University of Virginia Library

8. VIII.
DÉNOUEMENT.

Animated by the prospect of a ride, young Levi Garcey
backed the minister's buggy out from under the shed, got
up into it, took the reins, and was having his simple reward,
when, as he was crossing the street, a slight misunderstanding
occurred between him and the bay mare. She
wanted to return homeward, never yet having enjoyed the
hospitalities of the Garcey stable. Not being permitted
to follow her own sweet will, she refused to move at all, —
balked, in short. And this was the reason why Levi did
not go back into church.

There he was in the middle of the street, when a man
in a chaise drove up. He was the same who had stopped
at Farmer Lapham's gate, and whom Jason Lapham had
failed to overtake. To be more explicit, it was Jervey.

Stopping to help the boy out of his trouble, or to make
inquiries concerning Hillbright, he remarked in the bottom
of the buggy something that had a familiar look. He
pulled it up, and recognized the strip of carpet belonging
to the doctor's boat.

“How came this thing here?”

“I d'n' know. I found it in the buggy.”

“Whose buggy is it?”

“The minister's, — Mr. Dodd's.”

“Where is he?”

“In the meetin'-house, where I ought to be,” said Levi.

“Just look out for my horse a minute,” said Jervey.
And he started for the church door, rightly regarding the
carpet as a clew which might lead to something.

What it did lead to was the most astonishing thing that
ever happened in all his remarkable experience. He had
thought that, if he could get a word with the minister, he
might perhaps hear from Hillbright, and lo! the minister
was Hillbright himself! He did not recognize him at first
in that wonderful costume, which seemed little short of
miraculous; and he could scarcely credit his senses when
the madman's phraseology and tones of voice (he was still
praying at a furious rate for the sins of the world) betrayed
his identity.

The prayer was an incoherent outpouring of mingled
sense and nonsense; and the congregation was beginning
to show marked signs of uneasiness and excitement under
it.

“What 's up?” whispered Jervey to the sexton.

“I don't know,” replied the sexton. “We expected Dodd
of Coldwater to preach to-day. But he seems to have sent
an odd genius in his place, — in his clothes, too.”

“Can we get into the pulpit without going through the
aisle?” Jervey quietly asked.

“Yes, I can show you. What under the sun is the matter?”

“Your odd genius is a madman, that escaped this morning,
naked, from the Asylum.”

“'T a'n't possible! He came in Dodd's buggy!”

“Then I am afraid some mischief has happened to Dodd.”

“A madman! — naked! He must have murdered Dodd
for his clothes!”

“Keep quiet. Don't alarm the people; but just call out
two or three of your prominent men.”

I know not how many in the congregation had by this
time learned the real character of the man who appeared before
them so strangely in Dodd's place and in Dodd's attire.
It had taken some a good while to find out that it was not
Dodd himself. But there was one who at the first moment
saw the astounding change and feared the worst.

This was Melissa. She remembered the gossip in the
vestibule concerning the escaped madman, and, connecting
that with the arrival of Dodd's buggy and characteristic
apparel, what else could she infer than that he had been
waylaid and robbed, and perhaps killed? The fanatical
extravagance of the prayer corroborated her suspicions.
She glanced around and saw the grave deacons looking
restless and disturbed. Then came a stranger to the door,
and whispered to the sexton, who whispered to Deacon
Sturgis and Deacon Adams and Dr. Cole, who got up and
went out.

Next came a singular movement in the pulpit. It was
at the close of the prayer, when the usurper of Dodd's
raiment unclosed his eyes, and, looking about him, saw two
or three men in the shadow of the pulpit stairs. He
stooped to speak with them; there was a sound of quick,
low voices; then the spurious Dodd had disappeared; and
lo! there was good Deacon Sturgis standing in front of

the pulpit. The whole congregation was by this time in
a rustle of commotion.

“I hope the friends won't be disturbed at all,” said he.
“A mistake of some little importance has occurred; but
everything will come out right, we trust. Meanwhile the
services will go on.”

Here the deacon read, with great deliberation, the
longest hymn he could select. “Congregation will please
jine with the choir in singin',” he said; and set the example,
in a loud, nasal voice.

