David Fleming's Forgiveness

by Margaret M. Robertson

All this was different now. The interest of the Gershom people was real and evident, and he had a right to it; and he owed to them, for his Master’s sake, both love and service. They were real men he had to deal with, not mere embodiments of certain views and opinions. They were men with feelings and prejudices; they were men who, like himself, sinned and suffered, and were afraid. They had opinions also, on most subjects, firmly held and decidedly expressed. Indeed, some of them had a way of putting things which was a positive refreshment and stimulus to him. It had, for the moment, the effect of genius and originality, and in the first pleasure of contact, he was inclined to give to some of his new friends a higher place intellectually than he gave them afterward. Happily, he kept his opinions of men and things very much to himself in these first days, and scandalised no one by declaring Peter Longley to be a genius, or John McNider to be a hero, or by taking the part of poor Mark Varney, as one more sinned against than sinning.

He owed his reputation for wisdom in these first months quite as much to his silence as to his speech. His own superficial knowledge of men and things got easily from books, seemed to him—as indeed it was—a poor thing in comparison with the wisdom which some of these quiet, unpretending men had almost unconsciously been gathering through the experience of years. But it did not seem so to them. When he did speak, he could, through the discipline of education and training, put into clear right words the thoughts which they found it not easy to utter, and they gave him credit for the thought as his, when often he was only giving back to them what he had received. And he listened well, and he chose his subjects judiciously when he did talk. It was iron with the blacksmith, and wood with the carpenter, and seeds and soils and the rotation of crops with the farmer, and without at all meaning to exalt himself thereby, he would put the reading of some leisure hour into a few well-chosen words, which seemed like treasures of wisdom to men who had gathered their knowledge by the slow process of hearsay and observation; and what with one thing, and what with another, the minister grew in favour with them all.

That there had ever been a latent sense of disappointment in the minds of any great number of the people on his first appearance among them would have been indignantly denied. Possibly, in the varied course of events, some in the parish might have their eyes opened to see failings and faults in him, but in the meantime there existed in the congregation a wonderful unanimity of feeling with regard to him.

“The cause was prospering in their midst,” that was the usual formula by which was expressed the satisfaction of the staid and elderly people among them. It meant different things to different people: that the church was well filled; that the weekly meetings were well attended; that the subscription-list looked well; that the North Gore folks were drawing in generally, and identifying themselves with the congregation.

This last sign of prosperity was the one most generally seen and rejoiced over. There had all along been a difference of opinion among the wise men of the church as to the manner in which the desired union was to be brought about. The bolder spirits, and the new-comers, who did not remember the well-meant, but futile attempts of Mr Hollister and Deacon Turner in that direction, were of opinion that formal prospects for union should be made to the North Gore men; that matters of doctrine and discipline should be discussed either publicly or privately as might be decided, and that in some way the outsiders should be made to commit themselves to a general movement in the direction of union. But the more prudent and easy-going of the flock saw difficulties in the way. It was not impossible, the prudent people said, that in the course of discussion new elements of disagreement might manifest themselves, and that the committing might be to the wrong side. The easy-going souls among them were of opinion that it was best “just to let things kind o’ happen along easy”—saying that after a while the sensible people of the North Gore would “realise their privileges” and avail themselves of the advantages which church fellowship offered to true Christians, and all agreed, before a year were over, that Mr Maxwell’s influence and teaching would help to bring about all that was so much desired.

And as time went on, one thing worked with another toward the desired end. In the course of the winter, several of those who were looked upon as leaders among the North Gore people, both for intelligence and piety, cast in their lot with the village people by uniting formally with the church. A good many more became constant hearers without doing so; some hesitating for one reason, and some for another. Among these were the Flemings, whose reason for keeping aloof was supposed to be Jacob Holt, though no one had a right to speak by their authority, of the matter.

Of course Mr Maxwell had been made acquainted with the peculiar circumstances of the place, and he rejoiced with the rest at such evidences of success in his work as the gathering in of the North Gore implied, but no one had ever told him of any serious difficulty existing between old Mr Fleming and Jacob Holt. It was Squire Holt who first spoke to him about it, and the winter was nearly over before that time.

The squire in one of his retrospective moods went over “the whole story,” speaking very kindly of the young lad who had gone astray, and of his brother who had died. He spoke kindly, too, of the old man, with whom he had always been on the most friendly terms, but he did not hesitate to say that he thought him foolish and unreasonable in the position he took toward Jacob.

“It was because of something that happened when his son Hugh went away, but Jacob was no more to blame than others; and it might have been all right if the foolish young man had only stayed at home and taken the risk. I tried at the time to talk things over with the old man, but he never would hear a word. There are folks in Gershom who think hard of Jacob, because of old Mr Fleming’s opinion, though they did not know a word about the matter. And I’m afraid it’s going to do mischief in the church.”

“It is strange that I should never have heard of all this before,” said Mr Maxwell, at a loss to decide how much of the regret and anxiety evidently felt by Mr Holt was due to the weakness of age. “During all my visits to Mr Fleming, and you know I saw him frequently during his illness, not a word was ever spoken that could have reference to any trouble between the two, nor has your son—”