of the congregation had never heard Mr. McAlpine preach, and, like the Egyptians, who did not know Joseph, they had not the proper respect for that great leader, and they also considered Gaelic sermons, two-hour discourses13 and half-hour prayers as belonging to a past generation.
All these trials, youthful frivolity14, the lack of a Gaelic service and old Andrew Johnstone's storms, Duncan Polite had borne patiently; but to-day's sermon had been almost too much for even his optimism, for that morning a smart probationer had stood up in Mr. Cameron's sacred pulpit and delivered a twenty-minute address on the Beauties of Nature! Even the young people had been shocked, and Andrew Johnstone had, for once, voiced the sentiments of the whole congregation as he gave his opinion of the young man to Duncan Polite on their homeward walk. "It's a guid thing Maister Cameron's gone till his rest," he remarked sombrely. "If he'd a lived to see his pulpit filled by a bit buddie that couldna' hang on till his taxt for half an' 'oor, he'd never a held up his heid again!"
And so Duncan had been driven to the extremity15 of seeking comfort in the Methodist Church and was on his way thither16, in some doubt as to the wisdom of such a strange proceeding17, and in much fear that Andrew would disapprove18.
The Methodist Church was a substantial brick building, set picturesquely19 on the slope of the northern hill. Duncan went hesitatingly in and took a seat near the door. He found it quite a roomy place and well filled. There was much more ornamentation here than in his own place of worship; the walls were papered, the pulpit platform was covered with a gay carpet, two shining brass21 chandeliers were suspended from the ceiling, the windows were frosted glass with a row of lurid22 blue and red panes23 around each, and behind the minister was the centre of attraction and cynosure24 of all eyes, the choir and the organ.
Duncan felt a return of his misgivings25 when he recognised many members of his own church in that institution; for, such was the chaos26 of these new times that the Methodist services were attended regularly by nearly all the young Presbyterians. And, indeed, matters had come to such a pitch that the choir was conducted by no less a person than young Andrew Johnstone himself, much to the wrath27 and shame of his pious28 father.
That choir was at once the delight and torment29 of its members. The hopes and fears, the triumphs and despairs that surged within the little railing, would have been sufficient to swamp the congregation, could they have broken loose. But the enjoyment30 outweighed31 the pain; there was choir practise once a week and sometimes they were invited to furnish the music at a neighbouring tea-meeting and both these were unmixed joys. Then, too, they were permitted to sing quite alone at the regular church services, while the collection was being taken up; and sometimes they even ventured to sing an anthem32, though the evening they sang one with a tenor33 solo by Sylvanus Todd, they were considered to have gone a little too far, by even the most liberal minded, and the offence was not repeated until more enlightened times.
Mr. Ansdell, the Methodist minister, was a benign34 old gentleman with an angelic face and a heart to match. He noted35 the mingling36 of the different religious sects37 in Glenoro with humble38 joy, and regarded the fact that a Presbyterian elder's son should lead the singing in the Methodist church as a mark of the broad and kindly39 spirit of the age and one of the potent40 signs of the millennium41.
He was just the sort of man to appeal to Duncan Polite's heart. His sermon was like himself, gentle, loving and overflowing42 with goodwill43 to all men. Duncan sat and drank it in with deepest joy; surely his covenant was in no great danger with such a man as Mr. Ansdell in his glen!
Thereafter, in spite of old Andrew's opposition44, he could not resist the pleasure of an occasional Sabbath evening service. He did not always have the privilege of listening to his new friend, however. Mr. Ansdell had another field and preached only on alternate Sabbaths in his Glenoro pulpit. On the occasions of his absence the service was generally taken by a student or a lay preacher from some place in the vicinity. Sometimes the preacher was anything but a man of parts, and was too often a source of merriment to the frivolous45 row of young men in the back seats. The big college student with the long, fair hair, who raved46 and foamed47 and battered48 all the fringe off the pulpit cushion in a gallant49 attempt to prove that the Bible is true, a fact which, until then, no Glenorian would have dreamed of calling in question; the poor, halting farmer who tacked50 a nervous syllable52 to occasional words, making his text read: "All-um we like sheep-um have gone astray-um;" the giant from the Irish Flats who roared out a long prayer in a manner that terrified his hearers and set all the babies crying and then ended his bellowings with "Lord, hear our feeble breathings," all these were a joy to the back row and the cause of much irreverent giggling53 in the choir.
But whether the sermon was delivered by minister, layman54 or divinity student, Duncan Polite always found something spiritually uplifting in the service; and, indeed, so did many another, for if the preacher sometimes lacked in oratory55, he made up for it in piety56, and if he failed to shine in the pulpit, his life was nearly always a sermon strong and convincing.
