PRINCETON, N. J. 
 
 ~77T 
 
 Division 
 
 Section 
 
 Shelf Number 
 
 sec 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2011 with funding from 
 
 Princeton Theological Seminary Library 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/hillsideparishOOdods 
 
This edition, consisting of ioo copies on 
 Large Paper, was printed in the month 
 of August, 1893. 
 
 This copy is YLo.JJi.1Jl. 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH 
 
 BY 
 
 S. BAYARD DOD 
 
 AUTHOR OF "A HIGHLAND CHRONICLE," ETC., ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 DODD, MEAD & COMPANY 
 
 1893 
 
Copyright, 1893 
 BY DODD, MEAD & COMPANY 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THERE was an unwonted stir in Clintonville, 
 and its one long street was thronged with a 
 muster the like of which had never been known in 
 the history of this small, but reputable village. 
 
 All sorts and conditions of horses and wagons, 
 loaded to their utmost capacity with men, women 
 and children, came streaming in from the North, 
 East and West " settlements," as the straggling farm- 
 houses strung along the roads running through the 
 valleys toward these quarters of the compass, were 
 called; to the South lay "The Barrens." 
 
 It was the county town, and was perched upon 
 one of the ridges that divide the head-waters of two 
 rivers which meander among these highlands until 
 they find their way to the sea, bearing on the bosom 
 of their Spring freshets great rafts of lumber, or 
 those unique structures called "Arks," laden with 
 potatoes, pumpkins, cabbages, and all other kinds 
 of country produce; which, but for the lack of an 
 assortment of animals, are no mean effigy of their 
 great prototype. 
 
 Nestled on a plateau of one of these hills, with 
 
2 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 the higher spurs surrounding it, thirty miles off from 
 the railroad, on the line of the old post-road from 
 the Hudson to the great lakes, Clintonville was a 
 place of great promise before those upsetting rail- 
 roads left it far on one side, and raised some of its 
 meaner rivals to an undeserved prominence. 
 
 It still retained a certain dignified superiority above 
 these upstarts, in that it continued to be the county 
 seat, and dreamed of a day when the railroad must 
 come to it; just why, no one could say, except that 
 the oldest and wisest men said, " it was bound to 
 come." 
 
 In the mean time, and until the railroads saw it in 
 the same light, the village was, perforce, content to 
 sustain the dignity and prestige of the old Concord 
 coach, with its six horses and genuine old-time driver, 
 which plied regularly, once a day, to and from the 
 railroad station, thirty miles away. 
 
 Across "The Barrens," down to the little village 
 of Middleburgh, where a halt was made for dinner; 
 then on, over the Shawnee mountain, a four-mile 
 steady pull up-hill, then down to the railroad station 
 at Weston ; it was a good twelve hours' tour to go 
 and come, with fresh relays of horses at either end 
 of the route. 
 
 Clintonville was a straggling settlement, nearly 
 two miles long, of white houses with bright green 
 blinds, dotted along the main street (which was the 
 old post-road). 
 
 Here and there a side street had sprouted from the 
 main stem, as though to assert its growing power; 
 but it never grew; it had all that it could do to live. 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 3 
 
 At the upper end was the judge's house, on an 
 eminence, as befitted a judge. In the centre was 
 the village green, sloping up from the street to quite 
 a hill at the rear, and on this knoll was the court 
 house, on one side, and the Presbyterian church on 
 the other, furnishing the community with a perennial 
 joke on the law and the gospel. 
 
 The band-stand, in the centre of the village green, 
 was the scene of many a triumph by the village band, 
 when the rustic swains sat beside their girls on the 
 fence, and whittled or smoked while the band went 
 through the programme which, during their season 
 of hibernating, they had succeeded in mastering. 
 
 On the edge of the green was a famous well, and 
 alongside the well was the village inn, with plenty 
 of hitching room for the farmers' teams, where mine 
 host, Sol Joyce, entertained man and beast with gos- 
 sip and fodder, and kept even with the whole coun- 
 try on a horse trade, knuckling under to no one save 
 his black-eyed, bustling wife, who was the only per- 
 son who could thoroughly upset Sol. 
 
 It was around this village green that the excite- 
 ment centred, and the horses were hitched, side by 
 side, all down the border of the green and alongside 
 the hotel, for it was a day to be remembered in the 
 annals of this hillside parish. 
 
 For nearly fifty years, old Dominie Edwards had 
 ministered to them, and it was scarce within the 
 memory of the oldest inhabitant that they had been 
 called to the serious business of choosing a minister, 
 and they did not know how to go about it. This 
 generation had grown up, with the good old man 
 
4 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 moving in and out, like a patriarch, among their 
 families, and they had almost grown into the belief 
 that ministers come among men as parents do, by 
 a process of nature regarding which we have no se- 
 lection; or that, like the prophets of old, they were 
 sent of God. 
 
 But they were soon educated out of these old- 
 fashioned notions into a fine critical judgment of the 
 points of the various candidates, who came, as if the 
 burial of the poor, old dominie had sprouted this 
 crop of candidates, thick as the berries on the native 
 black-cap bushes; and, after they had become con- 
 noisseurs of preaching and preachers, they were in 
 that state of snarling uncertainty which would ensure 
 the new minister, whoever he might be, a divided 
 parish. Old quarrels had been revived, and personal 
 differences and jealousies emphasized; and it was 
 enough for some stout churchman, who had an old 
 lawsuit pending against another member, to know 
 that the " said defendant " was in favor of one can- 
 didate, to fix his choice promptly and finally upon 
 another. 
 
 There had been put in nomination four candidates 
 for this pulpit, where six hundred dollars a year, and 
 a donation visit, was to remunerate the man whose 
 sole thought and care was to be the burden of the 
 spiritual welfare of this people; who, night and day, 
 was to bear them on his heart; through summer's 
 heat and winter's cold, was to trudge over those 
 bleak hill-sides, unless, perhaps, he "got a lift," 
 when his tired feet would carry him no farther. 
 
 Their intellectual life, too, was to be his care, for 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 5 
 
 there was no one else to organize and provide the 
 means for a village library, lectures, readings, con- 
 certs, or whatever might tend to turn away their 
 thoughts from beeves and wool, or cheese and butter. 
 
 The debate had run high, and each one had con- 
 tributed his quota to the sum of perfections that 
 would be required of the Apollos who was to have 
 the privilege of leading this flock in pastures green. 
 
 Old Deacon Shrake, who kept the village store 
 and had amassed a fortune, (estimated by his gifts 
 at spending it, an ample fortune,) rose at this point 
 to deprecate the turn that things were taking, for he 
 saw that the tide was drifting toward no choice; and 
 this had been the fatal conclusion of three previous 
 attempts to choose a pastor. 
 
 " Brethren, " he said, and every one turned to listen, 
 for the Deacon's acquirements had won him a posi- 
 tion of influence; albeit the farmers' hard-earned 
 dollars had gone into his till — they respected the 
 man that could coax their money from the stockings; 
 — "Brethren, I think I can perceive whereunto these 
 things leadeth; " the deacon dropped into what he 
 regarded as scriptural phraseology, and with this for 
 a text, proceeded. "We must jedge o' this matter 
 in a plain, common sense way. To my thinkin' a 
 minister is no more'n human, and bein' sech, he is 
 to be treated in a humane manner; and hence the 
 value of him is to be jedged on the same principles 
 as you value any critter, or as I value the goods 
 that I sell over thfl counter." Some thought this 
 very dear. — " The price of the article has got to reggi- 
 late the quality of the article, — you can't buy more'n 
 
6 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 a yard o' silk for the same money that'll git a hull 
 dress pattern o' calico. We want a six-hundred- 
 dollar minister, and we hain't no right to expect a 
 thousander for that price. Let us jest settle down 
 to that, and, as the apostle says 'learn therewith to 
 be content. ' " 
 
 This at once turned the tide, and the senior deacon, 
 Shelton, who knew the turn of the tide, like an old 
 fisherman, took prompt advantage of it, and so won 
 all the prestige of a personal victory. 
 
 Martin Luther Shelton had a confident way of 
 stating his opinion, with a meaning smile, that seemed 
 to pour derision on any one who dared to dissent. 
 This confidence was begotten in him partly from the 
 name he bore, which gave him a proscriptive right 
 to lead on all matters theological, partly from the 
 fact that he was the only son of the Rev. Amminadab 
 Shelton. The old minister, known far and wide as 
 Father Shelton, was paralyzed now, and so this name- 
 sake of the great reformer could state his father's 
 opinion just as he liked to have it, without fear of 
 contradiction, — and he embraced the opportunity. 
 
 He chewed tobacco, and spat with the same aban- 
 don with which he let fly his opinions, reckless whom 
 they hit. He had a homely gift of telling a story, 
 always fastening these stories on his father, with an 
 unctuous tone that harmonized with his bland smile. 
 
 He lifted his tall form, in the midst of the discus- 
 sion, and smiled on deacon Abijah Stretch, the signal 
 that he would fall foul of him, and shot the following 
 story at his brother deacon: 
 
 " About twenty-five years ago, my father, the Rev. 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 7 
 
 Amminadab Shelton, heard tell of a horse dealer, 
 who was known through four counties as a square 
 man on a horse trade." Deacon Stretch squirmed, 
 and some unkind people smiled, for the deacon was 
 never worsted in a horse trade. "Well," continued 
 Deacon Shelton, having waited for this silent ap- 
 plause, as public orators do, " my father thought it 
 was worth a fifty mile ride to see such a man, and 
 much more to have a trade with him. And so he 
 rode over to Delaware County and put up for the 
 night, and next morning went out to see Sol Babing- 
 ton. 'I have heard tell of you, Mr. Babington, as 
 an honest horse dealer, and have driven fifty miles 
 to have a trade with you.' 'Very g-g-good, sir,' 
 says Sol; for he stuttered like a bull-frog. 'I'll tell 
 you,' says my father, 'what kind of a nag I want, 
 and you can name the price; I leave that to you.' 
 'Very g-g-good, sir,' says Sol. 'He must be sound 
 and kind.' 'Very g-g-good, sir.' 'And he must 
 have a smart gait on the road, and be kind and gen- 
 tle for a lady to drive.' 'Very g-g-g-good, sir.' 
 'And he must go easy under the saddle, fit for a lady 
 to ride, and steady at the plough or haying, a good 
 feeder and an easy keeper, spirited but kind. ' 'Any- 
 thing m-m-more?' says Sol. 'No,' says my father, 
 'that'll do.' 'Well, d-d-durn ye, there ain't no sech 
 a horse,' says Sol. And, brethren, that's what I say 
 about this minister you've been describing as the 
 man to receive your votes for this pulpit, there ain't 
 no sech a minister." 
 
 Deacon Stretch started as his brother deacon gave 
 mouth to the " little sweer," but he did not rise to re- 
 
8 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 ply, — deacon Shelton had swept the field, and stood, 
 a smiling victor, surveying his fallen foes; and, after 
 a moment's vigorous chewing, he gave those foes a 
 Laodicean rejection, and, with an insinuating tone, 
 as though it were the height of folly to think of any- 
 thing else, said, " I move we proceed to ballot for 
 a pastor." "I second that motion," said deacon 
 Shrake; and no one else gave a peep or mutter. 
 
 With many scattering votes, the main following 
 was divided between two candidates, one a man 
 whose hair was already sprinkled with gray, who was 
 master of a style as florid as his face, — in his favor 
 was urged his fluent, easy style of address and his 
 experience as a pastor, culled from eight churches to 
 which he had ministered; while his opponents urged 
 that he was out of a charge, and that the very abun- 
 dance of his previous ministrations was an item not 
 in his favor; and, as a commentary on this constant 
 flitting, they said his wife did not share his migra- 
 tions. 
 
 The other prominent candidate was a young, un- 
 married minister, fresh from the theological seminary, 
 and therefore with no experience, and hardly fitted 
 to cope with the complex problems arising out of the 
 divided condition of the congregation. 
 
 Perchance the older heads of the parish would have 
 had their way, had not their candidate allowed his 
 zeal to outrun his discretion, by sending to the senior 
 deacon, along with his photograph, a letter in which 
 he not only set forth his own claims, but enforced 
 them with a solemn admonition, illustrated by ex- 
 ample, setting forth the danger of those who might 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 9 
 
 oppose him. The letter closed with the circumstan- 
 tial recital of the speedy death of two men in other 
 parishes who had been reckless enough to vote 
 against him; closing with this prophetic warning, 
 
 "Touch not mine anointed and do my prophets no 
 harm. Yours in the Lord, 
 
 ICHABOD CULLEN." 
 
 This did the business for Ichabod, and provoked 
 so many to tempt Providence by voting against him, 
 that young Henry Dinsmore was elected by a hand- 
 some majority. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 AND who was Henry Dinsmore ? He was a young 
 fellow of about twenty-seven summers, or win- 
 ters, by whichever mode of reckoning you choose, 
 who had gone through college without any great 
 distinction or discredit to himself; though he came 
 near making an early wreck of his richly freighted 
 galleon by indulging his irresistible propensity to 
 mischief, which garnished his college life with num- 
 berless incidents amusing to recount, but not so hu- 
 morous to his preceptors in their execution. 
 
