Judith walking in the woods one day found a great nest of Indian pipe. She bent listlessly to pick the waxen mystic blossoms, thinking to herself that they were like some beautiful dead thing; and then she came upon a delicate flush on the side of their clear, translucent pearl, and wondered if it were an omen.
It was a gorgeous October Sabbath when the boys were baptised. Baptisms always took place from Brush Arbour in a sizable pool of Lost Creek which flows through one corner of the little valley that holds the church building. The sward which ran down to its clear mirror was yet green, but the maples and sourwoods above it were coloured splendidly. Among their clamant red and yellow laurel and rhododendron showed glossy green, and added to the gay tapestry. The painted leaves let go their hold on twig or bough and dropped whispering into the water, like garlands flung to dress the coming rite.
Morning meeting was over. The women-folks who had come far spread dinner on the grass near the church, joining together occasionally, the children wandering about in solemn delight with a piece of corn pone in hand, whispering among the graves in the tiny God’s acre, spelling out the words upon some wooden head-board, or the rarer stone.
The Big Spring was the customary gathering place of the young people before church, and during intermissions, about its clear basin, on the slopes above the great rock from under which it issued, might be seen a number of couples, the boys in Sunday best of jeans or store-bought clothing, the girls fluttering in cheap lawns or calicoes, and wearing generally hats instead of the more becoming sunbonnet. Judith had been used to lead her following here, and the number of her swains would have been a scandal in any one else: but there was a native dignity about Judith Barrier that kept even rural gossip at bay. This morning, however, when Elder Drane gave her the customary invitation to walk down there for a drink, she refused, and all during the first service the widower had sat tall and reproachful on the men’s side and reminded her of past follies. She was aware of his accusing eyes even when she did not look in his direction, and uncomfortably aware too that others saw what she saw.
Throughout the pleasant picnic meal, shared with its group of neighbours, the sight of Andy and Jeff with Cliantha and Pendrilla aggravated a dull pain which dragged always in her heart, and when dinner was over and they had packed the basket once more, and set it in the back of the waggon, she left them, to wander by herself on the farther side of Lost Creek, sitting down finally in the shade of a great sourwood, and looking moodily at the water. All afternoon she sat there wrapt in her own emotions, forgetful of time and place. The congregation straggled back into the little log church, and the second service was begun. The preacher’s voice came floating out to her softened by distance, and with it the sound of singing; as the meeting drew to its close an occasional more vociferous “Amen!” or “Glory!” or “Praise God!” made itself heard. The sun was beginning to slant well from the west when she got suddenly to her feet with the startled realisation that afternoon preaching was over, the people were pouring from the church door, streaming across the green toward the baptising pool. They were in the middle of a hymn.
| “Oh, wanderer return—return,” |
came their musical tones across the water. The grey-haired old preacher was in the lead, his black coat blowing about him, the congregation spreading out fan-wise as they followed after, Andy and Jeff arm in arm, the half-dozen others who were to be baptised walking with them.
Her fretted, pining spirit had no appreciation left for the appeal of the picture. She gazed, and looked away, and groaned. “Oh, wanderer return,” they sang—almost her heart could not bear the words.
She sighed. Ought she to cross the foot-log and be with them when the boys were dipped? But while she hesitated the singers struck up a different hymn, a louder, more militant strain. Brother Bohannon was at the water; he was wading in; he was up to his knees now—up to his waist.
“Send ’em in, Brother Drane,” she heard him call. “This is about deep enough. That’s right—give me the young men first. When the others see them dipped they’ll have no fear.”