Even on the rare occasions when old Silas Todd led the service, the time was not misspent, in the opinion of the Watchman. Silas Todd was one of the pillars of the church and when the local preacher failed to appear, which contingency57 sometimes arose in the season of bad roads, the duty of preaching a sermon generally devolved upon him. He was a pious little man, bent58 and thin, with a marked Cockney accent. He had mild pale blue eyes and a simple, almost seraphic smile which scarcely ever left his countenance59 and which was the index to his character. His wife was small and pious like himself, and had the same accent and the same benevolent60 expression. They always sat close together on the front seat like a pair of shy children, he in his rough, loose homespun, she in her grey wincey, a neatly61 folded Paisley shawl and a brown bonnet62 with a pink feather—this last ornament20 being the pride of Silas' heart and the one bit of finery his wife permitted herself. They shared one hymn7 book and Bible, no matter how many there might be scattered63 around them, and both sang in a high ecstatic key, a measure behind the choir. They swayed to and fro, quite carried away by the music, and as Silas stood with his head thrown back and his eyes shut, and his wife kept her eyes modestly upon her book, they very often collided, to the great detriment64 of the singing and the disturbing of the pink feather. But the only sign their frequent collisions called forth65 was a smile of perfect accord and redoubled energy in the singing and swaying.
Silas was modest and never shouldered the task of leading the service until all hope of the preacher's appearing had been given up. On such occasions the congregation would assemble and sit quietly expectant; even the back row, who waited at the church shed until they were in sufficient numbers to brave an entry into the church, having flopped66 noisily into their places. The choir would whisper and the organist nervously67 turn over the leaves of the hymn book. Then the fathers of the church would confer, look through the window or tip-toe to the door, confer again, and once more gaze anxiously in the direction from which the preacher was expected to appear.
At this point there would arise from the Todd pew such a fluttering and twittering as can be heard in the nest when the mother-bird is encouraging her little ones to fly. Mrs. Todd, acting68 as monitor, would give Silas many pushes and nudges which he modestly resisted, until her efforts were augmented69 by those of his brother officials, when, yielding at last to their importunities, he would slowly rise and go shyly and lingeringly up to the pulpit desk. And the congregation would settle back with a resigned air to listen to the simple, good old fellow give a long and tedious recital70 of his spiritual experiences, punctuated71 by many sighs and tearful "Amens" from beneath the sympathetic Paisley shawl.
But in spite of much comfort afforded by the Methodists, Duncan Polite's heart was often heavy with foreboding. He could not help seeing that Andrew Johnstone must soon come to open war with the new party in the church. In his well-meant and vigorous efforts to make everyone tread the old paths the ruling elder produced a great amount of friction72; for, though he feared God, he did not regard man, and woe73 betide the reckless youth who made himself too conspicuous74 in the reform movement.
The Sabbath school was his stronghold, for there he was superintendent75 and monarch76 absolute, and there he seized every opportunity to publicly rebuke77 anyone who dared transgress78 his rigid79 laws.
But the rising generation was not to be wholly deterred80 from rising by even the terrors of Splinterin' Andra; and, as Duncan Polite feared, the inevitable81 conflict ensued.
The immediate11 cause of the rupture82 was a church organ, merely a myth as yet, but real enough to arouse the apostle of ancient customs to his best fighting mood. The very mention of an instrument made by man to be used in the worship of God, was to the ruling elder the extreme of sacrilege. But in spite of his disapproval83, the young people went so far as to hold a meeting at which to discuss the possibility of their purchasing the coveted84 instrument.
Miss Cotton, the chief dress and mischiefmaker in the village, although no longer absolutely young, was the leader of the rising generation, and she counselled just going ahead without Splinterin' Andra's advice.
There were not many, however, who were possessed85 of either her courage or her indiscretion. They all agreed, though, that Andrew Johnstone was the one insurmountable barrier to their hopes. Most of the other elders had been approached in a tentative way. Peter McNabb was a broad-minded man with such a passion for music that, though he looked askance at any innovation, yet he would have welcomed anything that would help the singing. Old Donald Fraser considered an organ an unmixed evil and remarked, when asked for his opinion on the subject, that it would be "clean defyin' o' the Almighty87" to introduce one into the church. But he had a very ambitious wife and daughter, and as the latter had been taking music lessons and cherishing rosy88 dreams of one day playing in church, the organ party felt that Mr. Fraser would not be quite immovable. Old John Hamilton, of course, scarcely counted. He said "aye, aye," in a dazed way when his daughters clamoured for his consent, adding that "he'd see what Andra said." Peter Farquhar, they knew, might be difficult, as he belonged to the Oa and was, therefore, very old-fashioned; but they all agreed that if Andrew Johnstone could be moved, all the others would follow; so some one must ask his permission.
Miss Cotton suggested that Wee Andra, the son of old Andra, would be the proper person to carry their request to the elder. "Wee Andra" the young man had been called in his babyhood, to distinguish him from his father, and he still bore the anomalous89 title though he stood six-feet-four in his moccasins and was disproportionately broad. But in spite of these physical securities, the young giant flatly refused the doubtful honour of approaching his father on the sore subject; so, after much discussion, the delicate task devolved upon Mr. Watson, the schoolmaster. The master had "tack51" and education, Miss Cotton explained, and was just the man for the position. So, fortified90 by this flattery, the young man went up over the hills one morning on his dangerous quest.