 From college he had gone to the study of the law, 
 which offered him a fair field for the exercise of his 
 talents and energies; but, when just entering on a 
 career of great promise, he had thrown it aside for 
 the study of the ministry. 
 
 His friends remonstrated earnestly, and especially 
 was Judge Channing, in whose office he had entered, 
 loath to part with the brilliant, energetic young fel- 
 low in whose career he saw great promise for his 
 pupil, and no less comfort for himself. 
 
 " My dear boy," said the old Judge, " I am pained 
 and surprised to hear of this notion of your giving 
 up the law, in which you have a future of great 
 promise, for the preacher's vocation. There will 
 always be plenty of good preachers; but sound law- 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. n 
 
 yers are rare. What in the name of common sense 
 has put this notion in your head ? " 
 
 " I feel that I am called of God to this work," an- 
 swered the young man. 
 
 " Tush! nonsense, my dear fellow," said the judge, 
 testily. " I am always afraid that a man is going to 
 make a fool of himself when he talks in that way. 
 The time for that sort of thing is gone by ; there is 
 as much need of good men in our profession as any- 
 where else in the world, and a sensible man judges 
 of what he is called of God to do by what he can do 
 best. You have a special gift at making your way 
 with men in the world, and talents which will make 
 you a successful and useful man in our noble profes- 
 sion; all these will be thrown away preaching cut- 
 and-dried theology to a country parish, and cate- 
 chising the children." 
 
 " I do not propose to preach cut-and-dried theol- 
 ogy," answered Henry. 
 
 "Well, then, they will pitch you out of the pulpit," 
 interrupted the Judge. " It is all of it cut-and-dried, 
 some broad-cut, some fine-cut; but all of it is the 
 same kind of stuff, when you get to the bottom of it." 
 
 " I am sure, Judge, that, feeling as I do about the 
 work, it will interest me — I want to put all there is 
 in me into my preaching. I shall be no good in any 
 other profession ; and I'm going to enter the seminary 
 this Fall." 
 
 " At what seminary do you propose to enter on 
 this modern crusade?" asked the Judge, sneeringly. 
 
 "At Princeton," answered Henry. 
 
 "Murder!" groaned the Judge, "they will dry the 
 
12 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 very meat off your bones; and you can't call your 
 soul your own when they're done with you." And 
 the old lawyer felt both pity and vexation at this 
 young fellow who was going to sacrifice a tangible 
 future for some crazy whim-wham that had laid hold 
 of him, as some diseases do, without premonition, 
 and, apparently, with incurable virulence. But he 
 had done his duty by the young man, and he must 
 go his own gait now; — and so he did, and had spent 
 his full three years at Princeton, and was now come 
 forth a licentiate of the church, and a candidate for 
 holy orders. Whatever the drying process had been, 
 it had not quenched the ardor of that enthusiasm 
 with which he had started on his career, nor weak- 
 ened his conviction that his choice had been in obedi- 
 ence to a call of God, and he entered on his ministry 
 with the buoyant faith of youth, strong to remove 
 mountains. 
 
 He was a handsome fellow, tall and lithe, with a 
 long, firm, springy step; his hair was dark and wavy; 
 his eyes, deep-set and penetrating; there were firm 
 lines about his mouth, indicative of power to make up 
 his mind and hold it, with the full courage of his con- 
 victions, and a way of stating them, sometimes with 
 solemn earnestness, sometimes in a quaint, whimsical 
 way, but always so that none mistook his meaning. 
 
 His face was pale, not with the pallor of sickness, 
 but with the scholarly reflection from books, away 
 from the sunlight and far into the night, under the 
 rays of the lamplight, which neither tans nor freckles. 
 
 This paleness of his skin was enhanced by his dark 
 hair and the black mustache which graced his upper 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 13 
 
 lip, rather to the dismay of some of the elders and 
 elder spinsters, but to the delight of many a maiden; 
 and some hearts throbbed to the eloquence distilled 
 from under that " lovely mustache " which would 
 have been callous to the persuasions of a bare upper 
 lip. 
 
 The call had been placed in his hands, duly signed 
 and attested by deacons, trustees and moderator; 
 with the usual pertinent clause " and that you may 
 be free from worldly cares and avocations, we prom- 
 ise and oblige ourselves to pay to you the sum of six 
 hundred dollars, in equal semi-annual instalments, 
 during the time of your being and continuing the 
 regular pastor of this church ; " no mention was made 
 of the donation visit, but this was set forth in attrac- 
 tive colors in the letter accompanying the call. 
 
 Henry Dinsmore smiled as he read this. Did he 
 remember the glowing picture which the old Judge 
 drew of what " might have been " if he kept on with 
 the law, and foretold just this kind of a rustic field 
 as the reward of his ministerial aspirations? He 
 smiled, but he did not voice his thoughts even to 
 himself. 
 
 He wrote a letter of acceptance, and left the elders 
 to select as early a day for his ordination and in- 
 stallation as they pleased, and acceded to their re- 
 quest to preach for them on the following Sabbath. 
 
 It was a beautiful June day as he drove up from 
 the railway station, mounting higher every mile, 
 until, from the top of Shawnee mountain, the eye 
 took in at a glance the valley of the Muskingum 
 lying far below, with the farms strung along the 
 
14 A HILLSIDE PA A IS II. 
 
 banks of the silver thread of a stream that meandered 
 through the fiat lands. 
 
 Old Tom Burton handled the ribbons, and chatted 
 with the young parson, (who had the seat of honor 
 beside the driver,) telling him the names of the 
 farmers and scraps of the history of each family, as 
 they drove along; but, first and last, recurring to 
 his own experiences during the twenty-five years that 
 he had driven on the road. They had just passed 
 the crest of the Shawnee mountain, where old rattle- 
 snake Bill had his hut, near the ledges which were 
 his stamping ground, where he hunted rattlers and 
 tried out their grease, " which be a mighty savin' 
 cure for rheumatiz'. It ain't to be beat by no doc- 
 tor's stuff, fur old Bill he says it's by the power o' 
 this that the rattlers keep their jints movin', and it 
 stands to reason if it kin keep sech a row o' jints as 
 theirs a wrigglin', it must answer for the single jint 
 of a man. And, as Bill says, 'whoever heerd o' a 
 rattler hevin' the rheumatiz' ; and the Injuns used 
 it to keep 'em supple." Beguiling the way with such 
 discourse, old Tom turned the crest of the mountain 
 and started down the slope to the Muskingum valley, 
 a four mile stretch, with a steep grade all the way; 
 off started the horses, and, when Tom put his foot 
 on the brake, it came forward easily, and then fell 
 flopping against the side of the stage. In a moment 
 the sleepy, old driver gathered up his reins, and, 
 with fire in his eyes, as he sat calm and erect on the 
 box, seized the whip in his hand, and said quietly to 
 the young minister, "Hold on tight, Dominie; and 
 the Lord have mercy on our bones." 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 15 
 
 The long, steep grade was so straight that the eye 
 could take it all in at a glance, until, far away, down 
 at the bottom of the hill, where the road took a sharp 
 turn at right angles, a " worm " fence seemed to 
 stretch right across the way, with a broad, green 
 meadow beyond. Along the side of the road ran a 
 single guard-rail of saplings nailed on the top of posts, 
 about three feet high. This served well enough to 
 keep a man from driving over the steep embankment, 
 of a dark night; but was no more than a bulrush 
 against the momentum of the heavy coach. 
 
 Dinsmore kept his seat by clinging to the iron 
 guard-rail of the seat as the stage lurched from side 
 to side when they struck even a small stone. His 
 face was very pale, and his breath came quick and 
 hard. 
 
 Tom lashed his horses into a gallop. One of the 
 wheelers made a false step. Dinsmore leaned for- 
 ward, to see him fall; but Tom had him in hand and 
 held him on his feet. 
 
 A chipmunk ran across the road. Again Dins- 
 more leaned forward intent upon seeing whether the 
 agile, little fellow could escape two dozen trampling 
 feet; and as they whirled past, turned to watch him 
 scamper along the guard-rail as if to join in the 
 wild race. 
 
 Then came one of those hummocks in the road, 
 which the country girls call "Hug me tights," or 
 "Thank you ma'ams," as their mood may be; it was 
 no joke to face it now. Over it they went with a 
 rebound that brought screams of terror and shouts 
 of angry remonstrance from within the stage. 
 
1 6 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 Not a word passed between the two men who sat, 
 on top of the swaying, lurching old coach, face to 
 face with sudden death. 
 
 The panting horses slackened their pace ; the heavy 
 coach crowded on the wheelers. 
 
 If one of them fell ! Dinsmore drew a hard breath 
 as the picture rose before him; but Tom plied the 
 lash, now on the wheelers, now on the leaders. 
 
 They were nearing the foot of the hill. At that 
 turn no skill of driver nor strength of horse could 
 save them. At such a speed and with such a load 
 the old coach could not be made to turn that corner; 
 but it was a mercy that they were not to be slung 
 over into the deep, rocky ravine. 
 
 Dinsmore turned and looked into Tom Burton's 
 face, when they were within about fifteen feet of 
 the turn. Tom was looking straight at the leaders; 
 his lips were firmly set with a grim smile; his eye 
 was bright; his hand was steady. 
 
 The leaders started to take the turn of the road. 
 Tom was ready, and with rein and whip held them 
 straight for the worm fence; for a moment they hesi- 
 tated but Tom drove them, through the wreck of it, 
 out into the soft, broad meadow beyond, with only a 
 few scratches on his six horses, and a few bruises on 
 his angry passengers. It was all over in less than 
 ten minutes, that long, wild ride. 
 
 Tom said nothing in answer to the abuse which 
 was heaped upon him; but quietly dismounting from 
 his seat, after putting his whip in the socket and 
 slowly wrapping the reins around it, examined his 
 horses over with great care; and, when the passen- 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 1 7 
 
 gers dismounted and gathered closer round him, to 
 get the better crack at him, he drawled in reply, as 
 though it were a collect from the liturgy, 
 
 " You can jest thank your stars that we had the 
 Presbyterian Dominie aboard, and that he was just 
 called to the church, or else your jaws would ha' 
 been shet, world without end, amen." 
 
 Henry Dinsmore was a shade paler and very silent 
 as they drove up, after dinner, over the barrens and 
 down through the dark hemlock woods that lined the 
 road, as it drooped through another valley, just 
 before entering the village. The vision of sudden 
 death suggested the thought that his life had been 
 spared to let him enter on this field of labor; and 
 now he felt not only that he was called of God, but 
 that he had been saved by the hand of God. Was 
 this for some great work ? His ministry assumed a 
 grandeur and solemnity, to his youthful imagination, 
 akin to the work of the prophets of old; what won- 
 der if this seemed to him the very refutation of the 
 worldly wisdom and estimate which the Judge had 
 put upon his life in a rustic parish, and his enthusi- 
 asm was kindled anew. 
 
 There rose within him high hopes and rare promises 
 of what he might do among this people. The sordid 
 side of what his compensation was to be, sank into 
 nothingness before this aspect of his work and its 
 rewards; — he would awaken these people, rouse their 
 intellects, win their affections, engage them heart 
 and soul with him. They should shake off the leth- 
 argy of their narrow life, and live a new life, in a 
 larger sphere; touch the great living, thinking world 
 
1 8 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 and be touched by it; feel the pulse of the great in- 
 tellect of humanity, the welt-getst; and rise to touch 
 eternal things, looking from the grandeur of the 
 things seen and temporal to the glory of the things 
 unseen and eternal. 
 
 He would rouse them to know the beautiful truths 
 of science, — of art, — of literature and of religion; 
 their feet should tread with him on the high places of 
 earth, and look off to the battlements of the eternal 
 city. 
 
 So he drove up over those wide barrens, through 
 the dark, primeval forests, like a knight errant of the 
 nineteenth century, to tread the enchanted ground 
 where sordid and petty cares had thrown the spell 
 of an enthralling sleep; he was bearing an Ithuriel's 
 spear, at touch of which these sleepers should 
 waken. 
 
 Who were these dwellers on this enchanted ground, 
 and what sort of material do they offer for the reali- 
 zation of the hopes and aims of the ardent, young 
 minister? 
 
 With the exception of the three or four store- 
 keepers of the small, miscellaneous stores of the vil- 
 lage, the Judge and two other lawyers, the doctor, 
 two blacksmiths, a wheelwright, and that man of all 
 trades, the village cabinet maker and undertaker, 
 named Tim Mitchell, — all the rest were farmers, 
 farmer's wives, sons, daughters and widows; and, 
 as the rocky soil was not kindly to crops, and the 
 late spring and early winter made but a short season, 
 they were almost all dairy farmers. 
 
 Almost every house was furnished with a dairy 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 19 
 
 cellar, and the front yard was garnished with bright, 
 tin pans, sunning themselves sweet. 
 
