And now the door was shut in my face. ’Twas opened––closed again. The fool fled past me to his own place––scared off by the footsteps of Death, in the way of all fools. I was in haste––all at once––upon the road from Whisper Cove to Twist Tickle in a screaming gale of wind and rain. I was in Judith’s service: I 146 made haste. ’Twas a rough road, as I have said––a road scrambling among forsaken hills, a path made by chance, narrow and crooked, wind-swept or walled by reaching alders and spruce limbs, which were wet and cold and heavy with the drip of the gale. Ah, but was I not whipped on that night by the dark and the sweeping rain and the wind on the black hills and the approach of death? I was whipped on, indeed! The road was perverse to hurrying feet: ’twas ill going for a crooked foot; but I ran––splashing through the puddles, stumbling over protruding rock, crawling over the hills––an unpitying course. Why did the woman cry out for my uncle? What would she confide? Was it, indeed, but the name of the man? Was it not more vital to Judith’s welfare, imperatively demanding disclosure? I hastened. Was my uncle at home? For Elizabeth’s peace at this dread pass I hoped he had won through the gale. In rising anxiety I ran faster. I tripped upon a root and went tumbling down Lovers’ Hill, coming to in a muddy torrent from Tom Tulk’s Head. Thereafter––a hundred paces––I caught sight of the lights of the Twist Tickle meeting-house. They glowed warm and bright in the scowling night that encompassed me....
’Twas district-meeting time at Twist Tickle. The parsons of our Bay were gathered to devise many kindnesses for our folk––the salvation of souls and the nourishment of bodies and the praise of the God of us all. ’Twas in sincerity they came––there’s no disputing 147 it––and in loving-kindness, however ingenuously, they sought our welfare. When I came from the unkind night into the light and warmth of that plain temple, Parson Lute, of Yellow Tail Tickle, whom I knew and loved, was seeking to persuade the shepherds of our souls that the spread of saving grace might surely be accomplished, from Toad Point to the Scarlet Woman’s Head, by means of unmitigated doctrine and more artful discourse. He was a youngish man, threadbare and puckered of garment––a quivering little aggregation of bones and blood-vessels, with a lean, lipless, high-cheeked face, its pale surface splashed with freckles; green eyes, red-rimmed, the lashes sparse and white; wide, restless nostrils. “Brethren,” said he, with a snap of the teeth, his bony hand clinched and shaking above his gigantic head, “con-vict ’em! Anyhow. In any way. By any means. Save ’em! That’s what we want in the church. Beloved,” he proceeded, his voice dropping to a hissing whisper, “save ’em. Con-vict ’em!” His head shot forward; ’twas a red, bristly head, with the hair growing low on the brow, like the spruce of an overhanging cliff. “It’s the only way,” he concluded, “to save ’em!” He sat down. “I’m hungry for souls!” he shouted from his seat, as an afterthought; and ’twas plain he would have said more had not a spasmodic cough put an end to his ecstasy.
“Praise God!” they said.
“’Low I got a cold,” Parson Lute gasped, his voice changed now by the weakness of an ailing man.
I feared to interrupt; but still must boldly knock.
“One moment, brethren!” Parson Stump apologized. “Ah, Daniel!” he cried; “is that you? What’s amiss, boy? You’ve no trouble, have you? And your uncle––eh? you’ve no trouble, boy, have you?” The brethren waited in silence while he tripped lightly over the worn cocoanut matting to the rear––perturbed, a little frown of impatience and bewilderment gathering between his eyes. The tails of his shiny black coat brushed the varnished pine pews, whereto, every Sunday, the simple folk of our harbor repaired in faith. Presently he tripped back again. The frown of bewilderment was deeper now––the perturbation turned anxious. For a moment he paused before the brethren. “Very awkward,” said he, at last. “Really, I’m very sorry.” He scratched his head, fore and aft––bit his lip. “I’m called to Whisper Cove,” he explained, pulling at his nose. “I’m sorry to interrupt the business of the meeting, just at this time, but I do not see how it can be got around. I s’pose we’d better adjourn until such a time as I––”
The chairman would hear of no adjournment.