The singing ended, he read a passage of Scripture; then
called on one of the brethren noted for having a gift that
way to offer up a prayer. The prayer too was a long one.
Then Deacon Sturgis read another hymn; during the singing
of which Deacon Adams came in and whispered a word
in his ear.

The second hymn ended, Melissa was watching in great
distress of mind to see what the deacons would do, when
she noticed all eyes turned again toward the pulpit.
Turning hers in the same direction, she barely suppressed
a scream; for there, behind the desk, appeared once more
the well-known wig, effulgent shirt-ruffle, and blue-black
suit. But it was no longer the spurious Dodd that was
there. It was Parson Dodd himself!

Riding away with his captors in the carryall, Dodd had
rendered so straightforward an account of himself, corroborating
it with many particulars concerning Jakes's brother,
the Colonel, that Jakes was staggered by it.

“Patrick,” said he, aside to Collins, “a'n't it just possible
the other Dodd is the man? You know we thought we
had seen him before!”

“Ah! but they 're cunning divils! Don't ye belaive a
word this feller says,” replied Collins.

Jakes, however, was secretly persuaded of his blunder;
and he so far deferred to the wishes of his prisoner as to
drive over toward Longtrot in pursuit of “the other
Dodd.” So it happened that the real Dodd's capture as a
madman resulted to his advantage, since it hastened the
dénouement of his unhappy adventure, and enabled him,
after all, to preach for Selwyn.

The dénouement took place in front of the meeting-house,
where Levi was still holding Jervey's horse; where two
men, seated in Dodd's buggy, were just starting in search
of the owner, — or, rather, trying to start, for the bay mare
had something to say about that; and where Patrick,
catching a glimpse of Jervey coming out of the vestry with
his madman, called to him, “Jervey, Jervey! we 've got
the feller!”

“So have I!” cried Jervey; and there the genuine parson
was brought face to face with the counterfeit.

“Gentlemen,” said Hillbright, bowing low in his borrowed
plumage, “I succumb; I see the world is against
me; I must still groan under the sins of it!”

“I owe you a thousand apologies, Mr. Dodd!” said
Jakes.

“On the contrary,” replied Dodd, having fully recovered
his good-humor, “you have done me a service, though it
did seem to me one while that — what with you and your
Irishman, and your brother and his bay mare — the Jakes
family was bound to ruin me.”

“Step right into my house, friends!” said Deacon
Adams. “There everything can be arranged.”

And there everything was arranged, to the satisfaction
of everybody, excepting perhaps Hillbright, who was reluctant
to put off his Heaven-sent apparel and return to
the Asylum without fulfilling his great mission.

Parson Dodd was himself again when he appeared in the

desk; and it is said that he preached for Selwyn that day
one of his very best sermons

“What a beautiful discourse!” said one of the Five Sisters,
thanking him for it as he was going out of church.

“And, only think, sisters,” said another of them, “how
near we come to missin' it, all on account of that dreadful
crazy man! I hope his keepers have got him safe!”

“I hope they have!” said Parson Dodd, dryly, as he
walked out with Melissa, and went over to lunch at the
parsonage.

The joke was out before the afternoon services began;
and when Dodd reappeared in the desk, it was with difficulty
that either he or the gravest of his hearers repressed
a very strong inclination to smile.

The news of his mishap reached Coldwater before he
did; Superintendent Jakes — to atone for his blunder, I
suppose — having ridden over that afternoon to remonstrate
with his brother, the Colonel, for putting off on the
parson so vicious a brute as the bay mare. The whole
thing struck the Colonel as so good a joke, and put him
into such excellent humor, that he voluntarily drove the
old gray over to Dodd's the next morning, and offered to
swap back, which offer was most cheerfully accepted by
the parson. “Did n't I tell ye,” said Jakes, “that the
creatur' was always poorest at the start?” So Dodd got
back his old gray, and somebody else got shaved on the
bay mare.

Parson Dodd continued to travel occasionally the Longtrot
road, both on Sunday mornings and week-day afternoons,
until after his marriage. But now Melissa and the
children (he is remarkably fond of children) make his home
so delightful to him that he leaves it as seldom as possible.
And so it happens that of late years he very rarely goes
over to preach for Selwyn.