 The churns were often driven by water-power, and 
 the water-wheels of those houses that were in a val- 
 ley with a stream running through it, made them 
 look like a succession of small grist mills. Where 
 water-power was wanting, a stray bear was found 
 following the uncongenial trade of making butter; 
 or a great, fat sheep was on the treadmill (for mutton 
 throve at this kind of work) ; or else a shaggy New- 
 foundland dog was on duty, — when he could be 
 found; for the trouble with these churners was that 
 they were too keen of wit, and, keeping count of 
 churning day, they were off to the woods, from dawn 
 to dewy eve, so that churning day must be made a 
 movable feast in order to secure these quick-witted 
 servants, in whom conscience had but a rudimentary 
 development. 
 
 The other main industry of this section was tan- 
 ning, the evidences of which were the great piles of 
 tan-bark which one saw stacked along the roadside, 
 or met being hauled on sledges in the winter, and 
 also the unpleasant load of fresh hides, which would 
 frighten some horses into madness, and horrify the 
 nostrils of the driver, for a mile or more. The tan- 
 neries made the streams run red, and drove the trout 
 from the lower waters; but they brought business 
 to the country stores, and gave the farmers steady 
 winter occupation hauling the tan-bark. 
 
 Beside the maple sugar making, which was more 
 a pastime for a winter's holiday, the only other in- 
 dustry was scoop-making. These scoop-makers were 
 
20 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 a tribe as distinct and apart from the rest of the 
 community as though they were gypsies; they lived 
 in a settlement four or five miles north-west of the 
 town, near Pleasant Pond, a rude little hamlet of 
 one-story shanties. Their larders were replenished 
 at the expense of a wide range of hen-roosts and 
 sheep-pastures. Here they fashioned, with rude 
 tools, by hand, from the hard maple, those large 
 wooden scoops with which sugar and grain are han- 
 dled, and the wooden bowls in which the butter is 
 worked. They came to town with a great load of 
 these scoops strung over their shoulders, or, haply, 
 if they were well to do, hung panier-fashion on a 
 donkey's back. The stated barter of their wares 
 was for opium, and all the country stores kept a tin 
 case of the soft, dark, fascinating gum; for this 
 dwarfed, stupid race were constant consumers of the 
 drug, which they took in the simplest fashion, by 
 rolling a small portion into a ball, about the size of 
 a pea, and lodging it in a corner of the mouth. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 TO this community came the young minister, 
 surcharged with his high purposes, to seek 
 their realization. He found lodging at the village 
 inn, and was given a warm welcome by the old Epis- 
 copal minister, the Rev. William Forrester, the length 
 of whose ministry may be inferred from the fact that 
 he always carried a faded green cotton umbrella of 
 solid construction and broad dimensions, and told 
 the young minister that he had acquired the habit 
 because he owed his life to just such an umbrella. 
 He had, in the early days of his ministry, paid a 
 parochial visit to an outlying farm-house, and was 
 returning home, when a pack of six wolves started 
 in pursuit of him. He whipped up his horse, and 
 had a fair show of distancing his pursuers, when, to 
 his dismay, he came upon a tree fallen directly 
 across the road. Out he jumped, to break down the 
 branches and leap his horse over the trunk and drag 
 over the sleigh; on came the wolves; in lieu of any 
 other weapon, he picked up his umbrella and pointed 
 it at the pack, with the effect of halting them, then, 
 with a step forward and a great shout, he suddenly 
 opened the umbrella, at which the pack turned tail 
 and fled to a respectful distance ; and, by repeating 
 this at intervals, he made good his escape; therefore 
 he always carried a green cotton umbrella. 
 
 21 
 
2 2 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 Beside the old rector, there was young Fred Hut- 
 ton, the dry-goods clerk, who went periodically to 
 the city and came home with astonishing neck-ties, 
 and the air of a man of the world, and a debonair 
 style that tvas the admiration of the village belles 
 and the envy and detestation of the rustic swains. 
 
 The two other boarders were Mrs. Hollis, the 
 widow of a Presbyterian minister, and her daughter 
 Amelia (Mealy Ann, the old lady called her), but she 
 herself, having surreptitiously read several transla- 
 tions of some wicked French novels, always spelled 
 her name Amelie, with a tremendously acute accent 
 on the penult, and with a breadth of pronunciation to 
 the first letter that made it almost a groan. 
 
 She was fading into the forties, but was still young 
 at heart, and capable of keeping Fred in practice; 
 showing how entirely relative is our estimate of the 
 flight of time. 
 
 Old Mrs. Hollis was sick with consumption, and 
 was always nearing her end. She was able to endure 
 all the pains of sickness better than exclusion from 
 the news of what was doing in her little world, and 
 thankful that her infirmities did not incline toward 
 deafness. The watchers in the next room, on one 
 of those nights when her dissolution had been an- 
 nounced, as they sat conversing in subdued accents, 
 were startled, as by a voice from the tomb, when 
 the old lady, in a ghastly but penetrating whisper, 
 interrupted them, " Speak out loud, for mercy's sake. 
 I could bear to hear it thunder better than to have 
 you whisper." This meant much from her, for, of 
 all things, she feared a thunder storm. 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 23 
 
 Her first greeting to Henry Dinsmore was, " I am 
 very glad to see a minister safely settled over this 
 church, and thank the Lord that you are not married, 
 and have come to live in the hotel ; for now I can 
 have a good night's rest." 
 
 "Why so, Mrs. Hollis?" queried the young par- 
 son ; at a loss to know why he should prove a nar- 
 cotic to this old lady. 
 
 "Because I am terrible afraid of thunder," an- 
 swered the old lady; "and I'm sure the Lord will 
 not let the house be struck by lightning while a 
 minister is in it." 
 
 "But you have Mr. Forrester here," he answered, 
 smiling at the odd conceit that to his ordinary pas- 
 toral duties should be added this of serving as a non- 
 conductor. 
 
 "Oh! yes," answered the old lady, with a grim 
 smile, " but I never reckoned that the Episcopals was 
 any protection against thunder and lightning." 
 
 And yet it seemed to Dinsmore that the old rector 
 would be the more effective lightning-arrester, for he 
 was a corpulent, slow-gaited, old gentleman, always 
 with his green cotton umbrella tightly clasped under 
 his arm, ready to stop anywhere and at any time to 
 have a chat with anybody, and of an absorbent na- 
 ture. 
 
 Forty years ago he had come here, to his first, and 
 only, charge, and, six months later, he had brought 
 his young wife, who stayed two weeks, and then sud- 
 denly left and never came back again; why, no one 
 ever knew; she was living still, but never a letter 
 had passed between them during these forty years; 
 
24 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 this much the post-masters and mistresses covering 
 that period could tell; more than this no one knew, 
 save that her name never passed his lips. Of course, 
 there was a great stir at first, and a disposition to 
 enquire who was in the wrong, but Mr. Forrester 
 prudently baffled all such attempts, and quietly lived 
 down the little flutter of scandal that followed her 
 leaving, and that was the end of it. 
 
 Now he was old and failing, his speech was thick, 
 his false teeth were all the while dropping down in 
 the midst of a sentence and clipping it in an untimely 
 fashion; but one soon became accustomed to this, 
 so that it seemed only one of his personal peculiari- 
 ties, and did not seriously mar his conversation. He 
 was genial and kindly to all, wise and politic in his 
 relations to his neighbors of the other churches. 
 
 His weakness was strawberries, of which he always 
 secured the first basket from the gardens of his par- 
 ishioners, and bore them home in triumph, along 
 with the dose which he had gotten at the apothecary's 
 to overcome the painful fact that strawberries would 
 not agree with him. 
 
 There were alternate services at the Episcopal and 
 Presbyterian churches on Sunday evenings, as the 
 village did not furnish a church-going element large 
 enough to make two evening congregations; and the 
 rector was diligent in his attendance at Dinsmore's 
 evening service, where he sat in a rear seat and 
 counted the attendance carefully, keeping tally as 
 though it were a series of games, and reckoned with 
 glee when the count was in his favor. 
 
 To him the young parson first unburdened his 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 25 
 
 heart regarding the mission with which he felt him- 
 self charged. 
 
 " I want to talk with you, Mr. Forrester, over the 
 intellectual and spiritual needs of this community," 
 said Henry one day, as the old rector and he were 
 chatting, and the old man had been posting him 
 about some of the family quarrels which offered dan- 
 gerous pitfalls for the uninitiated. 
 
 "Yes, yes," said the old rector uneasily, "there 
 are some of them who don't get to church more than 
 once a year; but they would only make trouble if 
 they did come, and it is just as well to leave them 
 alone; but you must remember not to say anything 
 about the widow Hollis when you visit Martin Shel- 
 ton, for her husband and old Dominie Shelton had a 
 great spat because Amelia Ann wouldn't take a shine 
 to Martin. You'll have your hands full attending 
 to those you have in your church, without bothering 
 about outsiders; and do you go to Mother Living- 
 ston's to tea, and tell me what you think of her 
 chicken-pie, — I haven't a member of my congrega- 
 tion that makes such chicken-pie as hers." 
 
 And so he rattled on, to the dismay of the ardent 
 young enthusiast. He too seemed to have withered 
 in this dry mountain air, — was there a fatality about 
 the place, which blighted hope and enervated a man's 
 vital force, and must he, in time, succumb to its in- 
 fluence ? Now it was but another spur to his enthu- 
 siasm, this lethargy of all around him; another mo- 
 tive to his ambition; he would stir these dry bones 
 and cause the Spirit of the Lord to breathe upon 
 them, so that they should live. 
 
26 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 There was another element of his parish, an out- 
 lying band, which enlisted his keen interest. He came 
 in contact with one of the scoop-makers, and this set 
 him to inquiring into the history of this outcast tribe. 
 
 One cold November twilight he was walking briskly 
 through the crisp air, on his way home from a turn 
 at skating on Pleasant Pond; familiar objects were 
 taking the outlandish shapes which they assume at 
 this confusing hour, when he noticed by the roadside 
 a strange looking object that refused to be classified. 
 
 The air was keen and raw, and he was in a hungry 
 hurry to be home, but stopped to investigate. 
 
 It was a " Scooper," who, having taken a drop too 
 much, had made a stone his pillow, and the bag in 
 which he had carried the scoops his blanket, and the 
 open sky his shelter. 
 
 Henry Dinsmore concluded that he was likely to 
 see the end of his earthly career if he spent the night 
 in such quarters, and therefore stayed the urgent 
 appeals of hunger to set the "Scooper" on his feet 
 again. This having been accomplished, in the face 
 of his violent protest, and the scattered contents 
 being restored to the sack, a loaf or two of bread, a 
 piece of bacon, a few small packages of groceries, 
 among which was the usual chunk of opium, then, 
 with sack laid over his shoulder, the young pastor 
 set the wanderer's face toward home. 
 
 "Who be ye, anyway, that are meddlin' in my 
 affairs?" said the irate "Scooper." 
 
 " I am the new pastor of the Presbyterian church 
 in Clintonville," answered Henry. 
 
 "It's a pity ye don't begin by mindin' your own 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 27 
 
 business. I know what ye think. Ye think I'm 
 drunk; I ain't too drunk to lick you; and I'll do it, 
 by Jove, the next time you lay your hands on me, 
 you good-for-nothing, beggarly, snivelling parson." 
 
 And off he went, muttering, over the hill; and a 
 grotesque silhouette he made against the faint, cold 
 light that lingered in the evening sky. 
 
 Here was another problem for his solution, to reach 
 this besotted band of outcasts who were far out of 
 hearing of the church bells, and beyond the pale of 
 any influence which the christian community, in which 
 they lived, could exert upon them. There were not 
 a few who, living in the far outskirts of the settle- 
 ments, knew the minister only as he came among 
 them to marry them or bury their dead; but these 
 Ishmaelites were even farther outside the pale of 
 christian influence than this, they were married by 
 some uncouth ceremonial of their own, or by the 
 squire, and they buried their dead as they buried a 
 dog, without other ceremony than the funeral feast, 
 at which they drowned their sorrow in drink, or with 
 their favorite drug. 
 
 Clearly, there was but one way to reach these 
 outcasts, and that was to go in among them and 
 gain some personal hold upon them; and his first 
 essay in this direction had not been encouraging. 
 
 He was not daunted by this array of natural re- 
 sistance in the material upon which he had to work, 
 but he was sorely perplexed. The general tone 
 around him was discouraging. It reflected the old 
 rector's policy of pursuing the beaten path, and 
 " minding his own business" as the "Scooper" put 
 
28 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 it; that business being to preach in all weathers, no 
 matter how stormy, attend every funeral and wedding 
 at which he was called to officiate, to baptize the 
 babies, and eat the chicken pies and all the rest of 
 the hospitable offerings under which the tables 
 groaned when the minister was asked to dinner, — this, 
 with the accurate memory of the children's names 
 and birthdays, was enough to keep a man busy. 
 