The schoolmaster was a young man who was born for agitation91; he loved to throw himself heart and soul into some new enterprise, and upon this occasion he had the satisfaction at least of getting up plenty of excitement. What transpired92 in that fatal interview between him and the ruling elder could never be accurately93 learned from the former. When questioned upon the subject, he confined his remarks to dark hints regarding antediluvian94 pig-headedness and backwoods ignorance, but Wee Andra, who in his heart was rather proud of his sire's fighting qualities, spread the account of the schoolmaster's defeat over the whole neighbourhood, with the result that for a season the agitators95 left their common enemy to turn upon and rend96 each other.
On the evening after the encounter, Duncan Polite sat expectantly on his door-step. He knew that Andrew would be sure to come down to tell him of the affair, and he was waiting in some trepidation97, hoping that his fiery98 old friend had not said something which would wreck99 forever the peace of Glenoro church.
Duncan scarcely felt equal to shouldering any more burdens that day, for only the morning before Donald had left for college. The old man had sent him away with high hopes for his future; but he missed his boy more than he could tell. For Donald had been as his own son ever since the Neil boys had been left fatherless. "The Neil boys" they were always called, for their father, as well as their mother, had been a McDonald and, of necessity, his sons used his first name only. Neil McDonald had died when Archie was an infant, and had left Donald at the head of the family, a circumstance which might have proved disastrous100 to both Donald and the family had it not been for Duncan Polite. For in his boyhood Donald had bade fair to inherit his father's fame, and in the good old fighting days when men used their axes in argument, Neil More was the fiercest warrior101 between the two lakes. But as manhood approached, discretion86 had tempered young Donald's valour; he had grown up under the gentle but potent influence of his uncle and had developed a character of which Duncan Polite was justly proud.
But now Donald was gone; and Duncan was sitting thinking sadly of his loss and of this coming trouble, when a sturdy, square figure came down the darkening road.
"Come away in, Andra," said Duncan Polite rising, while Collie bowed his respectful welcome, "come away in, for you will be finding it cool on the step, whatever."
But Andrew preferred to sit out of doors.
Duncan divined at once from his manner that he was in a very bad frame of mind, and so attempted to lead the conversation into a safe channel. "I hear we will be having a fine young man next Sabbath," he commenced hopefully, "Mr. Murray. I would be hearing Mr. Cameron speak of him often."
"Aye, mebby," he remarked sourly. "Whatever he's like he'll suit the young folk anyway, for he'll be new, an' that's a' they want. Man, Duncan, the youth o' this day are jist fair daft! The Athenians were naething to them, for their one desire is to possess some new thing. They've got a new church, an' they're goin' to hae a new meenister, an' they're wantin' them new bit tinklin' hymns; aye, an' they're wantin' new elders, Ah'm sure o' that. When you an' me an' a few more o' the auld103 buddies104 slip awa, they'll jist be gettin' a new God an' then Ah houp they'll be setisfied!"
"Och, och, Andra," said Duncan Polite soothingly105. "Lads and lassies will be young, an' we would be that way ourselves once, and they will be better than you know. There's your own lad now, an' Sandy——"
"Andra! Oor Andra!" cried that young man's father. "The maist upsettin' scamp in the hale pack, an' it's his ain faither has to say it in shame an' humiliation106! Him an' Sandy are jist gone fair daft. It's fleein' here to this tea-meetin' an stravagin' yonder to some bit choir practise, an' here awa, there awa, until Ah dinna ken3 what's to be the end o' it! Aye, an' the next thing they've gotten intill their bit heids is that they must get a bit o' an idolatrous music boax for the kirk! Yon bit thistle heid o' a schoolmaister cam' till me aboot the thing the day; what d'ye think o' yon?"
"Dear, dear, that would be a peety," said the champion of youth, somewhat disconcerted.
"Aye, they've come till it at last! Ah've kenned107 weel they've been hatchin' plans this while back an' that oor Andra was in it, aye, an' Donal' afore he gaed away, but Ah jist gave no heed108 to their bit noise, an' Andra kenned his faither better than to come till him wi' his norms till yon bit slippery, feather-heided crater109 cam' till me this mornin'."
"An' would he be asking you if they could get one?"
"Askin' me! He didna jist order me to hae the thing bought, but it was michty near't. Sez he, 'We hae gotten the consent o' a' the ither elders, Maister Johnstone, an' we know ye jist can't refuse us; we'd like to hae it afore the new meenister comes,'—the danderin' bit eejit!"
