University of Virginia Library

22. CHAPTER XXII.
THE RECTOR OF THE PARISH AND ONE OF
HIS PEOPLE.

In the middle of one of the afternoons — a beautiful
afternoon — there was driving slowly down what is
called West Road one who, if judged by his appointments
of dress and horse and buggy, and his way of saluting
and being saluted by a neighbor or two, felt himself to
be, and doubtless was, a noted man of Eastham. In
short, it was no other than Mr. Thomas Parmenter.

As he was just coming to the turn by the wood from
which we see out over the valley to the hills and the
one mountain-top beyond the Gap, a gentleman bounded
over the rail-fence at that place to the bank above the
road, startling the horse, and bringing him to a standstill.
This gentleman was tall, large, — a little solid
and heavy, perhaps, but strong and healthy, as his
action and figure and cheek and eye all showed. His
dress was that of a clergyman, ending in good thick-soled
shoes, now pretty dusty.

If both parties had timed the meeting, they could not
have met more exactly; but the walker apparently had
his thoughts upon the landscape; for, in coming over
the fence, he turned toward the open West, and it was
only after a steadfast look to the hills and sky that he
became aware of horse-hoofs and wheels, and the man's
voice; then, turning to the driver, whose horse seemed

to be recovering himself from a short fright, but was now
only backing on his legs, and starting with pricked-up
ears and moving nostril, saluted him cheerily and apologetically:
—

“Oh! Pardon! How are you, sir?” he said, lifting
by the rim a soft felt hat, and showing dark, auburn,
curling hair. Do you see that atmosphere? (I wish
we had a good English word.) It's happiness to breathe
it, isn't it? And only look at those hills! as if they
were just standing still to enjoy themselves! That's
for my little cripple, Billy Carnes” (showing his coat-pocket
full of what, from shape and sound, might be
supposed to be nuts), “and this” (opening the breast
of his coat, and showing fern-leaves) “is for poor Mrs.
Rainor.”

Whatever might be the reason, there was no corresponding
flow of kindliness from the other party to the
meeting, who was pretty evidently in a graver humor;
nor had his blood been wholesomely stirred up and
warmed like the parson's. After exchanging salutations,
he had listened patiently while the clergyman uttered
his cheery speech, assenting with “Very fine, sir,”
to that part about the landscape; and, when it was
done, said, smiling rather ironically, “You're quite
an athlete, sir (I believe that's the word). I don't
know what our friend Mrs. Weatherbee would say to
such agility. — She's a candidate for Confirmation, I
believe?”

“How do you mean: `What would she think?'”
asked the clergyman; then added, good-naturedly, “You
mean, How would she like to do it herself? I can
easily conceive of her objecting.”

The other explained himself: —

“I didn't know whether, with her habits, she might
consider the Rector altogether clerical.”

“What!” asked the active parson, with look and
tone of amused astonishment. “Pooh!”

“She's been brought up an Orthodox,[1] you know,”
answered the driver. Then, after a preparatory smile,
he said, “I believe she thinks Mr. Manson's sermons are
so short she can't make head or tail of 'em. She's
more critical, perhaps, than old Church people.”

“Mr. Manson must look out,” answered the Rector
again, good-naturedly; “but I think Mrs. Weatherbee
and I'll get along pretty well together.”

The parishioner had not yet said all that he had in
his mind.

“The Church Post is quite satirical, in its last number,
I'm told,” he said, touching his horse with the
snapper of his whip; making him start, and then holding
him in. “You know, of course, better than I can tell
you. You know every thing that comes out in it, I
suppose. That's the understanding, I believe.”

“Of course, I'm supposed to, and bound to, and do,
generally,” said Mr. Manson.

Mr. Parmenter continued: —

“The article I refer to is upon influential laymen,
I believe. The title is not very elegant, — `Lay-popes
and Nincom-popes,' or some such word, though not
very choice language, I should think. Perhaps you've
read it, sir?”

“Certainly,” answered Mr. Manson, smiling.

“I should think it might be somewhat unwise to
assail the great lay-body, which supports the Church,

and furnishes the means for all its work, and all its
growth,” said the objector.

“I should think so, too,” Mr. Manson answered, still
smiling.

“Laymen don't like to be called asses; and the great
business-men of the country consider themselves as
having some judgment, and being fit to exercise some
influence.”

“To be sure,” said Mr. Manson; “but you don't
object to asses being called asses? and you don't object
to silly actions being treated as silly, do you? I don't
know what a paper would be worth, that could not tell
the truth?”

“Then I understand you to approve the sentiments
of that article?”

“I wrote it,” said the hearty priest, laughing; “but,
Mr. Parmenter, let's understand one another: attacking
abuses or wrongs isn't attacking the laity, — it isn't attacking
persons at all. Only, if you fired at offences
that nobody was doing, you'd waste ammunition.
Sometimes a man's so close to a thing that he gets
hit with it, to be sure: that can't be helped, and there's
no reason to be sorry for it. It'll do 'em good.”

“Sometimes no pains are taken to make distinctions
where laymen are using a legitimate influence,” said
Mr. Parmenter, “and the public are apt to look upon it
as a personal attack.”

“But you speak as if you'd been hurt; you don't feel
personally aggrieved, do you?” asked the cheery Rector-and-Editor,
upon whom Mr. Parmenter's steady
gravity and tone of grievance began to make impression.

“I can scarcely suppose that the Rector of this parish

would make an attack on me,” said Mr. Parmenter, with
dignity. “The parish would all take it home to themselves,
if the attack was made, — as one man.”

The cheery priest easily recovered his equanimity.
Here he laughed, as he answered, in a jesting
tone, —

“There is only about one man of them, altogether,
to `take it home.'” Then, with a good-natured attempt
to overcome Mr. Parmenter's gravity, he added, in the
same strain, —

“Happily our constituency isn't very large, — counting
the six men that don't yet come to church, with the
two that have begun to.”

Mr. Parmenter seemed to be in no humor for jests
upon so serious a subject. He answered: —

“That's rather a strong way of putting it, I think.
Our parish is growing: the soil is uncongenial, but the
growth is steady. I don't know what the result of the
last year or two has been; but it was counted a very
respectable parish when it was put into your hands.
A parish that contributed, if I recollect rightly, last
year, one hundred and eighty-seven dollars and over —
forty-three cents, I think — to diocesan missions, isn't
insignificant, I should say.”

This answer seemed to be dictated by a wish to show
that the parish was doing as well as could be expected;
that possibly it might do better; and, if so, better work
was needed from the Rector.

“Oh, no! I was only in fun,” said Mr. Manson. “I've
brought in a family or two, thank God! If we had an
enrolment of bona-fide names, I fancy we could make
the beginning of a list. But let me tell you about that
article on nincompoops. It was made upon communications

from half a dozen different places, and not out
of my own hand at all.”

“You seem to have made it your own, pretty well,”
said Mr. Parmenter; then added: “That is, I judge so,
from what I hear.”

“Certainly I went against the abuses full tilt, as
usual.”

“So I suppose,” said the other, with grave civility.
“Are you going my way, sir?” Mr. Parmenter continued,
drawing up his reins before starting.

“Thank you, no,” said Mr. Manson, jumping from the
over-hanging gravel-bank as he spoke; but taking care,
this time, to alight behind the carriage.

So, with mutual salutations, the Rector and his “influential
layman” separated; Mr. Parmenter rumbling
rapidly away, and raising a dust as he went.