 And these sentiments of the kindly, old rector, 
 who was universally popular, were re-echoed by the 
 elders of his own church session, who thought the 
 flock of God was the true field of labor for the Shep- 
 herd, and it was enough to fill his heart and mind 
 to prepare suitable, spiritual food for them ; and they 
 were wary of committing themselves to the endorse- 
 ment of any other plans or schemes than this strictly 
 ministerial work. 
 
 So that, before long, he began to think that he was 
 " the voice of one crying in the wilderness; " but this 
 only made him feel more strongly the prophetic im- 
 pulse rise within him, — resistance called forth his en- 
 ergies to overcome it. 
 
 The Sunday after his installation, on which Henry 
 Dinsmore was to preach his first sermon as pastor of 
 the church, was a fair June day. The window of his 
 room opened on the balcony that overlooked the 
 village green. 
 
 The merry robins and the noisy blackbirds that 
 were nesting in the trees on the green, had stirred 
 his restless sleep with their matins, and the vagrant 
 wind sent whiffs of the honeysuckle in at the open 
 window. 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 29 
 
 It was useless to try to sleep again, so he walked 
 up and down the balcony until breakfast time. 
 
 From the corner of the village green nearest to the 
 Inn a straight path led to the steps of the gray stone 
 court-house, with the grated windows of its cells 
 looking out toward the church. From the other 
 corner, as straight a path led to the porch of the 
 white church with its green blinds. They crossed 
 in the centre, forming a great X in the green sward. 
 
 After breakfast he came up again and paced the 
 balcony, reviewing the past and forecasting the fu- 
 ture. What a glorious day it was; how full of bound- 
 ing life his pulses beat. 
 
 An hour before church time the wagons from the 
 country began to come in; there would be a great 
 congregation to-day. 
 
 He watched the people gather in groups in the 
 church porch and on the grass in front. 
 
 Half an hour before the time of service, the bell 
 rang out. It startled him, for he had forgotten the 
 country custom. Then, as he stood there listening 
 to it, he felt a thrill of excitement, as the air throbbed 
 with the sweet tones, and the listless wind carried 
 them out over the hills and down the roads where 
 the wagons were bringing his people to church. 
 
 The tender glory of the summer day, the gather- 
 ing of the people, the sacred mission with which he 
 felt himself charged, the far floating angelus from 
 the belfry, stirred him, excited him, elated him. 
 
 As he passed out from the Inn, if he had followed 
 his impulse, instead of walking up the two sides of 
 the triangle which the path traversed, he would have 
 
30 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 vaulted the fence and made across the sward on a 
 run. 
 
 But his feet were shackled by the decorum due to 
 the many eyes that were fixed on him from the mo- 
 ment he left the porch of the Inn. 
 
 He could see a movement among the people as 
 soon as he came in sight, a sort of huddling together. 
 
 The two sides of that triangle seemed half a mile 
 long, as he measured each step that he took and 
 wondered whether he was walking with becoming 
 gravity. 
 
 As he neared the church, the groups of people fell 
 back and those in the porch retreated into the church 
 and took their seats. Only here and there one who 
 had met him ventured to bow. Two of the elders 
 came forward and shook hands with him; and those 
 who were near enough craned their necks to catch 
 even a word of what the young pastor said, and re- 
 peated it, with pride, to those who were not so ven- 
 turesome. 
 
 Dinsmore tried to look pleasantly on them all and 
 give an inclusive bow to the various groups, as he 
 passed them ; but any notice from him served only 
 to embarrass them. 
 
 As he sat in the pulpit watching them assemble in 
 church, and pew after pew was filled, until the church 
 was crowded, and the assembly sat still and expect- 
 ant every eye fastened on him, there coursed through 
 his brain again and again like vivid flashes, the hopes 
 and ambitions that had led him to this position. 
 
 He was at the threshold of his ministry. What 
 lay behind the veil ? 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 31 
 
 Under the impulse of such thoughts as these, he 
 stood up before them without notes save a small bit 
 of paper which he twisted nervously in his hands 
 until anything written on it was soon past reading, 
 and looking the congregation over, with a flash in 
 his eye, and a twitching in the corners of his mouth, 
 he began in a low, conversational tone to talk to them. 
 
 " This is a very sacred moment to me when I begin 
 my ministry among you. I have come to you not 
 only in response to your call, but in obedience to a 
 summons from the head of the Church. On my way 
 hither I have been saved from sudden death, and 
 such a scene stirs the depths of the spirit. For what 
 purpose am I here? and is my mission to be one of 
 good or ill ? My effort shall be to make my coming 
 here a blessing, and the words of the great apostle 
 to the Romans, Chapter 13, 11, embody my first 
 conception of my work. 'Knowing the time, that 
 now it is high time to awake out of sleep; for now 
 is our salvation nearer than when we believed. ' 
 
 "To know the time, the period in which we live, 
 the great trend of our age, this the apostle assumes 
 as the basis of the christian's duty. Ours is a time 
 when all questions are being mooted, when founda- 
 tion truths are rising to the surface, as in the great, 
 formative, geologic periods when the granite was up- 
 heaved to the mountain tops, and the physical fea- 
 tures of the earth were established. 
 
 " Men are questioning nature to make her unlock her 
 treasury and yield her resources for our use, and tell 
 us the secrets of her laboratory, and 'we must not 
 be afraid to open our eyes before the face of nature. ' 
 
32 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 " Men are questioning the old forms of belief, and 
 are formulating new ones. Some are asking, what 
 shall we believe ? Others ask, shall we believe any- 
 thing at all? Has not the era of faith passed by? 
 Is not this the era of experiment, observation and 
 test, out of which is to come the science and religion 
 of the future, both resting on the same substantial 
 foundation of deduction framed by a rational process, 
 and therefore within the grasp of every intelligent 
 mind, a tangible, reasonable, human religion, capa- 
 ble of demonstration? In the midst of this molten 
 mass of thought and feeling, the Christian Church of 
 to-day, is bound to rouse herself. She has passed 
 through the era of persecution, sealing her testimony 
 with her blood ; she was awake then, she must not 
 be found asleep now. 
 
 " The time when these words were spoken was not 
 unlike our own times. There was a decay of fixed 
 belief, a revolt against traditional religion, a con- 
 tempt for its priests and oracles. The problems 
 which are agitating us now, were then under discus- 
 sion; some of them had been settled, others were 
 being debated with a freedom and acuteness, with a 
 force and elegance, which throw into the shade our 
 modern philosophers. There were pessimists and 
 optimists, stoics and epicureans, rationalists and ag- 
 nostics, in those days, as there are now. The pres- 
 ent phases of thought are but a recurrence, within a 
 vast cycle, of the intellectual comets of that day; 
 the repetition, in nineteenth century phrase, of the 
 old Greek forms of thought. 
 
 " But it all had the effect of rousing the cultured 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 33 
 
 apostle, who was a classical scholar as well as thor- 
 oughly taught in the school of Gamaliel. When he 
 stood on Mars Hill, and saw Athens full of idols, his 
 heart was stirred within him ; when he looked at the 
 current thought of his time, he makes this stirring 
 appeal, 'It is high time to awake out of sleep.' 
 
 " This summons is enforced by the fact that the 
 world around us is awake. Go to a public library 
 and search its alcoves of Science, History, or Fiction, 
 and you will find the volumes full of these stirring 
 questions. 
 
 " Scientists are telling us that a man cannot be an 
 honest and effective searcher after nature's truths 
 unless he first repudiate religion. Philosophers are 
 telling us that but one conclusion can be reached by 
 the untrammelled thinker, viz: Agnosticism. 
 
 " Novelists are presenting us heroes and heroines 
 whose sole interest lies in the fact that they have dis- 
 carded the restraints of moral law, or who enter into 
 a battle with unbelief only to succumb with easy 
 grace. 
 
 "Yes, you will find preachers filling the pulpits of 
 Christian churches, owing their position in the com- 
 munity, their influence, yes, their daily bread, to those 
 churches, and, all the while, using their ministerial 
 position to undermine the creed of the church which 
 they have sworn to uphold in their ordination vows. 
 All these are awake, noisy, active, bustling, loud- 
 mouthed; therefore it is high time for us to awake 
 out of sleep. 
 
 " I shall in the future have something to say as to 
 the attitude that it becomes us to take toward these 
 3 
 
34 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 forms of belief or unbelief; now I will confine my- 
 self to the single thought of the text. 
 
 " There are three spiritual narcotics against which I 
 would warn you ; Selfishness, Worldliness, and Ortho- 
 doxy. When we have centred our thought upon 
 ourselves, and our own interests, and the petty con- 
 cerns which involve us alone have become the chief 
 object of our thoughts, then we are lulled into a pro- 
 found sleep toward everything else, our ears are deaf, 
 our eyes are closed, our hearts are hardened, to the 
 trials, sorrows or struggles of those who are nearest 
 to us; and as for the great outside world, it is as 
 though it were not. For such there is no claim that 
 can assert itself for a moment beside the unremitting 
 demands which self makes upon our whole time and 
 thought. But the spirit of this age rebukes this sel- 
 fishness at every turn, and re-echoes the divine word, 
 'No man liveth unto himself,' 'All men are of one 
 blood;' and the age summons these sleepers to 
 awaken, with the emphatic reiteration which it makes 
 of the universal brotherhood of man. 
 
 " But where selfishness has not hardened the heart, 
 worldliness often makes it foul. There is a sordid 
 canker about a man's heart when he has come to re- 
 gard the gain of riches, the increase of flocks or 
 herds, of land or money, as an end in life. Then 
 all the evils which attend upon the degradation of a 
 higher nature to base and ignoble ends, flock into 
 the man's heart, and make it their home, — avarice, 
 .ust, envy, malice, covetousness, uncharitableness, 
 like ill-omened birds, find places to hatch their brood. 
 His fellow men become the objects of his prey, and 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 35 
 
 he is little better than the ravening wolf that lives 
 only to devour the weak or defenceless. How such 
 an one gloats over the conquest, by cunning or even 
 by deception, of the innocent and honest victim of 
 one of his shrewd bargains; and soon cunning ripens 
 into treachery and fraud, and the man's whole moral 
 nature succumbs to his greed of gain. Conscience is 
 stilled, honor is hushed to sleep, pity and compassion 
 are slain, in the heart where this greed of gain has 
 gotten the mastery. My friends, this is no time in 
 which to let the world see such a vice creeping in 
 among those who call themselves Christians. It is 
 an age of charity, of freedom for the oppressed, of 
 equal rights, of the organization of labor against op- 
 pression; and whatever body of men would lead the 
 thought of to-day, must be on the right side of this 
 question. It is high time to awake from the sleep 
 of worldliness, and let the world see that we are alive 
 to the wants and sufferings of our fellow men, and 
 feel for them, and have a remedy for them; or to let 
 some one who has such a remedy take our place. 
 
 " But there is a deadlier drug than either of these; 
 for it is a self-evident truth that the man, or body 
 of men, who are infused with selfishness or worldli- 
 ness have no mission in our time but to hide them- 
 selves out of sight ; the man that acknowledges either 
 of these as the prime motive power of his life, stands 
 self-convicted. 
 
 "But there is a spiritual narcotic that is well-nigh 
 irresistible in its hardening influence. A cold, com- 
 fortable, self-assured, Pharisaic orthodoxy, resting 
 securely in the form of godliness without the power 
 
36 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 thereof, intrenched in the security of its pure, un- 
 adulterated theology, the assurance that it alone pos- 
 sesses the 'faith once delivered to the saints.' For 
 the outside world it has the cold comfort crystalized 
 in the term 'uncovenanted mercies.' It can whine 
 hymns, recite scripture phrases without limit, can 
 even pump up a few tears for seasons of special re- 
 ligious fervor, and in general can go through all the 
 formulas of a wordy religion, but, at bottom, the heart 
 is hard as the nether millstone. Its repose is com- 
 plete, its lullaby is in the correct form, and you can 
 teach it nothing, for it has all the stock phrases and 
 arguments at its finger ends. 
 
 " But how fatally it has made torpid all those attri- 
 butes of heart and mind which religion is supposed 
 to awaken and stir, you will see when you bring it 
 into contact with any of those forms in which the 
 life of our time manifests itself. 
 
 " Send the heart burdened with real trial and sor- 
 row to such an one, and its stock phrases are like the 
 stab of cold steel. Send the doubting and perplexed 
 to such an one with the stirring questions of the time, 
 asking bread, and he is given a stone, or the self- 
 righteous theological wrath of this strait-laced for- 
 malist is roused because the enquirer drops his 'h' 
 in Shibboleth. Such religion will not pass for Chris- 
 tianity in our time, and we may as well awaken to 
 the fact. It is high time for us to wake up to it, and 
 cast off the grave-clothes of a dead orthodoxy, and 
 show the world a living faith, working by love 
 and purifying the heart, and making us love our 
 neighbor as ourselves. 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 37 
 
 " And the reason given by the apostle should give 
 another impetus to our awaking, 'Now is our salva- 
 tion nearer than when we believed.' Yes, every 
 such stirring of the dry bones, every such shaking 
 of the nations, brings the salvation of the world so 
 much the nearer. Every time that the tree is shaken 
 the dead twigs and leaves, the sickly and worm-eaten 
 fruit falls, and the ripe fruit has the larger flow of 
 sap put into it. Every crisis which the church passes 
 through, every assault which she undergoes, brings 
 out the truth, sets it in clearer lights, casts off nar- 
 rowing forms and modes of belief, broadens her sym- 
 pathies, strengthens her influence. 
 
