Old Ebenezer

by Opie Percival Read

"All right, I don't want to mark you in any way, but I want you to wait for me when you come out."

Bostic came in. His face was grave, and he carried the timid air of a first appearance as he walked slowly down the aisle. The men mumbled, the women whispered, and Lyman heard a girl remark: "He ain't so mighty good-looking." At the door, there was a rustle of strange skirts, and as if a new note had been introduced into an old melody, the congregation looked around. Lyman looked too, and his breast grew warm with the new beating of his heart. Mrs. McElwin and her daughter entered the church. The preacher glanced up from his text and saw them, and his eye kindled. He gave out an old hymn and the congregation arose. The air was vibrant in the unctuous swell of sound. The spider webs hanging from the rafters trembled; the woods caught up the echo and bore it afar through the timber-land, and the distant leaves caught it as a whisper and hushed it. In it there was not music, not the harmony that seeks the approval of the brain; it was a chant that called upon the heart to humble itself in the sight of the Lord and to be brave in the presence of man, the tune that subdued the wilderness of a new world, a tune that men have sung before plunging into the swallowing fire of battle. The city is ashamed of it, laughs at it, but, far away in the country, it is still the war-cry of Jehovah.

The preacher began in a rambling way, missing the thoughts that he expected to find, finding thoughts that surprised him. Sometimes his road was rough, and he clamored over rocks and fell into gullies, but occasionally he struck a smooth path and then he ran because the way was easy. After a time he forgot to be impressive and then he impressed. He filled the house with words, like a flight of pigeons, and on their backs some of them caught the sunlight that streamed through the cracks in the walls. Lyman was reminded of one Of William Wirt's stories—"The Blind Preacher"—the man who in a ruinous old house raised his hand and cried: "Socrates died like a philosopher, but Jesus Christ like a God."

There was to be another sermon in the afternoon, by an old man who plowed for a living and who preached without pay, and Lyman caught himself wondering whether the McElwins would remain to hear him. Through the window he saw a light buggy under the trees, and he mused that they would at least let him help them into it. He was afraid that they might get away, and he was nervous at the fear that slow-moving persons, halting in the aisle to talk over the sermon, might obstruct his path; and as soon as the benediction was pronounced, he hastened toward the rear end of the house. Eva stepped toward him and frankly held out her hand.

"Mother, this is Mr. Lyman," she said.

Mrs. McElwin bowed, resolved to be cool and dignified. She said that she was pleased to meet Mr. Lyman, which statement Mr. Lyman looked upon as a polite fib. She spoke of the charm of the day and expressed surprise that the young preacher had done so well. Lyman asked if she were going to remain to hear the afternoon sermon. She did not think it wise to stay so long. The road home was very attractive by day, with its over-hanging branches and streams of clear water, but it was dark and rather desolate at night. Still they would not start immediately. She would like to look at the old spring at the foot of the hill; history bubbled in its water; her grandfather had camped there. They walked down to the spring and seated themselves on the rocks. The men who had come down to "swap" saddles and lies, got up and moved away.

"Mr. Lyman," said Eva, sitting with her hands full of leaves and wild-flowers, and glancing down at them, "we were very sorry to hear that the White Caps had called on you."

"I wasn't expecting them," Lyman replied, "but I made them feel at home."

Mrs. McElwin looked at him with a cool smile. "Yes," she said, "for home probably means a fight with most of them. It was an outrage and everybody is glad that you sent them off with broken heads. Of course there has been a great deal of talk, but have you any idea as to who lead the party?"

"Not the slightest," Lyman answered, and the girl looked up at him.