"I hope you would not be too hard on him, Andra, Mr. Watson would be meaning no harm——"
"No harm! And are ye the man, Duncan McDonald, to ask an elder of the Kirk to countenance evil? Ah wes not half so hard on the buddy110 as he deserved, but Ah jist telled him pretty plain what Ah thought o' them a' turnin' the hoose o' God into a circus! 'Ye hae the consent o' a' the elders, hae ye?' Ah sez. 'An' noo it's ma consent ye want, is it? Weel, ye hae it!' Ah sez;' for if ye're that set on gettin' yer bit screechin' boax ma advice'll no hold ye back, so ye may get yer piece o' idolatory,' Ah sez; 'but mark ma word!' Ah sez, 'mark ma word, the day yon thing raises its noise an' pollutes the holy place— Ah'll no resign. Oh! no, that's what ye're lookin' for,' Ah sez, for Ah'd heerd rumours—'Ah'll no resign,' Ah sez, 'but Ah'll jist wait till the Sabbath's ower an' Ah'll get ma ax,' Ah sez, 'an by the help o' the Almichty Ah'll smash the abomination into a thoosand splinters!'"
His stick came down upon the doorstone with a crash that prophesied111 total destruction to the offending instrument.
"Hoots112, toots, Andra!" cried Duncan Polite reprovingly, "it's jist violent you will be; and, indeed, I will be thinkin' it would not be right to drive the young folks."
"The Maister drove oot wi' a scourage them as misused113 the hoose o' God," responded the apostle of force severely114.
"Aye, the Master," said Duncan, his fine face lighting115 up. "The Master!" he repeated the word tenderly. "Eh, but that would be a fine word, Andra, a fine word. Yes, He would be doing that once, but that would not be His spirit, ah, no indeed! For He was led as a lamb to the slaughter116, and as a sheep before her shearers is dumb, so He opened not His mouth! Eh, eh, and yet He would be the Master o' the whole Universe!" His voice died away, he sat motionless, his long slender hands hanging at his side, his eyes seeing wondrous117 sights on the purple slope of the opposite hillside.
Andrew Johnstone ceased his vicious whacking118 of Duncan's asters and conveyed his stick to its decorous Sabbath position behind him. His friend's sublime119 spirituality always cooled Splinterin' Andra's wrath.
There was a long silence, the sound of a bell tinkling120 away in the dark forest opposite and the distant murmur121 of the village alone broke the stillness. Andrew rose to go in a much better frame of mind. "You an' me, Duncan," he said with some sadness, "belong to a past generation. Maister Cameron's gone, an' the auld buddies are slippin' awa fast, an' whiles Ah hae little patience wi' the new fangled notions. Will the country be a God-fearin' one, Ah wonder, when we're a' awa?"
It was the question and also the tragedy of their lives, the question Duncan Polite's whole life was given up towards answering.
"We must jist be trusting that to the Lord, Andra," he said with his usual hopefulness. "Whatever changes come, He is the same yesterday, to-day and forever."
But Duncan Polite realised the affair was not ended. He knew it was not likely that the young people would defy Splinterin' Andra and drive him to violence, but the fire of gossip would be set going and he feared his friend's life would be embittered122. He was thinking deeply and sadly over the problem the next morning as he dug up the potatoes from his garden. There was Coonie, now, if he set his sharp tongue going against the elder there would be no end to the trouble. He glanced up and saw the subject of his thoughts coming slowly down the road in his old buckboard.
Why the Glenoro mail-carrier was called Coonie instead of Henry Greene, which was his real name, was, like all that gentleman's personal affairs, shrouded123 in mystery. Some doubted that Coonie himself knew, though if he did it was not at all likely he would divulge124 the secret, for he guarded very carefully his own private business. Whatever concerned himself held a monopoly of his reticence125, however, for in matters of current gossip he was second to none in the whole township of Oro. He beat even Miss Cotton and Mrs. Fraser, for, whereas they might arrive at a stage when they had nothing more to tell, not so Coonie. If he found himself without some startling news he manufactured it to suit the occasion.
His vehicle was an old buckboard with a wide seat, and a rickety old chariot it was. His custom was to sit slouching at one end of the seat, one foot upon the dashboard, the other dangling126 down in the dust, thus making the other end of the seat stick away up in the air, as though to suggest to any chance pedestrian that he was almost crowded out already and could accommodate no one.
His horse was a poor, decrepit127, old creature, whom he had named Bella, after the eldest128 of the pretty Hamilton girls, much to that young lady's disgust. In spite of old Bella's skeleton appearance and hobbling gait, Coonie took great pride in her and offered many times to trot129 her against Sandy Neil's racer. Her extreme lameness130 seemed quite appropriate, however, for in this respect she was the fitting complement131 to her master. For poor Coonie was a cripple, scarcely able to bear his long body on his weak ankles, and when the villagers saw him stumble painfully out of his vehicle at the post-office and drag himself to the veranda132, even the person outraged133 by his latest flight of fancy forgave and pitied him. Everyone felt that the nimbleness of his tongue was perhaps only some slight compensation for the uselessness of his feet.