 "Viewed from any possible standpoint, the result 
 must be to bring our salvation nearer, to emancipate 
 us from vulgar errors, to put us on the true path to 
 the final and ultimate form of religion. If Chris- 
 tianity is all wrong, her foundations uncertain and 
 vague, her teaching misleading, her morality insuffi- 
 cient, her revelation unsatisfactory, we are about to 
 learn that, if the combined assault of men and women 
 can show it; and our salvation is nearer than when 
 we believed, for now will the philosophers tell us 
 wherein our salvation lies. But if, on the other 
 hand, Christianity is right, then will she surely be 
 able to vindicate herself now as she has done in the 
 past, and as every possible assault is being made, we 
 may anticipate that her endurance of this crucial test 
 must stop the mouths of her enemies, or, at least, 
 leave her friends firmly established in the faith; and 
 therefore our salvation is nearer than when we be- 
 lieved. For my part I am ready for the issue, but 
 
3 8 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 let us meet it awake; wherever the truth may lead 
 us, wherever an honest, open-eyed, candid, considera- 
 tion of the arguments on both sides of this grave 
 question lands us, there let us stand firm and un- 
 wavering, and say as Philip said, 'now we have seen 
 with our own eyes, and know ;' but do not let the 
 issue find us asleep. 
 
 " This then, is my conception of my mission among 
 you, to stand side by side with you, with eager and 
 searching heart, gazing open-eyed at these great 
 questions, asking only to be led into the knowledge 
 of the truth. 
 
 " But let us understand distinctly, that Christianity 
 is not on trial any more than infidelity, that there is 
 no presumption against her truths, that we are not 
 entering into a warfare, but are honest searchers 
 after truth; if infidelity, so-called, can show us a 
 deeper religious philosophy, a higher view of the 
 nature and destiny of man, a better morality, more 
 inspiring motives, holier lives, purer and sweeter con- 
 solation in sorrow, and character moulded on higher 
 principles, and all this on the basis of a clearer and 
 more substantial revelation than the teaching of 
 Christ, then, in the name of truth and purity and 
 goodness, let us turn to infidelity. But everywhere 
 where our eyes behold the light which is purest, 
 sweetest, strongest, most invigorating, thither let us 
 turn, and walk in the light." 
 
 There were various comments on the young domi- 
 nie's stirring sermon ; the young people were charmed 
 with it, his voice was so lovely, he was so handsome 
 and so much in earnest. 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 39 
 
 Deacon Shelton said, " He means well, and is not 
 too old to learn; there is power in the young man." 
 This the deacon was fain to acknowledge, for the 
 sermon had kept him awake, while in the old domi- 
 nie's time, being full of unshaken confidence, he 
 could always take a comfortable doze after sixthly, 
 and feel sure of the result; but under this young man 
 he was restless; so was Deacon Shrake, especially 
 when the fruits of covetousness were being delineated. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 AT the Fall meeting of Presbytery, Henry Dins- 
 more had an opportunity of seeing something 
 of the social life, as well as the ecclesiastical work 
 of his fellow presbyters. He had never been thrown 
 into any intimate association with ministers, and had 
 gotten the notion that a solemnity, amounting almost 
 to austerity, marked their social intercourse ; that the 
 grave and earnest debates, rising sometimes to a de- 
 gree that might be called heated, which characterized 
 their discussions in the meetings of the Presbytery, 
 were transferred to the recess between the meetings, 
 and were carried on over the dinner table. 
 
 Especially did he hold in awe a certain Dr. Henry 
 L. Bainbridge, who was one of the war-horses of the 
 Assembly, who stood for all that he regarded as the 
 essentially old and orthodox views in theology, with 
 a vehemence of thought and utterance, with a fire of 
 eye and thunder of voice, and strong speech, rising 
 often to eloquence, that made him an antagonist to 
 be dreaded. 
 
 In this region the meetings of Presbytery were 
 largely social, as well as religious, gatherings. Most 
 of the ministers, with their elders, drove to the place 
 of meeting, over the hills and through the valleys; 
 and, as one drew nearer to the village where the 
 
 40 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 41 
 
 meeting was to be, from converging roads, there 
 would gather a number of these carriages, and the 
 long string of vehicles would jog merrily along with 
 salutations shouted or waved from one to another. 
 At some comfortable farm-house by the way, well 
 known for the hospitality of its good man and the 
 chicken-pie of the good wife, the caravan would halt 
 for lunch, and take up their way, mightily refreshed 
 in mind and body. The meetings always lasted three, 
 and often four, days, and gave the pastors time to 
 talk over with each other the trials and the prospects 
 of their work, and discuss all sorts of topics that 
 could not come before the Presbytery as a body. 
 Those who lived in the larger towns could generally 
 command the services of one of the regular stage 
 lines; and these were full to overflowing. 
 
 On one of these stage-rides Henry saw something 
 of the humorous side of the great Boanerges, whose 
 name was such a terror to the younger ministers, and 
 it dispelled his fears, once for all. 
 
 They had halted for dinner at the half-way house, 
 and as the ministers and elders gathered around the 
 stage door to resume their places for the afternoon 
 journey, there came, elbowing through the crowd, a 
 poorly dressed man, far gone in his cups. Dr. Bain- 
 bridge had taken his place on the rear seat, with a 
 brother minister beside him; the driver shoved the 
 drunken man aside, and told him roughly that he was 
 not fit to ride on the inside with gentlemen, nor on 
 the outside, for fear he would break his neck. The 
 poor fellow stood, in maudlin hopelessness, staring 
 into the stage. 
 
42 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 " How, the dickens, will Nance and the kid git 
 along without me to-night?" he said, almost in tears. 
 
 "They'll do a blamed sight better without you 
 than with you, " retorted Tom Burton roughly, " Git ! 
 I tell you, for you're not goin' to ride inside with 
 these gentlemen." 
 
 "It's hard on Nance," said the poor drunkard 
 ruefully. " I'll have to stay here all night, and if I 
 do I'll git drunk as a beast before night. Yes, I 
 will; I know I will." 
 
 Then Dr. Bainbridge leaned out of the stage, and 
 told Tom to let him come in, and they would look 
 after him. Up mounted the poor fellow, and sat 
 himself down on the middle seat, with his back to 
 Dr. Bainbridge, and, facing him, on the front seat, 
 was the Doctor's elder. The tipsy fellow leered tri- 
 umphantly at Tom as he shut the door and put up 
 the steps. Tom muttered, "They'll have their full 
 o' ye before they've gone far;" and mounted to his 
 seat. 
 
 Everything went smoothly enough with this un- 
 couth guest of the parsons, until, after a half hour's 
 blinking with owlish and studied gravity of demeanor, 
 he addressed the Doctor's elder. 
 
 " Who be ye fellows anyway ? Hang me ! ef I can 
 make ye out. You're a'most the queerest lot I ever 
 struck." 
 
 "We are Presbyterian ministers and elders, on our 
 way to the meeting of Presbytery, " said the Doctor's 
 elder. 
 
 "Give us your flipper, old chap," said the tipsy 
 man. "My name's Bill Nash, and I'm a Presbyte- 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 43 
 
 rian and an Old-school Presbyterian," and he smiled 
 a genial welcome on them all as he shook hands with 
 Elder McBride. Then drawing himself up haughtily, 
 he said, "I hope you ain't New-school men." 
 
 "Oh! No," answered Mr. McBride, "we are all 
 Old-school men, dyed in the grain." 
 
 "That's right," said Bill, heartily, "now I feel to 
 home. Why, I've been an Old-school man a great 
 many years; I'm one of Dr. Bainbridge's men; he 
 converted me." 
 
 There was a roar of laughter from the whole 
 stage, and Henry Dinsmore looked quickly at the 
 Doctor to see how he would take the laugh; his 
 mouth was twitching, and his eye twinkling. The 
 mischievous elder kept stirring Bill on to talk, which 
 was not hard to do, as he had the proud conscious- 
 ness that, somehow, he had made a hit. 
 
 "Do you know the Doctor?" said Bill to the 
 elder. " He's a great man on theology, and has 
 convertin' power not to be beat by any man I ever 
 see. " 
 
 "Yes," said the elder, " I know him." 
 
 "Did he convert you?" said Bill, leering at him, 
 "you look like one of his boys; I alius think I can 
 tell 'em at sight." 
 
 This time the laugh fell on McBride, in which the 
 Doctor joined, so heartily as to draw Bill's attention 
 on him, and facing round, with some difficulty, he 
 bore down on the Doctor with 
 
 " What's the matter with you, old crony ? Do you 
 know Doctor Bainbridge too?" 
 
 "Yes," said the Doctor, " I think I do." 
 
44 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 "Well, you needn't answer that way," said Bill, 
 with a touch of contempt in his tone. " Either you 
 do know him or you don't. There ain't any mistakin' 
 him. Does he know you?" 
 
 "Well, yes," said the Doctor, "I guess he does." 
 
 "There you are ' guessin' ' again," said Bill an- 
 grily. " Can't ye give a straight out, honest answer 
 to a fellow? Do you know Dr. Bainbridge?" 
 
 "Yes," answered the Doctor, soberly, amid the 
 smothered laughter of the rest. " Yes, I know him 
 to my cost. He has given me more trouble than any 
 living man." 
 
 "Well why don't you shake him off, and be done 
 with him, as I have," said Bill, sympathetically. 
 
 "I can't," said the Doctor. "I can't get rid of 
 him." 
 
 "Well what's the matter twixt you and him?" 
 said Bill; then, with a knowing wink, "I know 
 what's the matter. You've been tradin' hosses with 
 the Doctor." 
 
 A tremendous roar greeted this solution of the 
 trouble which Bill had given with a tender sympathy 
 and a wise shake of the head, that added an irre- 
 sistibly comic flavor to his words. Encouraged by 
 such applause, he plunged on, "You mustn't do that, 
 you know, for the Doctor's a keener on a horse. 
 He was bred in the blue-grass region ; and there ain't 
 divinity enough on earth to knock hoss out of a man 
 if it gits into him early. There ain't a man in this 
 State drives a finer span, or knows how to handle 
 the ribbons better than the Doctor. It'll do to go 
 and hear him preach, as much as you like; that 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 45 
 
 won't hurt you a bit, and it may do you good; it did 
 me heaps o' good ; but don't you never be fool enough 
 to swap hosses with him again." 
 
 Peals of laughter encouraged Bill as he cornered 
 the Doctor and delivered him this homily on horse- 
 trading. 
 
 When they reached their destination, Bill fired a 
 parting shot of admonition at the Doctor to keep 
 clear of horse-trading with Doctor Bainbridge. 
 
 As they got out of the stage, Bill stood a little to 
 one side, while a crowd gathered round to welcome 
 the party on their arrival ; and the famous Doctor 
 was the recipient of special attentions. 
 
 Bill stepped up to his friend the elder, and asked 
 him ' Who is that old feller that got done in a trade, 
 him with that old soft felt hat and big necktie?" 
 
 "Why, that's Dr. Bainbridge," said the elder. 
 
 Off lurched Bill, with eager but unsteady gait, 
 and, pushing his way into the crowd, almost threw 
 himself on the Doctor's neck, as he astonished the 
 Doctor's circle of friends with his maudlin greeting — 
 
 "Why, Doctor, don't you know me? I'm Bill 
 Nash, an Old-school Presbyterian ; you converted 
 me." 
 
 Those who had winced under the Doctor's invec- 
 tive certainly had the opportunity, for once in their 
 lives, of seeing him quail and leave the field to his 
 adversary, without even trying to make a stand. 
 
 But, for one at least, it opened a new side to the 
 great theologian's character, and made Henry Dins- 
 more feel that he was not unassailable, and therefore, 
 he felt, not unapproachable. 
 
4 6 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 There was great magnetism about the man, a 
 sense of breadth and fulness to his nature, a large- 
 hearted generosity, which made one feel that there 
 was room for you in his great heart, if you could find 
 your corner. He was a born leader of men, and 
 would have been distinguished in the state or in the 
 army, if that had been his chosen path. 
 
 To him therefore, in the intervals of the meetings 
 of Presbytery, Henry Dinsmore unburdened his heart 
 regarding his purposes and their realization. 
 
 " Well, my dear young brother, the first thing for 
 you to learn is that the Lord makes men ; they are 
 not the creatures of circumstance. The second thing 
 to learn is that He has made all sorts and conditions 
 of men, in order to compose the great unit which we 
 call humanity ; thirdly, that each one of these units 
 has its place and value in the mass, even the ciphers; 
 and you have got to respect each one for what he is 
 worth ; then study what he is, then try to develop him 
 into his best. You can't create him over, and you 
 would make an awful mess of it if you could; you 
 can develop him, with God's help; and that is your 
 mission in life. 
 
