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From Jest to Earnest

<h1 id="id00968" style="margin-top: 6em">CHAPTER XI.</h1> <h5 id="id00969">A POSSIBLE TRAGEDY.</h5> While the money was being counted, Lottie led Mrs. Dlimm into the hall, and introduced her to Hemstead, saying, "This is the magician whose wand has transformed us all." "You are the wand then," he said, laughing. "What is the wand without the magician?" she asked, shyly watching the effect of her speech. His quick flush bespoke the sensitive nature that it was becoming her delight to play upon, but he said: "According to legends, magic power was exerted in two ways,—by a magician, as you suggested, and by ordinary mortals who happened to find a wand or spell or some potent secret by which they and any one could perform marvels. Now I assure you that I am the most ordinary of mortals, and without my wand I could not conjure at all." Lottie gave him a look at this point which heightened his color, but he continued: "Miss Marsden, in her generosity, shall not give to me the credit for events which I trust will add a little sunlight to your life this winter, Mrs. Dlimm. It is to be shared chiefly by herself and that manly young fellow there, who is a member of your church, I suppose. It was Miss Marsden who brought us the tidings of the evil out of which this good has come. She not only took up the collection with such a grace that no one could resist, but she suggested the collection in the first place." "What do you know about my irresistible grace? You haven't given me anything." "You will place me in an awkward dilemma if you ask anything, for I have given you all the money I have with me," he said, laughing. "Perhaps he would give himself," said simple, innocent Mrs. Dlimm, who, from Lottie's coquetry and the expression of Hemstead's eyes, imagined that an understanding or an engagement existed between them. Lottie laughed, till the tears came, at Hemstead's blushing confusion, but said after a moment, "That would be a graceless request from me." "I don't think you would have to ask twice," whispered Mrs. Dlimm. "Did you ever hear of the man who was given a white elephant?" asked Lottie, in her ear. "No, what about him?" said Mrs. Dlimm, simply. Lottie laughed again, and putting her arm around the little lady said, aloud: "Mrs. Dlimm, you and your baby could go right back to the Garden of Eden, and I rather think Mr. Hemstead could be your escort." "I trust we are all going to a far better place," she replied, quickly. "I fear I'm going the other way," said Lottie, shaking her head. But she was surprised at the expression of honest trouble and sympathy that came out upon the face of the pastor's wife. "Miss Marsden does herself injustice," said Hemstead, quickly. "You have seen her action. All that I have seen of her accords with that." "But you have not known me two days yet altogether," said Lottie. "No matter. The last time I was in a picture gallery, I spent most o the time before one painting. I did not require weeks to learn its character." "I shall judge you by your action, Miss Marsden," said Mrs. Dlimm, gratefully. "My creed forbids me to think ill of any one, and my heart forbids me to think ill of you. Those tears I saw in your eyes a short time since became you better than any diamonds you will ever wear. They were nature's ornaments, and proved that you were still nature's child,—that you had not in your city life grown proud, and cold, and false. It is a rare and precious thing to see outward beauty but the reflex of a more lovely spirit. Keep that spirit, my dear, and you will never lose your beauty even though you grow old and faded as I am. I wish I could see you again, for your full, sunny life has done me more good than I can tell you." Again, Lottie's warm heart and impulsive nature betrayed her, and, before she thought, she exclaimed in sincerity: "I wish I deserved what you say, and I might be better if I saw more of such people as you and Mr. Hemstead. If he will drive me over to-morrow, I will come and see you. I think he will, for I haven't told you that he is a minister, and would, no doubt, like to talk to your husband." "I might have known it," said the little woman, stepping forward and shaking Hemstead's hand most cordially. "I congratulate you, sir. You have chosen a princely calling,—a royal one, rather,—and can tread directly in the steps of the Son of God. I predict for you success,—the success a true minister craves. You have the promise within you of winning many from evil." "Believe me," said he, earnestly, "I would rather have that power than be a king." "You may well say that, sir," she replied, with a dignity of which Lottie did not think her capable. "Any common man may have kingly power, and the meanest have cursed the world with it. But the power to win men from evil is godlike, and only the godlike have it." Lottie looked curiously at the object of her practical jest. The words of the pastor's wife seemed to have drawn his thoughts away from the speaker and herself, and fixed them on his future work and its results. It is in such moments of abstraction—of self-forgetfulness, when one's mind is dwelling on life's purposes and aims—that the spirit shines through the face, as through a transparency, and the true character is seen. Lottie saw Hemstead's face grow so noble and manly, so free from every trace of the meanness of egotism and selfishness, that in the depths of her soul she respected him as she had never any man before. Instinctively she placed Julian De Forrest, the rich and elegant idler, beside this earnest man, self-consecrated to the highest effort, and for the first time her soul revolted from her cousin with something like disgust. What she had imagined became real at that moment, and