After the addresses, the President came down from the pulpit throne and we stood lined up before him, with the vast audience at our backs. I could not listen to the words of parting that our mentor gave us, for I felt every minute that I should tumble back like a stricken ninepin; bowled over by my insufficient strength. Sweeps of pain, of cold and heat went through me like differing winds. Slowly, ever so slowly, the diplomas were handed us, seeming to take a day or more, and every minute I felt like stopping the solemn service and asking to be allowed to go back to my seat.
Finally the last of the diplomas were given, we turned our faces to the congregation, walked nervously back to our seats, and waited for the exercises to be concluded.
The organ thundered its exultant recessional, the people crowded into the aisles and intercepted us as we struggled through, seeking out sweethearts, friends, parents, whose congratulation we sought first. The missionary was waiting for me near an exit door, anxious for me, as I saw by her face. I had just shown her my diploma, with its blue silken bow, when suddenly the Dean tapped me on the shoulder and politely requested my diploma, saying,
“You may have it again, Mr. Priddy, after you have completed your deferred examinations!”
Chapter XXXII. How, Though
I was Ready for Service, I was
Forestalled by a New Trouble,
and the Very Interesting Plan
Which Came Out of it
THEN the reward of the years came to me: I had my whole time to give to my parish, I had my home in the parsonage and a wife—the “brown-haired young woman”—to preside over it. Though Evangelical University had nurtured narrow, dogmatic, and discontented versions of faith in me, and though the first months of instruction in the Seminary had witnessed the destruction of these versions of faith, finally had come the larger world of faith, without narrow bounds, with deeper reaches and a much brighter sky. Like Burner, I had been called upon to pass through skeptical valleys, and to climb over high walls which bruised the spirit, but it was only to climb to the top of a lofty faith, at last, in which I seemed to behold the world of men, spite of their common sins, tending towards the central place—God’s garden. I felt that I could go into the pulpit and preach on themes, which instead of arousing the hostility of men, as the doctrine of Evangelical University seemed destined to do, would by their breadth, optimism, and freedom from Phariseeism win the repentant consent of men. I had gone into the Seminary tutored by Evangelical University to be afraid to let the sun shine on religion’s chief doctrines, I had come from the Seminary believing that the flood of light intensified the beauty of religion. So, at last, I had the opportunity of testing on community life this doctrine which comforted me with an inexpressible comfort. I bent to my work, with my wife at my elbow, as proud of my chance as any king called suddenly from obscurity to a kingdom.
I occupied a study whose front window overlooked the trees and gave me an excellent view of the sailing ships and steamers which dotted the bay. I had my typewriter in one corner, my desk in the centre of the room, and an abundant supply of manuscript paper on which I intended writing years and years of sermons for that parish.
One day, in spring, my wife insisted that I consult a specialist about a throat affliction which had been interfering with my parish duties. I sought one out and had him make a thorough examination of me. Gravely he plied his tools and searched my throat, and gravely he announced,
“You will have to bring your pastoral work to an end, sir. Your throat will have to be cared for. You must go, immediately, to a dry climate, among the high hills, and use your throat for a year or two with great economy. That is all. There is no better remedy.”
I gazed on him with startled eyes.