His daily drive through Glenoro was something of an event to all the inhabitants, for he was willing to stop everywhere and anywhere and tell the latest news. Old Andrew considered him a most pernicious individual and a breeder of evil in the Glen, and for that reason as well as on general principles, Coonie took a particular delight in libelling the ruling elder. He pulled up as he reached Duncan's gate. He never passed without a few words with the old man. Not because he ever heard or told any gossip at Duncan Polite's, but Coonie could never forget a certain dark night when the mail bag was lost and the drunken mail-carrier in danger of finding himself behind prison bars, a night when Duncan Polite had toiled134 over the hills through mud and rain, and had rescued him. Not a person in the whole countryside, except the two, knew of the affair, but Coonie remembered, and in his queer way tried to repay the man who had saved him.
"Mornin'!" he called, somewhat crustily, as was his wont135 in opening a conversation. "How's things this mornin'?"
Duncan had hurried into the house and now emerged with a dipperful of creamy buttermilk. Coonie drank it off in one long pull.
"Ginger136, that's prime!" he cried, drawing a long breath. "Goes right to the dry spot. How's your potatoes?"
"Oh, they will be very good, very good indeed," said Duncan. He hesitated a moment and then continued. "You would be hearing about the master and the organ?" he questioned in some embarrassment137.
Coonie shot out a look of surprise from his small bright eyes; that Duncan Polite should open any such subject was an amazing thing.
"Yep," he answered sharply. "Why?"
"I will be having no right to interfere138, Coonie." Duncan Polite never by the slightest gesture hinted that he had any claim on the mail-carrier's gratitude139. "I will be having no right to interfere, but this will be a thing that will do harm to the church and the Lord's work, and if it is talked about,——" Duncan's reticence was overcoming him again after this unusual outburst.
Coonie nodded in perfect comprehension. He planted his foot upon the dashboard once more. "You don't want folks to be gabbin' about yours truly up on the hill yonder?" He jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction where Andrew Johnstone's house appeared far up the slope. "Well, I guess I'll have to choke off a few. Gedap thar, whatter ye doin'!" He gave old Bella a lash140 with the whip which she noticed merely by a switch of her tail. His shoulders sank to their accustomed limpness and he took no notice of Duncan's thanks as he drove off. He was really disappointed, for he had prepared such a version of the story, purporting141 to have come from the Oa, as would set Splinterin' Andra in a rage forever. He sighed over his loss.
But his attention was soon diverted by a welcome sight. Sim Baskerville, the village store-keeper and postmaster, commonly called Basketful in accordance with the custom of the country, could already be seen, even from this height, coming out upon the veranda at short intervals142 to see if the mail were coming. Nothing annoyed the postmaster so much as to have the mail arrive late, and nothing pleased the mail-carrier so much as to annoy the postmaster. Mr. Basketful was a choleric143 Englishman, and one of Coonie's chief diversions was to put him into a rage by a dilatory144 approach to the village. So, seeing his enemy on the lookout145, he let old Bella crawl down the hill with maddening slowness, looking round, meanwhile, for somebody with whom he might stop and talk.
The first opportunity presented itself with the whirring of a sewing machine, coming from a little house on the edge of the village. It was a tiny white cottage, apparently146 kept from encroaching upon the road by a thick rope of lilacs, a trim little place, painfully neat. When that sound emanated147 from within, Coonie knew that the village dressmaker was at home; and as she bore a fierce hatred148 to him and all his doings, he never failed to give her a call when possible. He drew up his buckboard before the lilac bushes, therefore, happily conscious of certain vigorous gesticulations from the post-office veranda, of a character calculated to encourage rapid approach.
"Hello! in there!" he shouted.
There was no response, except for a more determined149 whizzing of the machine.
"Got a message for you, 'Liza!"
To the angry occupant of the house it was agony to go on sewing. Who knew but that, for once, the old fool might be telling the truth, she reflected. Perhaps someone in the Oa had sent word with him that she was wanted there for a day's sewing, and she knew nothing would please Coonie better than to have her refuse to listen.
But by this time her tormentor150, despairing of ever enticing151 her out by fair words, resolved to launch a bomb which he knew was sure to bring the besieged152 raging to the walls. "Got a message from Tom Poole!" he roared, loud enough to be heard at Mrs. Fraser's across the valley. "He says to tell you he's comin' down sparkin' to-morrow night!"
Miss Cotton flashed into the doorway153, white with rage. She, who had never seen the man who dared to pay her loverlike attentions, to have her name bawled154 out over the countryside coupled with that of a man who was a widower155 of six months with a family of as many children! She shook her scissors in his face.
"If you don't shut up your tomfoolery, you blatherin' old idiot!" she cried, in a sort of shrieking156 whisper, "I'll throw boilin' water over you!"
Coonie stared in injured righteousness. "Well I never! That's all the thanks I get for obligin' you. I can't help it if he's gone spooney on you; next time I bring you a message——"
"Yes, next time you bring me a message it'll be the last you'll take to a livin' soul. Drive your old hearse away from my door, will you, an' tell your lies to somebody that's big enough fool to believe you!"