De Forrest appeared, looking bored and uneasy. "I have found you at last," he said. "We became so wedged in the parlor that there was no getting out, but now they have completed the laborious task of counting a sum that a bank clerk would run over in two minutes, and it is to be announced with a final flourish of trumpets. Then the stingy clodhoppers that you have inveigled into doing something that they will repent of with groanings that cannot be uttered to-morrow will go home resolving to pinch and save till they make good what they have given." He then added carelessly to Mrs. Dlimm, not waiting for an introduction, "I am surprised that you and your husband are willing to stay among such a people." Before she could answer, he said to Lottie, "Are you ready to go home? Harcourt and Addie say we ought to start at once." Lottie was provoked at his rudeness, and furtively watched Mrs. Dlimm's face, to see what impression he made upon her. Indeed her face was a study for a moment as she measured De Forrest's proportions with a slow, sweeping glance, which he thought one of admiration. But, instead of turning contemptuously or resentfully away, her face was pitiful. They were now summoned to hear the result, but Lottie found opportunity to whisper to Mrs. Dlimm, "What do you think of him?" "I don't know what to think. It is painfully evident that he is not a man." Mrs. Dlimm's verdict had a weight with Lottie that she would hardly have believed possible a few hours before. There was a quaint simplicity and sincerity about her, an unworldliness, that gave her words something of the authority of the other world. The abstraction that had been on Hemstead's face passed to Lottie's, and she heard with inattentive ear the young farmer say with hearty emphasis, "We present you, as an expression of our good-will, with two hundred and fifty dollars." She heard, but still did not heed the pastor's grateful reply. De Forrest whispered to her often, but her brow only contracted at his interruption to her busy thought. Suddenly she noted Hemstead's eye resting on her with a questioning expression. Then with a seeming effort she came out of her revery, and tried to be her old self again. When Mr. Dlimm ceased, the farmer called out heartily: "Good for you, dominie. Now I call for a vote of thanks to the stranger who showed us a way out of our scrape. I understand that his name is the Rev. Mr. Hemstead. Also a vote of thanks to such a young lady as the city doesn't often send us, who, if she will permit a country compliment, is like the rose, good enough for a king, yet sweet to all. I call on both for a speech." Lottie, blushing and laughing, declared that she was one who believed "that a woman should keep silence in meeting," and requested Hemstead to answer for both. "Miss Marsden does not need words," said Hemstead. "She has a better kind of eloquence, and speaks to us through good and kindly deeds. My part in the happy results of this evening is slight. It is comparatively easy to suggest good and generous action, but it is harder to perform. It is one thing to preach, and quite another to practise. You have had the hard part,—the practising,—and yet have done it as if it were not hard, as duty seldom is when performed in the right spirit; and therefore deserve the greater credit. If what you have done from generous impulse to-night you will henceforth do from steady principle, you will all have cause to remember this evening gratefully. That 'it is more blessed to give than receive' is true, not only because the Bible declares it, but because human experience proves it." Loud applause followed these words, and then the farmer said, "Now, Mr. Harcourt, you are welcome to publish all you have seen at Scrub Oaks to-night." At this Harcourt stepped forward and said: "Although not called on for a speech, I shall make a short one. I have learned a thing or two this evening. When I make a blunder I am not ashamed to acknowledge it. Mr. Hemstead and I both wished to bring about the same thing, only I went about it the wrong way, and he the right. What I then said as a threat, I now say as a promise. I shall write for our country paper a report of this meeting, and it will be greatly to your credit. I take back my former harsh words. I congratulate you on your action, and commend you for it." "Give me your hand on that," cried the farmer. "Three cheers for Tom Harcourt. If you are ever up for office, sir, you may count on the vote of Scrub Oaks." Thus, with cheery laughter and mutual good feeling, the eventful donation party broke up, leaving a happier family in the little parsonage than had ever dwelt there before. In a few moments the party from Mrs. Marchmont's were on the road, though it proved difficult to hold the chilled and spirited horses long enough for them to get seated. De Forrest again took his place by Lottie, but she determined to make the conversation general. "I've had a splendid time," she exclaimed, "and am very much obliged to you, Addie and Mr. Harcourt, for bringing me." "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself," said Addie, "and hope that you have now had enough of the 'other set,' as you call them. I don't see how you can endure them." "Nor I either," said Bel, "although I suppose we ought to mingle with them occasionally. But I am tired to death." "I was disgusted with them from first to last," said De Forrest,—"the uncouth, ill-bred crew. I couldn't endure to see you, Miss Lottie, going around with that clodhopper of a farmer, and, worst of all, how could you touch that great mountain of flesh they called Auntie Lammer?" "Many men of many minds," trilled out Lottie; but she thought of Hemstead's treatment of the poor old creature in contrast. "Whoa there, steady now," cried Harcourt to the