THE TRYST.
THE next day, being the Sabbath, all our household must go to Chapel. Jim, contrary to his wont on the day of rest, was astir betimes. We had shared the same bed, and I should think that between cockcrow and seven o’clock Jim had drawn his great silver watch from under his pillow a score of times, and seemed to find the hours go on leaden feet. To my impatient inquiry why he couldn’t be still and give me a chance of dropping off, he explained that he had promised our Ruth to milk the cow for her. Now I am firmly persuaded that Jim had never performed that delicate operation before, and for anything he knew to the contrary the udders might be relieved of their milky stream by machinery. At last, to my great content he got up, dressed, and stole down the creaking staircase in his stocking feet, and I heard him lighting the kitchen fire and, if I greatly erred not, vigorously fettling his boots—at which I marvelled not a little, for at Wrigley it was his mother who lit the fire and cleaned his boots—but then to be sure, Ruth was not his mother, nor yet his wife.
I suppose I shall never forget my father’s sermon of that, morning, nor, I think, will Jim. I learned long afterwards that it had been composed by my father and was that morning preached because one of the members of Pole Moor had so far fallen from grace as to marry one of the uncovenanted worshippers at St. James’s instead of fixing his affections upon a sister of the true faith.
Now, my father read as his first lesson the twenty-fifth of Numbers, and when he read the words, “And behold one of the children of Israel came and brought unto his brethren a Midianitish woman in the sight of Moses and in the sight of all the congregation of the children of Israel, who were weeping before the door of the tabernacle of the congregation,” I could have sworn that he allowed his eyes to dwell sternly upon me—so true is it that conscience doth make cowards of us all; and when the sacred word went on to tell how Phinehas rose up from among the congregation and took a javelin in his hand, and went after the man of Israel into the tent, and thrust both of them through, the man of Israel, and the woman through her belly, I caught myself glaring defiantly round the unconscious worshippers of Pole Moor and mentally daring one and all to take up a javelin or, what would come handier to them, a pitchfork against me and Miriam. And the preacher’s text was sixth of second Corinthians, “Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers: for what fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? and what Communion hath light with darkness? and what concord hath Christ with Belial? or what part hath he that believeth with an infidel?” And noticed that Jim fidgeted uneasily in his seat and glanced oft and furtively at Ruth; but she sat unmoved alike by lesson, text, and the diatribes my good father hurled against the daughters of the Erastian heretics And, indeed, I have ever noticed that whilst women are more devout than men, the shafts of theology fall harmless against the adamant of their common-sense. But Jim I knew was not a little perturbed in mind by my father’s discourse, as I gathered later from his indirect questioning.
“Who were Belial, Abel?”
“Belial?” I questioned in surprise.
“Aye, him ’at your father read about out o’ th’ Bible. He seemed to ha’ a rare grudge agen th’ poor chap, choose who he were.”
“Why, I’m not quite sure, Jim; but I think it’s a polite name for the devil.”
“Phew! Auld Harry! An’ well he might ha’. But surely he doesn’t mean ’at all th’ fo’k ’at hasn’t been reightly dipped be sons o’ Belial. An’, by th’ same token, what for should he be so bitter agen that Moabitish woman? That were a foulish name he ca’ed her. Th’ poor wench had done nought wrong ’at aw could mak’ out. But if it’s i’ th’ Bible aw suppose it’s all reight, an’, to be sure, your father’s further larnt nor us, an’ he sud know.”
Now it was not for me to cast a doubt upon my father’s teaching, but I had to comfort Jim some way.