The door slammed and the sewing machine buzzed wrathfully, and Coonie sent Bella scrambling157 down the hill, his drooping158 shoulders heaving with convulsive laughter. To put 'Liza Cotton into a rage, while Sim Basketful, in a similar condition, was popping in and out of his store door like a jack-in-the-box, was worth the whole day's drive. He meandered159 along chuckling160 loudly, but suddenly checked his mirth as he espied161 Maggie Hamilton standing162 at the gate beneath the oaks and holding a bundle under her arm. This was evidently intended for him, so he drove to the opposite side of the road and crawled along with drooping shoulders and abstracted mien163.
But this particular Miss Hamilton understood Coonie's dark ways and knew how to deal with him. She darted164 across the road and caught old Bella by the head.
"Hold on now, smarty!" she said. "You needn't pretend you've turned deaf and blind all at once, you're stupid enough without. Here's a parcel for Aunt Mary McLean, Coonie, and mother wants you to take it to her, please, like an old duck. You know Aunt Mary thinks you're the handsomest fellow in Oro."
But Coonie was not be flattered into obliging anyone. "Look here, you," he growled165, "what d'ye think I run this mail for, anyhow? Think it's a charitable institution? You tell your Aunt Mary Maria stick-in-the-mud that if she thinks the Almighty created me to cart truck over the country for lazy lumps like you that thinks they're too good to walk, she'd better go an' get informed all over again."
But Maggie had expected this and was prepared. "Jess! Sarah! Bell!" she cried, "come out here quick and settle this old donkey! He's gone balky again!"
There was a chorus of shrieks166, a swish of skirts down the garden path, and reinforcements in the shape of three more young ladies emerged from the gate and fell upon the rebellious167 mail-carrier. They climbed into the shaking old buckboard and Maggie seized the reins168 and turned old Bella up the hill again.
"Now, we'll drive you clean back to Lakeview, if you don't speak up smart and say you'll take it!" she cried.
But Coonie did not mind. Mr. Basketful was by this time in the middle of the road, so he prolonged the encounter as long as possible.
"Go ahead," he said, settling himself comfortably in his seat; "you'll soon be at the Oa, if you keep on. I bet that's where Jessie wants to go to see what's the latest news from Don Neil."
"Yes, and you want to go up the hill and talk to 'Liza Cotton," retorted Jessie.
"That's it," laughed Maggie, pulling the old horse almost into the ditch, "you'd trot off with a bundle quick enough if she asked you."
Coonie roared. "Well, that's true. Haw! Haw! I'd start off that quick I'd never git stopped. Gosh! but ain't she the old scorpion169!" he exclaimed with feeling, "Say, if her an' me was the only folks left in the world, I'd kill her an' live alone. See here, you scalawags, clear out an' leave that poor brute170 alone, an' I'll take your trash."
It was a surrender. The victorious171 quartette leaped from the buckboard and retired172, with many admonitions for his guidance in his future dealings with them, warnings which Coonie pretended not to hear.
His shoulders sagged173 again as he slowly approached the post-office. He paused a few moments on the bridge, to gaze meditatively174 into the water, then he spent some time gesticulating to an imaginary person down at the mill-dam, and at last, slowly and with every appearance of insupportable weariness, dragged up to the post-office door.
"Kind of hot," he remarked genially175, noticing the perspiring176 countenance of the indignant postmaster.
Mr. Basketful took the mail-bag with a withering177 air. "Kind o'," he remarked sarcastically178. "Guess your 'orse 'ad a sunstroke on the road. 'Ere 'Syl, tend to that hanimal, will you?"
A stylishly179 dressed young man came down with elegant leisure from his position on a cracker180 barrel and proceeded to water Coonie's horse. The mail-carrier's helpless condition called for assistance which was always freely rendered. The person to whom the task generally fell was Mr. Sylvanus Todd, who, by reason of his leisurely181 habits, found plenty of time, when not assisting his father in the cheese factory, to lounge around the post-office and look up the street to see what the Hamilton girls were doing. Sylvanus always assisted Coonie most willingly; he was a young man who was noted all over the township of Oro for his obliging ways and his mannerly deportment. Indeed, Mr. Todd posed as an authority on all matters of etiquette182. He even went so far once as to admonish183 Wee Andra on the errors of his pedestrianism. "When you're walkin' with a lady, Andra," Sylvanus had said kindly, "you'd ought to let her walk up agin' the buildin's." But so far from improving the giant's manners this good advice only caused him to place his adviser184 in a tank of cheese factory whey and to continue thereafter to walk as seemed right in his own eyes.
Coonie did not care for Syl Todd; he had much of the simple guilelessness of his parents and did not take teasing with any pleasurable degree of asperity185. So the mail-carrier generally treated him with silent contempt. He swung himself from the buckboard and hobbled painfully to the store veranda.
"Business seems pressin' with you, Mr. Todd," he remarked as he lit his pipe. "You're always in an awful rush."
Mr. Todd gave a doubtful grin. "Well say, Coonie, this here's the backwoodsest place I ever seen; us Americans can't stand it."
