Then an unearthly noise was heard outside. Pig squealing, women screeching, men shouting. Everyone in the meeting was on his feet in an instant. If this was the kingdom of heaven—well, they all seemed mighty scared to meet it. The preacher especially—for he dropped the Book and made for the door first.
As they all got outside, the pig dashed past with Mrs. Smith on its back, holding on for dear life, and I do not know which was making the most noise—Mrs. Smith, or the pig. Few of the neighbours could recognise the rider as she dashed past, for they were not acquainted with the features presented to view, but they all took up the chase, the preacher taking the lead.
The pig was making a bee-line for the tea-tree scrub about a quarter of a mile from the school-house; but to get to the scrub it had to cross a small creek about ten yards wide and three feet deep. As soon as it took the water the weight of its rider turned it completely over, and so released the skirt from its head. But before it could get away Mrs. Smith had seized its leg and held its head under water until help arrived, when one of the men despatched it, and a trap was sent for to take it home.
And so ended Mrs. Smith’s Sunday morning ride on the pig. But there was a sequel to it. The local preacher, who witnessed the famous ride, was apparently struck with the widow’s proportions where visible, and became very attentive and solicitous for her welfare. He walked home with her and left his sermon for a future day, sympathising with her in her trouble, and pouring soothing unction on her outraged feelings in a true Methodistic manner. The widow was so pleased with his sympathy and attention that she invited him to stay to dinner, which invitation the preacher was very pleased to accept.
During dinner the preacher made himself so very agreeable that the widow Smith opened her heart to him and told him how very lonely it was for her at times, since her poor husband died.
“But the dear man left me a good home and fifty acres of freehold land, so I must not complain,” she added; “only sometimes I do feel it lonesome.”
And the preacher took it all in with an eye to future events. He had a nice little store at Minmi, but no land, and he thought how nice it would be if the two were joined together as one concern.
He did not stay late that day, as he had twenty-seven miles to ride through the bush to his home at Minmi, but he asked permission to come again, and this was freely granted.
Very frequently afterwards the preacher was seen riding down to Widow Smith’s homestead. It was a case of “Barkis is willing” on both sides.
Although his first view of the widow had been a hasty view, still it had impressed the preacher so much that he soon persuaded her to change her name, and the little store at Minmi knew him no more.