The Black Forge Mills

by William P. Chipman

GUILTY, OR NOT GUILTY?

There are three astonishing things in this world; I presume there may be many more, but there certainly are three. First of all, it is astonishing how fast evil tidings will travel. Ray Branford was not arrested until Saturday evening, and it was well on toward midnight when he was locked up in the Afton jail; yet by far the greater portion of the citizens of that thriving town knew of his arrest, and were discussing it, when at their Sunday morning breakfast tables.

Then it is astonishing how ready the average human mind is to accept all evil tidings, and especially those that are injurious to one's character, as the unvarnished truth. There were probably not a half dozen families in the town that morning which had heard of the arrest, whose members did not believe the boy to be guilty. Some who had been bitterly opposed to the reception of the lad into the membership of the First Church, now came forward with that old saw, which has been repeated from time immemorial, and I presume will be repeated so long as human judgment is imperfect, "I told you so." Then others, who had felt that the boy must be received, and yet in heart had regarded him as scarcely worthy of it, now shook their heads sagely, and said: "It has turned out about as we expected." While others, who had really believed in the boy's conversion, and had watched his progress with pleasure, now sadly remarked: "How we were deceived in him!" Yea, some who had only the Friday evening before at the prayer meeting listened to that boy's prayer, and had been so moved by it as to comment upon his growth in grace, now suddenly reversed their opinion, asking, "How could that boy have prayed like that, and then have gone right out from that prayer room to help rob that store? He must be a hardened wretch, after all." Among them all hardly one was found who asked: "Is he guilty?" All unhesitatingly, and that, too, upon the slightest circumstantial evidence, pronounced him guilty of the crime for which he had been arrested. I do not attempt to account for the fact; I only know it existed.

Then another astonishing fact is how slight a circumstance, if it is only sensational, will draw a large congregation. Some of the First Church people had arisen that morning with a determination to stay at home from the church services—it was so extremely warm and uncomfortable. But when they learned of the arrest, they recalled the fact that Mr. Carleton had had an unbounded confidence in the imprisoned lad.

"I wonder if he will make any allusion to this event in the services to-day?" each thought. "Really I must go and see." Then there was an unusual hurrying around, and, when the bell tolled for the service, out from mansion and cottage a vast throng poured into the streets, and hurried off toward the First Church.

Nor was it simply the First Church people that gathered there that morning. In every church there is a part of the congregation that has itching ears. These remembered the intimate relation the First Church pastor had held with the arrested lad; and it happened, therefore, that a goodly number from every church in the town deserted their usual church homes that morning, and ran off to the First Church, just to hear what its pastor would have to say respecting this most remarkable circumstance.

So, when Mr. Carleton entered his pulpit, he found himself face to face with a congregation that filled the large house to its utmost capacity; nor could he account for it, since he, poor man! had not even heard of Ray's arrest.

The services moved on in their regular order without the slightest circumstance to gratify the curiosity of the expectant throng until Mr. Carleton announced his text; then each one glanced at his nearest neighbor significantly, and settled himself as comfortably in his seat as possible to hear what he felt sure would follow.

Poor Mr. Carleton saw their glances, and for the life of him could not account for them. Was his necktie awry? Had he forgotten his cuffs? Or, had he quoted his text wrongly? He glanced quickly at his wrists—no; his cuffs were on. He raised his hand quickly to his collar—no; his tie was in its place. It must be then he had misquoted his text. So, louder and more distinctly, he repeated it: "I have sinned in that I have betrayed innocent blood." Again those meaning glances and the same settling back in the pews with an expectant air. This repetition of the text promised well, and the dullest ear in that house was now alert.

Mr. Carleton proceeded with his sermon, but the unusual attitude of his congregation had in a measure disconcerted him, and he hardly spoke with his accustomed freedom; while a tremulousness, of which he was absolutely unconscious, was detected in his tones by his attentive hearers.