Sylvanus had spent six months in the United States, managing a gigantic business firm, he had hinted, from which enterprise he had returned to the parental186 roof, a sadder if not a wiser man, to take up the more lucrative187 employment of making cheese. He never quite outlived the glory of his travels, however.
Coonie grunted. "You should a' stayed over there an' been President. They must be awful lonesome since you left. Any noos?"
"Well, I should snicker if there wasn't! The master's got into an awful row!"
His listener sighed deeply. What an opportunity this would have been to set his version of the story going!
"What's eatin' him?" he asked with wonderful self-control. "Neil kids been lickin' him again?"
"Worse nor that; he's got into a row with Splinterin' Andra!"
"Gosh!" Coonie's amazement188 would have deceived a much more astute189 individual than Sylvanus Todd. "What's that old wind-mill got himself flappin' about now?"
"About gettin' the organ for the Presbyterian church. Watson spoke190 to Splinterin' Andra about it an' the old fellow gave him Hail Columbia, as they say in the States."
Mr. Basketful was coming out with the mall-bag.
"It's true, every word of it, Coonie," he said, his wrath having vanished. "That's the way with them Presbyterians; they're that stiff they can't 'elp 'avin' trouble."
Coonie scrambled191 into his buckboard, feeling doubly crippled in the galling192 restriction193 that had been put upon his unruly member. He drove off without a word, not even stopping at Mrs. Fraser's gate at the top of the hill. Syl Todd sat upon the veranda of the store, watching until his old buckboard sank behind the south hill, wondering if he were ill.
Duncan had never before tried to exercise a restraining influence upon Coonie's tongue, though as he watched his old buckboard straying down into the valley, crossing and recrossing the road, to allow its owner to joke and gossip with this one and that, the Watchman often thought what a power for good Coonie might be in Glenoro if only his heart were touched by the grace of God. His first attempt at stemming the tide of the mail-carrier's gossip met with wonderful success, however. People discovered that for some inexplicable194 reason, Coonie seemed to have no interest whatever in Splinterin' Andra's behaviour over the proposal of an organ, and with the chief stoker idle, the fire of gossip soon died for want of fuel. The young people postponed195 their project indefinitely, and gradually the affair dropped out of the public interest, making way for a much more important matter.
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1
covenant
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| n.盟约，契约；v.订盟约 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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severed
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
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sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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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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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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12
quenched
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| 解（渴）( quench的过去式和过去分词 )； 终止（某事物）； （用水）扑灭（火焰等）； 将（热物体）放入水中急速冷却 | |
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13
discourses
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| 论文( discourse的名词复数 )； 演说； 讲道； 话语 | |
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14
frivolity
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| n.轻松的乐事，兴高采烈；轻浮的举止 | |
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15
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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16
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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18
disapprove
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| v.不赞成，不同意，不批准 | |
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19
picturesquely
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20
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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21
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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22
lurid
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| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
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23
panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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24
cynosure
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| n.焦点 | |
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25
misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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26
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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27
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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28
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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29
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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30
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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31
outweighed
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| v.在重量上超过( outweigh的过去式和过去分词 )；在重要性或价值方面超过 | |
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32
anthem
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| n.圣歌，赞美诗，颂歌 | |
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33
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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34
benign
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| adj.善良的，慈祥的；良性的，无危险的 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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36
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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37
sects
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| n.宗派，教派( sect的名词复数 ) | |
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38
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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39
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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40
potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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41
millennium
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| n.一千年，千禧年；太平盛世 | |
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42
overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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43
goodwill
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| n.善意，亲善，信誉，声誉 | |
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44
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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45
frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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46
raved
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| v.胡言乱语( rave的过去式和过去分词 )；愤怒地说；咆哮；痴心地说 | |
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47
foamed
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| 泡沫的 | |
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48
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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49
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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50
tacked
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| 用平头钉钉( tack的过去式和过去分词 )； 附加，增补； 帆船抢风行驶，用粗线脚缝 | |
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51
tack
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| n.大头钉；假缝，粗缝 | |
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52
syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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53
giggling
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的现在分词 ) | |
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54
layman
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| n.俗人，门外汉，凡人 | |
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55
oratory
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| n.演讲术；词藻华丽的言辞 | |
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56
piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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57
contingency
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| n.意外事件，可能性 | |
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58
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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59
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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60
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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61
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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62
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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63
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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64
detriment
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| n.损害；损害物，造成损害的根源 | |
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65
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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66
flopped
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| v.（指书、戏剧等）彻底失败( flop的过去式和过去分词 )；（因疲惫而）猛然坐下；（笨拙地、不由自主地或松弛地）移动或落下；砸锅 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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68
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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Augmented
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| adj.增音的 动词augment的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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70
recital
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| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
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71
punctuated
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| v.（在文字中）加标点符号，加标点( punctuate的过去式和过去分词 )；不时打断某事物 | |
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72
friction
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| n.摩擦，摩擦力 | |
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73
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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75
superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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76
monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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77
rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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transgress
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| vt.违反，逾越 | |
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79
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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80
deterred
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| v.阻止，制止( deter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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81
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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82
rupture
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| n.破裂；(关系的)决裂；v.(使)破裂 | |
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83
disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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84
coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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85
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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86
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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87
almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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88
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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89
anomalous
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| adj.反常的；不规则的 | |
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90
fortified
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| adj. 加强的 | |
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91
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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92
transpired
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| （事实，秘密等）被人知道( transpire的过去式和过去分词 )； 泄露； 显露； 发生 | |
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93
accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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antediluvian