 " There are some people, who know nothing about 
 us ministers, who think that because we have settled 
 convictions, have thought out and set in order our 
 views on religious truth, that, therefore, we think all 
 men who are religious must think just alike, must 
 feel just alike, and act just alike. Well, they are 
 welcome to their opinion, if it amuses them; but 
 there is not one grain of truth at the bottom of it." 
 
 "But, Doctor Bainbridge," interjected Henry, who 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 47 
 
 was startled by this train of thought, " we are cer- 
 tainly bound to teach the standards of our church, 
 and the theology that has been her glory and has 
 made her the defender of the faith." 
 
 " Of course you are bound so to teach, if you are 
 a Presbyterian minister, for that is what, you have 
 pledged yourself to do, because you declare it to be 
 your own free, honest conviction. But there is no 
 compulsion about it. You come forward and say 
 you heartily believe a certain system of doctrine and 
 want to preach it, and we tell you to study it care- 
 fully and understand fully and precisely what it is, 
 and at the end of that course of study, we examine 
 you thoroughly, and ask you to state whether you 
 adhere to those views with which you entered upon 
 your course of study, and leave you to say yes, or 
 no. If you declare your belief in them, and you de- 
 sire to preach and teach them, we give you our license 
 and authority, which commends you to all our 
 churches, as a man fitted, in our judgment, to teach 
 and preach. We do not ask nor expect that the 
 Methodist ministry or the Episcopal ministry shall 
 teach this theology, and, even in our own church, 
 we recognize a very broad margin of individual opin- 
 ion as allowable." 
 
 " We certainly are reputed to be rigid in our doc- 
 trines and in our enforcement of orthodox views," 
 said Henry. 
 
 " We are reputed to be a great many things that 
 we are not, sour-visaged and grim in conduct and 
 belief; and you have found how far away our merry 
 gatherings are from any such reality as that; so that 
 
48 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 the fun and good stories of our ministry are a prov- 
 erb among our people. I abominate that word rigid, 
 nor have I ever in my ministry seen any attempt at 
 a rigid enforcement of our doctrine or mode of wor- 
 ship. We have the ecclesiastical care and charge of 
 a certain set of congregations, who accept a certain 
 interpretation of scripture, and have formulated that 
 belief just as clearly, precisely and definitely as we 
 know how, and yet without malice or bitterness 
 toward any who believe differently from ourselves. 
 A man comes to us, neither driven nor coaxed thereto, 
 and says, I believe as you do, will you authorize me 
 to preach among your people? We examine him 
 carefully to see that he does understand distinctly 
 what he believes, and license him to preach. This is 
 the only course consistent with good faith to all 
 parties, and implies neither rigidity nor force on our 
 part. I am sick of this balderdash. A man is free 
 when he comes to us, and he is free to go just when 
 he pleases; he is not, of course, free to stay and 
 profess to believe one thing and teach another; that 
 is dishonest to himself and to the people of our par- 
 ishes. But I say always and ever, let a man preach 
 what he believes; no other preaching is worth a 
 rush. If he believes our standards, let him preach 
 them, heart and soul, and stand up to his belief; if 
 he does not, let him go to the church whose stand- 
 ards he can accept and preach to them; but if he be- 
 lieves nothing, then, in God's name, let him stop 
 preaching, and go to some honest trade, into which 
 he can put his whole heart and strength." The old 
 Doctor grew earnest, and thundered forth these sen- 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 49 
 
 tences on the young man as if he were the imperson- 
 ation of a great assembly. 
 
 " I am not one whit at a loss as to my own belief, 
 Doctor," said Henry, amused at the way in which 
 this speech had been hurtled at him. " I am very 
 certain and hearty in my acceptance of our stand- 
 ards, strictly interpreted; but I am very uncertain of 
 my power to cope with the difficulties of my work. 
 Those mountain farmers seem to have fallen asleep 
 on their hill-tops; and I do not know how to wake 
 them." 
 
 " My young brother, let me counsel you a bit; first 
 of all be sure of your facts. You know that the 
 signs of life are not always the same. There is a 
 quiet, reserved manner, often seen in people who 
 have lived apart from their fellow men, which is the 
 result of shyness and diffidence that is timid in giving 
 expression to feeling, but which only exemplifies the 
 proverb 'that still waters run deep.' Underneath 
 that silent, shy reserve, lie the thoughts and passions 
 that find utterance in those who have the power of 
 utterance. So, before you begin to wake these 
 people, just study them a bit, and see which are 
 awake; for if you do not, some of them will give you 
 a start. Then remember that every human soul is 
 an individual flower, fashioned by the hand of God, 
 and developed by experiences peculiar, in some re- 
 spects, to itself, and different from any other. That 
 product is not to be roughly laid hold of by you, to 
 shape according to your will and change to suit your 
 own notions. Reverence the human souls with which 
 you have to deal; the meanest of them can teach 
 4 
 
5° A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 you something; study and ponder well the experi- 
 ences through which One wiser than you has led and 
 formed them, and, out of this study, learn how you 
 may lead them onward and upward. Be content if 
 you see that they are growing and developing natu- 
 rally and sweetly under God's gracious influence, as 
 flowers grow, slowly, under his sunshine and dew; 
 and study them, so as not to make the mistake of 
 trying to shape them all after one set pattern. 
 
 " Above all, teach them, by precept and example, 
 that religion is not a matter of creed or forms of be- 
 lief in words or worship, but that it is God's truth 
 transforming life and heart, belief converted into 
 action. How often have I seen men steal the livery 
 of heaven to robe the devil of their pride and indo- 
 lence, when they declared their trust in God's grace 
 and in His transforming power, etc., etc. ad nauseam; 
 by all of which they meant only to shelter their own 
 lazy indifference to exertion. God's grace is the 
 man nerving himself to do what is right, and to shun 
 what is evil ; and the man who prates of trust in 
 God, and goes on doing his own way, is one of the 
 saddest instances of the perversion of truth into 
 a blinding error. We must be earnest, and we must 
 be honest about this matter of religion ; or else 
 there is no use of bothering ourselves about it at 
 all." 
 
 Such a talk as this with such a man was an era in 
 the young minister's life and as he told of his own 
 plans and hopes the Doctor listened with interest, 
 with here and there a pungent, and often witty, pa- 
 renthesis thrown in. 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 51 
 
 This conference made these two men warm friends, 
 and brought them into correspondence; and many a 
 visit, helpful and suggestive to the younger man, in 
 after years, was the outcome of this first meeting; 
 for it was the Doctor's aim not to quench, but only 
 to temper the ardor of youth. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 IT was hard for the restless, earnest spirit of Dins- 
 more to find a field for its exercise, in the still 
 life of this out-of-the-way community. There were 
 no mills, with their scant-paid and overworked opera- 
 tives, in whose behalf he could exert himself by 
 remonstrance with their employers. Among these 
 well-to-do farmers there was, here and there, one 
 who, through shiftlessness or misfortune, needed 
 help; but the help was forthcoming from some kind- 
 hearted neighbors, before Dinsmore could find a 
 chance to let any one know of it; and he himself 
 often knew of the distress only by hearing of its re- 
 lief. It was of no use to organize a charitable soci- 
 ety where want was sure to call in some kind neigh- 
 bor before it was apparent to any outsider. 
 
 In the village there was an organized aid society 
 of the most efficient kind that he had ever seen or 
 read of; it was in session every day, and its presi- 
 dent, secretary and visiting committee acted in per- 
 fect harmony, for they were united in the person of 
 the widow Livingston, who was, in the literal sense 
 of the words, a "mother in Israel." She was one of 
 those in whom charity had wrought her perfect work, 
 and, instead of exhausting itself in soft emotions or 
 gentle words of pity, wrought itself out in deeds of 
 kindness. 
 
 52 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 53 
 
 She had been for a long while, a widow; her only 
 daughter had died some twelve years before, at the 
 age of twenty-one, and her son, who was now about 
 thirty, had never married. She had nothing at 
 home, on which to expend the wealth of her motherly 
 feelings, and therefore her heart was full of sympa- 
 thy for all who were in need. Her very aspect was 
 typical of her character. She was short and fat, 
 with broad shoulders, and no neck at all, her head 
 being set down on her shoulders, as a hen withdraws 
 her head into her feathers when she nestles with her 
 brood under her wings. A broad, white kerchief 
 round her neck, always spotless and unruffled, was 
 a sort of pillow for her chin. She had small, cosey 
 eyes, which had never been large or restless. The 
 forefinger of her right hand was crooked at the first 
 joint, and she had an odd fashion of passing it over 
 her lips as she talked with you, in a way that sug- 
 gested that she was not telling you all that she knew. 
 
 Her knowledge on the subject of the good things 
 that go toward making one of the chief of our crea- 
 ture comforts, was amazing; and in particular, her 
 knowledge regarding the art of cookery for the sick, 
 the jellies and broths that would tempt the nerveless 
 palate of the invalid, and the toothsome cookies and 
 ginger-snaps that would make the children's eyes 
 glisten and their mouths water, all this witnessed not 
 only to her culinary attainments, but also to her 
 broad humanity; for never having known a day's 
 sickness herself, being blessed with a solid and hearty 
 appetite, she had gained her knowledge, not from her 
 own experience, but from her sympathy with others. 
 
54 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 Her art in dishing up and arranging these dainties 
 was, in itself, a triumph of Christian charity. 
 
 She knew how the delicate sensibilities of an in- 
 valid were won by a neatly arranged menu. In her 
 pantry there were baskets of various sizes and shapes, 
 but each vieing with the other to look neat and tidy. 
 "They keep themselves clean," she said. On the 
 shelf above these, was an array of pet little dishes, 
 which she had picked up from time to time, with the 
 discriminating taste and pleasure which the connois- 
 seur in china feels when he has secured some gem 
 for his collection. There were little pipkins, and 
 tea-pots, and broth bowls, and jelly glasses. 
 
 Underneath the shelves, was a drawer filled with 
 the whitest of linen, and with red and yellow doilies. 
 
 In the locked closet, next to the china shelves, 
 what was there not ? A child whose eyes had once 
 rested on those hallowed depths, whose nostrils had 
 been saluted with the ineffable odor wafted from it, 
 never forgot it ; nor could later gastronomic enjoy- 
 ments at all equal or efface the memory of that whiff. 
 There are grown men and women to-day, who have 
 eaten pate' de foie gras and truffles and all that the 
 cafes of Paris can offer, who, through it all, retain 
 a distinct recollection of the odor from Mother Liv- 
 ingston's charity cupboard. 
 
 It was of her chicken pie that the old rector had 
 spoken so affectionately, and you may be sure that, 
 for her own pastor, the old lady killed the fattest 
 hen that she could find, and made the puffiest paste 
 that she could roll, and was really fidgety as to how 
 the oven was going to bake that afternoon, and 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 55 
 
 came near spoiling the fire by peeping into the oven 
 so often. She knew that she had a reputation fof 
 her butter and her chicken pie, and she was very 
 proud of that fame; she did not know that any one 
 ever thought or said anything about her charity cup- 
 board, and she was not a bit proud of that, for any 
 one could make jelly and broth, and do that plain 
 kind of cooking, for sick folks; but pie-crust was 
 another thing, altogether. 
 
 It was only by accident that Dinsmore discovered 
 the charity cupboard; and, when he saw it, he was 
 somewhat disconcerted. This was one of those dull 
 natures which it was his mission to arouse to a wider 
 view of life and its opportunities, and he felt how 
 wisely Dr. Bainbridge had counselled him, to be 
 sure of his person before he tried the process of 
 arousing. He pictured to himself the scene of his 
 coming to the widow Livingston and suggesting that 
 she was leading a purposeless life, and, having no 
 family duties to occupy her, that she might find em- 
 ployment in ministering to the wants of others; and, 
 after he had freed his mind of such pastoral coun- 
 sels, she would have led him back to her pantry, and 
 showed him the charity cupboard. The very thought 
 of it made him feel hot all over; — but, mercifully, he 
 had escaped this, by heeding the good Doctor's coun- 
 sel, first to learn what was in a man before you tried 
 to lead him out. 
 
 "Well, how d'ye like our folks, Mr. Dinsmore?" 
 said Mrs. Livingston, after the chicken pie, which 
 had fulfilled all her best anticipations, had been de- 
 spatched, along with the rest of those numberless 
 
56 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 dishes which go to make up the supper at which the 
 country pastor is the guest. 
 
 Henry wished that the question could have turned 
 upon the country, rather than the people; on the 
 former he could have been enthusiastic, on the latter 
 he could not. 
 
 " I can hardly answer your question, Mrs. Living- 
 ston, " he said. "There are some very good people 
 here, to whom I am already in debt for kindness 
 shown me ; and I am sure that I shall come to love 
 my people as I hope that they will come to love me." 
 He was embarrassed by the shrewd little eyes blink- 
 ing at him, and the crooked forefinger passing over 
 the mouth, so that he could not tell whether the old 
 lady were smiling or not. It was very perplexing, 
 and he was more at a disadvantage with this plain 
 old country woman, than he had felt in the presence 
 of women of the world, in society; but he was im- 
 mensely relieved by the reflection that he had not 
 read her a lecture on practical charity. 
 
