"Your son," turning to Clara, "is not my student; he has the most lucid perception, and transfers his thoughts to my heart with wonderful strength, and yet he stirs the soil of years with tender hand, and never forgets I am growing old. Some day he will have a pulpit of his own."
"Do you think so?" I said.
"Oh, it must be! He is like his mother; chosen for the good work. I delight in his society, and hope never to miss it while I stay. I am not strong, and some day I fear I shall not be able to preach when the Sabbath dawns. If I do fail at any time, I shall secure his help." Clara only said:
"My dear boy shall do that which he can do well, for there will be no stumbling blocks laid in his path; if he starts right, and I believe he has, the way will be made plain, and as day unto day shall utter speech, so night unto night shall show its knowledge."
"He seems benevolent," said Mr. Davis, "and he will devote much of his time, and substance as well, to the uplifting of the degraded, and the exalting of mankind through daily practice."
"So be it," said Clara; "I shall be glad if he can uplift the lantern light of truth, that it may shine over all the dark and devious ways of ignorance, and when my feet shall walk beside his father's on the hills, may our souls call to him, and his heart receive from us the strength which our love can give—angels to minister to his wants. Oh! this is beautiful to think upon."
The eyes of our good minister filled with tears, and I thought how wisely and well Clara sows the seed. I felt ashamed to think how unmindful of this tolerance of ideas I had been when his fiery sermon aroused my spirit, and I have often since felt that we all possess too much intolerance each toward the other. Mr. Davis was original in thought, and had always regilded as it were the old texts in his sermon, until they could not fail to interest us; and when, yielding to pressure of conviction regarding eternal punishment, he warned his flock, Clara judged him rightly, and I was wrong; for while the idea was horrible to me, I had not wisdom or judgment to express myself, whereas Clara had opened wide the door of love to his heart, and he received and acknowledged the baptism of pure and elevating thought.
His absolute fire died away into the description of conscience torment, and through his later years the mellow ripeness of new thought took in large part the place of the old. Mr. Davis was very anxious concerning his health, and we did not wonder, for his cheeks grew pale and thin. He seemed much older than he really was, and in two years of time had gained ten in the defining face lines. These were, it seemed, ineffaceable, and as the months wore on grew deeper still.
Matthias' marriage came off in September, and our whole household were invited. Aunt Hildy said she'd send them something, "but no weddins for me," and she shook her head when I asked whether she was going.
Mother was busy and did not feel like sparing the time, so at last, Clara, Louis and I went over, and Mrs. Davis came with her husband, who performed the ceremony in a pleasant way. I think no couple ever had just such wedding presents. A blanket and some home-spun towels from Aunt Hildy; a large silk bandana handkerchief, a chintz dress pattern, and a little bead purse with some bits of gold from Clara (how much I never knew), and from Louis a load of shingles, and the services of a carpenter to re-shingle the little house, with some sensible gifts from Hal and our people. Aunt Peg was beside herself with joy which she could not express to suit her, and at last she said, "won't try to tell you nothin'—can't do it."