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| adj.史前的，陈旧的 | |
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95
agitators
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| n.（尤指政治变革的）鼓动者( agitator的名词复数 )；煽动者；搅拌器；搅拌机 | |
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rend
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| vt.把…撕开，割裂；把…揪下来，强行夺取 | |
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trepidation
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| n.惊恐，惶恐 | |
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98
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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101
warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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102
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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auld
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| adj.老的，旧的 | |
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104
buddies
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| n.密友( buddy的名词复数 )；同伴；弟兄；（用于称呼男子，常带怒气）家伙v.（如密友、战友、伙伴、弟兄般）交往( buddy的第三人称单数 )；做朋友；亲近（…）；伴护艾滋病人 | |
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105
soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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106
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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107
kenned
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| v.知道( ken的过去式和过去分词 )；懂得；看到；认出 | |
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108
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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109
crater
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| n.火山口，弹坑 | |
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110
buddy
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| n.（美口）密友，伙伴 | |
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111
prophesied
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| v.预告，预言( prophesy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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112
hoots
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| 咄，啐 | |
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113
misused
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| v.使用…不当( misuse的过去式和过去分词 )；把…派作不正当的用途；虐待；滥用 | |
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114
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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115
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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116
slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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117
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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118
whacking
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| adj.（用于强调）巨大的v.重击，使劲打( whack的现在分词 ) | |
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119
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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120
tinkling
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| n.丁当作响声 | |
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121
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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122
embittered
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| v.使怨恨，激怒( embitter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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123
shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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124
divulge
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| v.泄漏(秘密等)；宣布，公布 | |
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125
reticence
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| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
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126
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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127
decrepit
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| adj.衰老的，破旧的 | |
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128
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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129
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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130
lameness
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| n. 跛, 瘸, 残废 | |
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131
complement
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| n.补足物，船上的定员；补语；vt.补充，补足 | |
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132
veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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133
outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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134
toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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135
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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136
ginger
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| n.姜，精力，淡赤黄色；adj.淡赤黄色的；vt.使活泼，使有生气 | |
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137
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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138
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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139
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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140
lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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141
purporting
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| v.声称是…，（装得）像是…的样子( purport的现在分词 ) | |
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142
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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143
choleric
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| adj.易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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144
dilatory
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| adj.迟缓的，不慌不忙的 | |
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145
lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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146
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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147
emanated
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| v.从…处传出，传出( emanate的过去式和过去分词 )；产生，表现，显示 | |
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148
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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149
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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150
tormentor
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| n. 使苦痛之人, 使苦恼之物, 侧幕 =tormenter | |
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151
enticing
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| adj.迷人的；诱人的 | |
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152
besieged
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| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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153
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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154
bawled
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的过去式和过去分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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155
widower
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| n.鳏夫 | |
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156
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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157
scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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158
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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159
meandered
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| （指溪流、河流等）蜿蜒而流( meander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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160
chuckling
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的现在分词 ) | |
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161
espied
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| v.看到( espy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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162
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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163
mien
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| n.风采；态度 | |
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164
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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165
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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166
shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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167
rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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168
reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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169
scorpion
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| n.蝎子，心黑的人，蝎子鞭 | |
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170
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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171
victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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172
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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173
sagged
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| 下垂的 | |
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174
meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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175
genially
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| adv.亲切地，和蔼地；快活地 | |
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176
perspiring
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| v.出汗，流汗( perspire的现在分词 ) | |
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177
withering
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| 使人畏缩的，使人害羞的，使人难堪的 | |
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178
sarcastically
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| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
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179
stylishly
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| adv.时髦地，新式地 | |
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180
cracker
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| n.（无甜味的）薄脆饼干 | |
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181
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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182
etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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183
admonish
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| v.训戒；警告；劝告 | |
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184
adviser
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| n.劝告者，顾问 | |
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185
asperity
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| n.粗鲁，艰苦 | |
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186
parental
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| adj.父母的；父的；母的 | |
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187
lucrative
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| adj.赚钱的，可获利的 | |
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188
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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189
astute
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| adj.机敏的，精明的 | |
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190
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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191
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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192
galling
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| adj.难堪的,使烦恼的,使焦躁的 | |
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193
restriction
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| n.限制，约束 | |
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194
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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195
postponed
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| vt.& vi.延期，缓办，（使）延迟vt.把…放在次要地位；[语]把…放在后面（或句尾）vi.（疟疾等）延缓发作（或复发） | |
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