 She questioned of one and another; whether he 
 had called on them, and found them at home, and 
 talked with them; and what he made out of the 
 widow Cranston's state of mind; and whether he 
 thought Amanda Williams, the lame girl, would ever 
 be well again; and so on from one thing to another 
 she gossiped along, in her gentle way; telling him, 
 in her homely fashion, heart histories, sad and deep 
 experiences of life, its sins and its sorrows, which he 
 had not at all discovered in his intercourse with these 
 people, who seemed all cast in much the same mould, 
 as far as he could see, and who spoke in the same 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 57 
 
 restrained, commonplace way. It was a great lesson 
 to the ardent, young minister, with his grand plans 
 and schemes, and he was not above laying it to heart. 
 When she had gone the round of her humble friends, 
 she had nothing to say about her well-to-do neigh- 
 bors, for she and they had only touched hands or 
 exchanged courtesies ; but with these others she had 
 touched hearts and exchanged experiences. 
 
 And then, to Dinsmore's further discomfiture, she 
 turned upon him. " I did want you to come and live 
 with me, seein' as your mother wan't comin' to look 
 after you," she said heartily; "but, you know, it 
 don't always do for the minister to live with one of 
 his people; but he ought to hev a home of his own, 
 — some of our folks don't feel as if a minister was 
 real settled like among us when he's jest stoppin' at 
 the hotel, like a summer boarder." Then she passed 
 her forefinger over her lips, and Dinsmore thought it 
 hid a smile. 
 
 " Well, my mother can't come to live with me, Mrs. 
 Livingston; and I don't see just how I can have a 
 home any other way," he answered. 
 
 "Others has done it," she said; and then Dins- 
 more was sure the forefinger hid a smile. 
 
 "Oh! yes, I know there have been hermits; but 
 the day for them is past," he said, rather put to it. 
 
 "Yes, I never had nothin' to do with any hermits, 
 but I gather, from what I've heard o' them, that 
 they hed such dirty and disagreeable ways that it 
 was a mercy they lived alone. But my opinion is 
 that a young minister is not up to the full of his use- 
 fulness until he's married." She had done beating 
 
58 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 about the bush. " There are 'various hindrances he 
 meets, ' as the hymn says, when he's unmarried. 
 The young girls are thinkin' about it, and the older 
 ones talkin' about it; and it does 'em no good. I 
 hope you're thinkin' about this, Mr. Dinsmore; for 
 I'm makin' it a subject of prayer." 
 
 The young minister smiled; it struck him oddly, 
 this motherly old woman with this devout interest in 
 his matrimonial affairs. 
 
 " It might be more to the purpose, Mrs. Living- 
 ston," he said, " if you would advise me what sort of 
 a wife to get; or, better still, tell me where she is to 
 be found." 
 
 It was far too serious a matter with the old lady 
 for her to appreciate the whimsical side of the mat- 
 ter, which the young pastor could not help seeing. 
 
 "A good wife is from the Lord," she said, rever- 
 ently, " and a minister of the Gospel must trust to 
 the Lord for this, as for all things." 
 
 Dinsmore knew of no dispensation of Providence 
 that touched this question; but he did not venture 
 to raise any such doubt in the old lady's mind. 
 
 "And yet, Mrs. Livingston," he answered, " Provi- 
 dence requires us to do our share, in all concerns of 
 this life, at least; and I need some one to tell me 
 which way the path of duty lies, in this matter." 
 
 " I have seen a deal of marryin' in my time," said 
 the old lady, in a dry tone ; " but never saw the need 
 o' any outside help when two young folks was en- 
 quirin' how they'd suit each other. They generally 
 find it out, one way or another." 
 
 "But, in this case," said Dinsmore, "there is, un- 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 59 
 
 fortunately, but one person, and he needs some one 
 to help him find the other." 
 
 " There are considerable many to give him a lift in 
 that direction, without his askin'. Mebbe if you 
 was to give it out among the pulpit notices, you 
 might get all the help you wanted, and more too," 
 said the old lady, with twinkling eyes. " I hev 
 myself heerd more than one who felt awful sorry for 
 you, livin' alone at the hotel ; and I hev seen more 
 worsted-work slippers in the past month than was in 
 this parish for forty year back ; and the prayer- 
 meetin' is fuller of the young girls than ever it was 
 in the old Dominie's time. Mebbe it don't signify 
 anythin' special; but I don't know as there's any 
 more religious interest among the young girls than 
 there was; mebbe there is, though. Now I don't 
 want to say anythin' upsettin' to your pastoral work, 
 Mr. Dinsmore; for they'd ha' done the same by any 
 young minister that come here. I only want you to 
 see that it wouldn't do no harm for you, as minister 
 o' this church, to be settin' your mind on this ques- 
 tion. It does seem awful lonesome like for ye, too; 
 I don't wonder the girls feel it. You can't alius be 
 studyin' and writin', nor gaddin' around every even- 
 in'. And there is some things it would do you a sight 
 o' good to talk out; and you dursn't talk 'em to any 
 one in town. And there is some things a woman 
 can see and tell her husband, even if he is a preacher, 
 and there ain't no one but his wife as can tell him. 
 There is some ways o' workin', too, that a minister's 
 wife can go into, that he can't do himself, let alone 
 that he hasn't the time to tend to them. There is 
 
60 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 ever so much small work to be done in the world, 
 that don't signify, except where you count it all up, 
 and then it amounts to suthin'. And our folks has 
 a great interest in a minister's wife, and thinks a 
 powerful sight of her; and she seems to fetch her 
 husband closer to us, and make him more interestin', 
 except it be to the young girls, and they git older, 
 right along." 
 
 Here was home-spun truth for the young parson, 
 who smiled at the quaint touches in the homily; but, 
 none the less, saw that it was, at bottom, good, sound 
 sense, well harrowed in and planted deep. 
 
 "I'll think of it, Mrs. Livingston," he said, "and 
 I am sure it is ever so kind of you to take so warm 
 an interest in me." 
 
 "Well, if you fall to thinkin' on it, that is all I 
 ask; for a good man, if he once puts his mind to it 
 seriously, can come to only one conclusion, that the 
 Lord meant all men to be married, especially minis- 
 ters." Then she added, with a tremor in her voice, 
 "I've had experience of both ways, Mr. Dinsmore, 
 a happy married life, and after that a life all alone; 
 and I know how the happiness of life is more than 
 doubled, if you have some one to share it, and trouble 
 isn't half as heavy if there is two backs to bear it." 
 
 Dinsmore was touched by the pathos of this little 
 outburst of sentiment, and rose to go, with a sincere 
 respect and regard for the stout little old dame, who, 
 under such a commonplace exterior, had a heart so 
 full of human tendernesses. 
 
 "Whenever you feel kind o' lonely, and as if you 
 would like to see your mother," she said, in parting, 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 6 1 
 
 "why don't you come down here to tea and let me 
 give you a good supper, sech as the hotel can't get 
 up; for there is nothin' like tasteless and onwhole- 
 some vittals to give a man homesickness, especially 
 if he was used to good meals at home. And jest 
 fetch along your slippers, and, after supper, you and 
 my son William can sit and talk over your trout 
 fishin', or play a game of chess; and we'll have some 
 nuts and apples and cider, and you and William can 
 smoke a segar and make yourself to home." 
 
 "Thank you, heartily, Mrs. Livingston; and I will 
 surely fight off the next attack of blues I have, in 
 just that way, "said Dinsmore feeling his heart warm 
 toward the motherly old dame. 
 
 "Do, do," she answered; and he left for home. 
 
 But he began to ponder along the way. It was 
 not home, but only the veriest counterfeit of it, that 
 bare little room in the country inn, with its bright 
 red, three-ply carpet, its window without curtain or 
 shade, its stained bedstead with a lumpy husk mat- 
 trass, underneath which the scant straw mattrass 
 rustled as he got in bed, and, through them both, 
 he could count the slats of the bedstead. The 
 washstand and bureau were washed with the same 
 stain, which was supposed to give them the outward 
 seeming of mahogany, but came nearer to the color 
 of raw veal. 
 
 Over the bureau hung a looking glass, on a nail 
 driven into the wall, and this was the sole piece of 
 furniture that rose above the commonplace. Some 
 twist or fold in the glass caused it to reflect one side 
 of the face about a quarter of an inch lower than the 
 
62 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 other; and Dinsmore found it the most entertaining 
 object in his room. 
 
 For the rest, there were two rush bottomed chairs, 
 and his own study table and easy chair from home, 
 looking sadly out of place and lonely among their 
 incongruous companions. His book-shelves had 
 been made by Tim Mitchell, the undertaker and 
 cabinet maker; and, thereby, he found that Tim had 
 come to regard him as, in some sort, a partner in 
 business, and bound to give Tim the entrie to the 
 houses of his parishioners when there arose the sad 
 occasion for their joint services in the house of 
 mourning. For there was a rival undertaker in 
 town, who was a wheelwright by trade, and Tim re- 
 garded him as an interloper and entitled to no con- 
 sideration ; and offered Dinsmore the courtesy of a 
 seat beside himself on the hearse, either going to or 
 coming from funerals in which they might be jointly 
 interested. 
 
 But, to-night, Dinsmore was not thinking of the 
 little undertaker who dropped his " h"s, in true cock- 
 ney style, and wore his long crape weepers with such 
 pride; for his mind was full of the home question. 
 He came to his room; it was dark and cold. He lit 
 his student-lamp, and the fire; but they did not, at 
 once, dispel the chill. No, it was not a home; it 
 was not cheerful, encouraging, helpful, inspiriting, 
 it was the reverse of all this; and, as the room began 
 to warm up, and it grew a trifle less gloomy in its 
 aspect, what wonder if the "young man's fancies 
 turned to thoughts" of some one to love? 
 
 He sat by the fire and drew pictures, castles in the 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 63 
 
 air, with cosey home surroundings, and comfort in 
 every nook and cranny; but with whom? Ah! there 
 was the rub. And yet there was a face and form 
 that dwelt in that home. Therefore we may con- 
 clude that Dame Livingston's seed had not fallen on 
 the wayside, beaten hard by the tread of many feet, 
 nor yet on the stony ground where there was no 
 deepness of earth. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 DURING the following winter Dinsmore deter- 
 mined to realize some of his purposes regard- 
 ing the people at large; and with this in view, or- 
 ganized a reading class among the young ladies of 
 the village, which met at the Judge's house in the 
 afternoon; and a debating society for the young 
 men, that met over young Livingston's store, in the 
 evening. In the latter effort he did not meet with a 
 very gratifying success. It was his plan to enlist 
 their interest in living questions, and not to cultivate 
 the art of uttering with facility dreary platitudes on 
 well-worn themes. This he endeavored to impress 
 upon them in a preliminary talk with a few of them, 
 who were invited to dine with him and discuss the 
 matter. 
 
 With this end in view, and also in order to break 
 the ice, which he was aware formed quickly on all 
 these gatherings which were not in the nature of a 
 frolic, he proposed that, at the first session of their 
 society, which they decided to call the Clintonville 
 Literary Circle, he should give them a talk on some 
 theme which they themselves should select. 
 
 Fred Hutton was foremost in the scheme, lively, 
 self-confident, and not averse to assuming the re- 
 sponsibility of leader. Fred was not stupid, but he 
 
 64 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 65 
 
 was venturesome to a degree that often landed him 
 in a position where he appeared stupid enough to 
 all eyes save his own. He affected literature. It 
 was only the Sunday previous that Dinsmore, as he 
 passed through the sitting-room of the Hotel, had 
 noticed Fred close and cover quickly with his hand, 
 a book which he presumed the young parson would 
 not have commended for Sunday reading. The yel- 
 low cover protruded in tell-tale fashion from under 
 his hands, and to Dinsmore's query as to what he 
 was reading, Fred's apt response was, "The life of 
 a minister." It was the first volume of " Les Mis- 
 erables." 
 
 Fred was made chairman of the committee to se- 
 lect a theme for this opening talk. 
 
 What was Dinsmore's horror, when, three days 
 later, he received, in Fred's clerkly hand, the follow- 
 ing as the result of their incubation. 
 
 "Dear Sir: 
 
 We have selected as a subject which will be both 
 attractive and useful to us all, for your inaugural 
 address at the opening of the Clintonville Literary 
 Circle, 
 
 'The causes of corrupted morals and the impedi- 
 ments to social fruitions or enjoyments. ' 
 
 Yours respectfully, 
 F. Hutton, Chairman 
 of special com. Clintonville Lit. Circle." 
 
