“Yes,” said the minister, who was moving about his papers, and did not look up. The butterman began to be alarmed; he grew more and more enthusiastic the less response he met with.
“It’s a meeting as will tell in the connection,” said Tozer, with unconscious foresight; “a candid mind in a congregation ain’t so general as you and me would like to see, Mr. Vincent, and it takes a bit of a trial like this, sir, and opposition, to bring out the real attachment as is between a pastor and a flock.”
“Yes,” said Vincent again. The deacon did not know what to make of the minister. Had he been piqued and angry, Tozer thought he might have known how to manage him, but this coldness was an alarming and mysterious symptom which he was unequal to. In his embarrassment and anxiety the good butterman stumbled upon the very subject from which, had he known the true state of affairs, he would have kept aloof.
“And the meeting as was to be to-morrow night?” said Tozer; “there ain’t no need for explanation now—a word or two out of the pulpit is all as is wanted, just to say as it’s all over, and you’re grateful for their attachment, and so forth; you know a deal better, sir, how to do it nor me. And about the meeting as was called for to-morrow night?—me and the misses were thinking, though it’s sudden, as it might be turned into a tea-meeting, if you was agreeable, just to make things pleasant; or if that ain’t according to your fancy, as I’m aware you’re not one as likes tea-meetings, we might send round, Mr. Vincent to all the seat-holders to say as it’s given up; I’d do one or the other, if you’d be advised by me.”
“Thank you—but I can’t do either one or the other,” said the Nonconformist. “I would not have asked the people to meet me if I had not had something to say to them—and this night’s business, you understand,” said Vincent, with a little pride, “has made no difference in me.”
“No, sir, no—to be sure not,” said the perplexed butterman, much bewildered; “but two meetings on two nights consecutive is running the flock hard, it is. I’d give up to-morrow, Mr. Vincent, if I was you.”
To this insinuating address the minister made no answer—he only shook his head. Poor Tozer, out of his exultation, fell again into the depths. The blow was so unlooked-for that it overwhelmed him.
“You’ll not go and make no reflections, sir?” said the troubled deacon; “bygones is bygones. You’ll not bring it up against them, as they didn’t show that sympathy they might have done? You’ll not make no reference to nobody in particular, Mr. Vincent? When a flock is conscious as they’ve done their duty and stood by their pastor, it ain’t a safe thing, sir, not to turn upon them, and rake up things as is past. If you’ll take my advice, sir, as wishes you well, and hasn’t no motive but your good, I’d not hold that meeting, Mr. Vincent; or, if you’re bent upon it, say the word, and we’ll set to work and give ’em a tea-meeting, and make all things comfortable. But if you was prudent, sir, and would go by my advice, one or the other of them two is what I would do.”
“Thank you, Tozer, all the same,” said Vincent, who, notwithstanding his preoccupation, saw the good butterman’s anxiety, and appreciated it. “I know very well that all that is pleasant to-night is owing to you. Don’t suppose I don’t understand how you’ve fought for me; but now the business is mine, and I can take no more advice. Think no more of it; you have done all that you could do.”
“I have done my humble endeavour, sir, as is my dooty, to keep things straight,” said the deacon, doubtfully; “and if you’d tell me what was in your mind, Mr. Vincent——?”