horses; and Hemstead, though sitting with his back to him, noted that he was too much engrossed with their management to speak often, even to Addie who sat beside him. "Mr. Hemstead said that Auntie Lammer was more than a duchess," added Lottie, laughing. "True, she's a monster. Bat what did Mr. Hemstead call her?" "He said she was a 'woman,' and was as polite is if paying homage to universal womanhood." "I think," said De Forrest, satirically, "that Mr. Hemstead might have found a better, if not a larger type of 'universal womanhood' to whom he could have paid his homage. I was not aware that he regarded bulk as the most admirable quality in woman. Well, he does not take a narrow view of the sex. His ideal is large." "Come, Mr. De Forrest," said Hemstead, "your wit is as heavy as Mrs. Lammer herself, and she nearly broke my back going down stairs." "O, pardon me. It was your back that suffered. I thought it was your heart. How came you to be so excessively polite then?" "I think Miss Marsden is indulging in a bit of fun at my expense. Of course a gentleman ought to be polite to any and every woman, because she is such. Would it be knightly or manly to bow to a duchess, and treat some poor obscure woman as if she were scarcely human? Chivalry," continued he, laughing, "devoted itself to woman in distress, and if ever a woman's soul was burdened, Aunt Lammer's must be. But how do you account for this, Mr. De Forrest? It was Miss Marsden that took pity on the poor creature and summoned me to her aid. She was more polite and helpful than I." "I have just said to her that I do not understand how she can do such things save in the spirit of mischief," he replied, discontentedly. "It really pained me all the evening to see you in contact with such people," he added tenderly, aside to Lottie. "Well, I can understand it," said Hemstead, emphatically. "I suppose Mr. Hemstead believes in the brotherhood, and therefore the sisterhood of the race. I was, in his estimation, taking care of one of my little sisters "; and Lottie's laugh trilled out upon the still night. "Whoa now, steady, steady, I tell you," cried Harcourt; and all noted that at Lottie's shrill laugh the horses sprang into a momentary gallop. After a moment Hemstead replied, "You are nearer right than you think. In weakness, helplessness, and childish ignorance, she was a little sister." "Well, so be it. I have had enough of Mrs. Lammer and undeserved praise. Now all join in the chorus. "Three fishers—" and she sang the well-known song, and was delighted when Hemstead, for the first time, let out his rich, musical bass. But before they had sung through the first stanza, Harcourt turned and said, "You must be still, or I can't manage the horses." In fact, they were going at a tremendous pace, and Hemstead noted that Harcourt was nervous and excited. But no one apprehended any danger. "How cold and distant the stars seem on a winter evening!" said Lottie, after a moment's silence. "It always depresses me to come out into the night after an evening of gayety and nonsense. There is a calm majesty about the heavens which makes my frivolity seem contemptible. The sky to-night reminds me of a serene, cold face looking at me in silent scorn. How fearfully far off those stars are; and yet you teach, do you not, Mr. Hemstead, that heaven is beyond them?" "But that Limbo," added De Forrest, with a satirical laugh, "is right at hand in the centre of the earth." "The real heaven, Miss Marsden," said Hemstead, gently, "is where there are happy, trusting hearts. Where the locality is I do not know. As to that nether world, if you know its location you know more than I do, Mr. De Forrest. I don't propose to have anything to do with it. Prisons may be a painful necessity, but we don't fear them or propose to go to them. On the same principle we need not trouble ourselves about God's prison house." At this moment from an adjacent farm-house, a large dog came bounding out with clamorous barking. The excited horses were ready at the slightest provocation to run, and now broke into a furious gallop. Harcourt sawed on the bits and shouted to them in vain. He was slight in build, and not very strong. Moreover, he had grown nervous and chilled and had lost his own self-control, and of course could not restrain the powerful creatures that were fast passing from mere excitement into the wild terror which is akin to a panic among men when once they give way before danger. "Good God!" exclaimed Harcourt, after a moment; "I can't hold them, and we are near the top of a long hill with two sharp turnings on the side of a steep bank, and there's a bridge at the bottom. Whoa! curse you, whoa!" But they tore on the more recklessly. Bel and Addie began to scream, and this increased the fright of the horses. Hemstead looked searchingly for a moment at Lottie, and saw with a thrill that her white face was turned to him and not to De Forrest. "Is there danger?" she asked, in a low tone. "Good God!" exclaimed Harcourt again, "I can't hold them." Hemstead rose instantly, and turning with care in the swaying sleigh braced himself by planting one foot on the middle of the seat. He then said quietly, "Will you give me the reins, Mr. Harcourt? I am well braced and quite strong. Perhaps I can manage them." Harcourt relinquished the reins instantly. "Hush!" Hemstead said sternly to Addie and Bel, and they became quiet,—the weaker minds submitting to the roused and master mind. Fortunately the trouble had occurred where there was a straight and level road, and a little of this still remained. The question with Hemstead was whether he could get control of the rushing steeds before they reached the hill. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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