 Dinsmore groaned inly and made a wry face over 
 the marvellous conglomeration of words, and won- 
 5 
 
66 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 dered by what process of invention a parcel of young 
 men lighted on such a theme, and determined that, 
 for the future, the selection of subjects for discussion 
 had better remain in his own hands. He made up 
 his mind to talk to them on the subject of mental 
 culture as a means of pleasure and profit, and to take 
 as his theme Leighton's pregnant caption quoted in 
 the Aids to Reflection ; "Your blessedness is not, — 
 no, believe it, it is not where most of you seek it, in 
 things below you. How can that be? It must be a 
 higher good to make you happy." With Coleridge's 
 comment, "All lower natures find their highest good 
 in semblances and seekings of that which is higher 
 and better. All things strive to ascend, and ascend 
 in their striving." 
 
 It was a plea for thoughtful reading as a means of 
 culture, for the attitude of mind that dwells with 
 truth ; and the text of his discourse was " Attention 
 fixes the mind upon truth. Reflection fixes truth in 
 the mind." 
 
 He mingled plenty of illustration and some anec- 
 dote with his talk, but while they looked on him with 
 their eyes and heard him with their ears, he had not 
 any strong hope that even the ghost of his meaning 
 penetrated past the gate of the senses. Fred was, 
 perhaps, the best read young man there, the most 
 wide-awake, with the largest horizon of life; and as 
 a result of the young pastor's talk, suggested that 
 the subject of their first debate should be, " Is reflec- 
 tion an aid to thinking, or thinking an aid to reflec- 
 tion?"; without declaring any preference as to the 
 side that he would take in the debate. 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 67 
 
 Dinsmore was too much dismayed to do more than 
 negative this, and promise that he would read them 
 some selections from various authors at their next 
 meeting, and then announce a subject of debate for 
 the ensuing week. 
 
 He was thoroughly disheartened, however, and felt 
 that he had before him a task requiring the same sort 
 of faith that would move mountains; for not one of 
 the hearty, healthy young fellows about him had 
 done more than sit in open-eyed wonder, save only the 
 frisky young clerk. 
 
 With his young ladies class in literature on the fol- 
 lowing afternoon, his success was more encouraging. 
 Miss Amelia Ann was there, vivacious and full of 
 suggestion. She had a host of favorite authors, and 
 was ready in quotation of her pet passages in prose 
 and poetry. The meeting was held in the parlor of 
 the Judge's house, and Mary Lowther, the Judge's 
 daughter, was a very well read and highly cultivated 
 girl. She had been to a New England school, and 
 had spent her school days in thorough, hard study. 
 She was no book-worm, but a genuine, sincere, and 
 very intelligent girl, full of life and spirits. She was 
 rather under than above the medium height, brown 
 as a gypsy, with ruddy cheeks, dark hair, and with 
 eyebrows, not delicately pencilled, but bushy and 
 black. Her teeth, which were white and regular, 
 seemed whiter by contrast with her dark coloring, 
 and she showed them freely when she laughed, which 
 she did very often, with a ring in her voice, made 
 more contagious by her sparkling eyes. At first 
 Dinsmore did not think her pretty at all; then, after 
 
68 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 talking with her, he thought her very pretty; and, as 
 he came to know her better, he never thought of her 
 looks at all. 
 
 But he recognized in her, very soon, one who 
 would be an effective helper in all his plans to bring 
 into the circle of the village girls something of the 
 higher life that is gained by the knowledge and love 
 of good books. Her taste was refined, cultivated 
 and genuine. She formed her own opinions, and 
 was enthusiastic in her love of both good literature 
 and good music. 
 
 They were partners from the very first meeting. 
 It was at her suggestion that the young ladies class 
 in literature was formed without any name at all. 
 That it should not become a mere desultory reading, 
 at the mercy of this or that one's whim, she suggested 
 that Dinsmore should read to them passages of his 
 own selection, prose or poetry, while the ladies 
 brought their work, and, after the reading, he should 
 comment on the passages read, telling them some- 
 thing of the authors, and they should ask him ques- 
 tions or make their comments. This plan worked 
 admirably to relieve these meetings of the stiffness 
 and terror attendant on the sessions of a society. 
 The burden lay on the young pastor to supply the 
 entertainment and direct the train of study; but in 
 all this Mary Lowther was an effective aid. 
 
 Miss Amelie Ann Hollis was the only one of the 
 circle who did not heartily approve of this plan. She 
 had some essays and poems, a few of the latter hav- 
 ing occupied a corner in the county paper. These 
 fugitive verses she had purposed to read; but alas! 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 69 
 
 Coleridge and Keats and Wordsworth had supplanted 
 her. 
 
 Once she made an ineffectual effort to stem the 
 tide. The afternoon's reading had been devoted to 
 " Dreams." Dinsmore had read Leigh Hunt's essay 
 on Dreams, and then some examples of the dreams 
 of the poets and prose writers. 
 
 After the reading, when various questions had been 
 mooted, IMiss Amelie observed 
 
 " My father always forbid us children telling our 
 dreams; he said it was both tiresome and foolish." 
 
 "I've no doubt he was right," said Sally Hill, the 
 village belle, who was pretty and pert, with her pink 
 cheeks and saucy lips, and as full of life as a kitten; 
 and to whom the "Ancient pride of the village," as 
 she called Miss Amelie, was as the ball of yarn to 
 the kitten, something to be tangled. 
 
 " I was not seeking your opinion, Sally," said Miss 
 Amelie, with some asperity. " We do not have to 
 ask for that. It comes unasked, and, like all un- 
 sought blessings, perhaps is not appreciated as highly 
 as it deserves." 
 
 " It is like the rain that comes on the just and the 
 unjust alike; Eh, Mealy?" said Sally, with a wink 
 at her neighbor. 
 
 Miss Amelie turned, with dignity, from this fruit- 
 less controversy. 
 
 " I meant to ask you, Mr. Dinsmore, whether you 
 thought it was as profitable to read the dreams of 
 men, as their more earnest thoughts; and whether 
 reading will cultivate one as much as to write our- 
 selves?" 
 
70 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 Sally Hill giggled aloud. " I have torn up all my 
 compositions, but I suppose I could write them over 
 again," she whispered, loud enough for Amelie to 
 hear. " My verses are still unwritten." 
 
 Mary Lowther interposed with the suggestion, 
 
 " For this season it might be better for us to read, 
 and after we are more used to discussion of literary 
 matters, we might, next winter, try our hand at some 
 simple essay or impression of what we felt and thought 
 about the pieces we had read." 
 
 She said it brightly and pleasantly, as though en- 
 tering into Amelie's plan, and postponing it only so 
 as to ensure its success. But there was a finality in 
 her tone that displeased Amelie, who had so little 
 distrust of her own powers, that she had already a 
 half written essay on the " Genius of Keats." 
 
 Dinsmore began to feel the torments of arousing 
 an inertia of motion leading he knew not whither, 
 and thanked Mary Lowther, with all his heart, for 
 extricating him so deftly, and conveyed his thanks 
 by a look of relief so genuine that it made her eyes 
 twinkle though she had to smother the laughter that 
 it was a pain to suppress. 
 
 " Don't you think we can give a better opinion after 
 we have heard all parties, Mr. Dinsmore?" she said, 
 so as to draw his answer out to her, and save him a 
 direct reply to Amelie. 
 
 " I do indeed," he said. " I think it no easy task 
 to see the beauties of an author, and a still harder 
 one, so to point them out that another shall see as 
 you see," he answered, with a sigh of relief. "I 
 think, too, that, if we freely talk out our impressions 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 71 
 
 here, and compare views, we shall learn both to form 
 and express our opinions. Which of the poems that 
 I read this afternoon appeals to you most strongly, 
 Miss Amelie ?" he said deferentially. 
 
 " I think Byron's Dream is divine," she answered, 
 half closing her eyes, with her lips slightly drawn, 
 and a pinched expression about her nostrils. 
 
 "Did you feel any interest in Kubla Khan?" he 
 said, perplexed. 
 
 "I felt that it was ragged," she answered; "it 
 lacked finish and fulness." 
 
 Dinsmore felt that so far as literature was con- 
 cerned, here was mission ground, and whether the 
 inertia of rest evinced by his class of young men, or 
 the inertia of motion as illustrated by Fred and Miss 
 Amelie were the more unpromising field, he was at a 
 loss to say. Just now, he felt the latter to be the 
 more trying. 
 
 But this was, after all, the lighter side of his pas- 
 toral duty, however he might fail or succeed in 
 arousing their love of literature, his true work 
 touched deeper problems than this. At the lower 
 end of the village, near the Judge's house, lived 
 Bill Bennett, the black-smith, and, on his way home 
 from the Judge's that afternoon, Dinsmore encoun- 
 tered the sturdy smith, under rather exciting cir- 
 cumstances. He had, more than once, stopped to 
 have a talk with Bill, at his forge, and had stood in 
 admiration of the stalwart, swarthy fellow, as he 
 watched him swing the heavy sledge and let it fall 
 with a resounding blow that made the anvil ring and 
 the sparks fly, or bring it down so gently that you 
 
72 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 hardly heard it fall. His admiration was heightened 
 by an attempt which he himself had made to wield 
 the heavy sledge ; the sturdy smith standing by the 
 meanwhile, with a lurking smile on his lips, and the 
 brief comment, " You may be death on theology, 
 parson, but you ain't worth your salt at the anvil." 
 
 Bennett was not in his shop, but as Henry passed 
 the house he heard the piercing scream of a woman's 
 voice and was horror-stricken to see the smith, with 
 his black eyes, gleaming, like his forge fire, mad with 
 drink, literally dragging his wife, by her hair around 
 the corner of the house; she screaming " Murder!" 
 It made him sick to see it and, as he hurried to her 
 assistance, Bennett let go his hold of her, and stalked 
 into the house. 
 
 Dinsmore hastened to the terror-stricken woman 
 and, at her entreaty, helped her to her sister's house, 
 over the way. 
 
 "What does this mean, Mrs. Bennett?" he asked, 
 when she was somewhat recovered from her hysteri- 
 cal fright. " Its all for nothin' at all but the liquor 
 that's in him" she sobbed. 
 
 " Does he often treat you so?" he asked. 
 
 "Well no, not very often; but he's ornery to-day," 
 she sobbed. 
 
 " Have you done anything to provoke him espe- 
 cially," he asked; feeling that some unusual provo- 
 cation must have called forth such brutal conduct. 
 
 "Well no! I can't say as there was. You might 
 ask him," she answered. 
 
 After much persuasion, she and her sister agreed 
 to go back to the house under Dinsmore's protection 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 73 
 
 and send for Bennett, telling him that the pastor had 
 called to see him. 
 
 After all, this quiet parish had its quota of trage- 
 dies, as well as the great world outside. 
 
 Over the way marched the small procession, the 
 two frightened women and the young pastor, whose 
 pulse beat several degrees higher than the normal 
 rate. 
 
 Without venturing beyond the foot of the stairs, 
 Mrs. Bennett called to her husband " The Dominie's 
 here Bill, and wants to see you." 
 
 "Tell him I'll be down, when I've brushed up 
 a bit," he answered, fiercely enough to show that 
 his anger still burned hot. It was with many an 
 uncomfortable qualm that Dinsmore awaited his 
 coming. 
 
 Presently he came down the stairs, with a firm 
 step, for he was one of those drunkards who did not 
 reel, but grew mad with drink. He had dressed 
 himself with scrupulous care, his shirt which was 
 without starched bosom, was clean and white, un- 
 buttoned and rolled back at the neck, showing the 
 strong muscles of his chest; the sleeves were rolled 
 up to the elbow and the brown, brawny arms showed 
 sinews like steel and muscles hard as iron. His eye 
 gleamed fiercely as he entered the room with a swift, 
 stern stride, and walking straight up to Dinsmore, 
 held his clenched fist close under his nose, and said 
 " Parson, do you know that one tap o' that would 
 send you to heaven; shortcut." It was a somewhat 
 thrilling experience. 
 
 " If it is a question of fighting, Mr. Bennett, 
 
74 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 please let me have a chance to run ; for you can 
 knock me senseless, before I could think" said Dins- 
 more. "I came here to talk to you; I can't fight 
 you. Won't you sit down and let us talk this mat- 
 ter over," and he moved to make room for Bennett, 
 on the sofa. 
 
 Bennett glared at him a moment and then, bring- 
 ing a chair, seated himself, directly in front of Dins- 
 more, with their knees almost touching, set his arm 
 on his knee, his chin in one hand, and glared at the 
 young minister, at short range. 
 
 "Now blaze away, Dominie," he said, "What hev 
 ye got to say to me; this business is of your own 
 seekin." 
 
 " Yes. I have this to say Mr. Bennett," said Dins- 
 more, looking him full in the eye, " that it is a 
 shameful, brutal, cowardly thing for a strong man 
 to treat a weak woman, as I saw you treat your 
 wife; and I would not have believed it of you, if I 
 had not seen it with my own eyes." 
 
 "Them is rather stout words, parson," answered 
 Bennett " and I wonder whether you are altogether 
 prepared to stand to 'em; Eh?" and he glared on 
 Dinsmore. 
 
 'I am prepared to stand to them, " answered Dins- 
 more; "and further to say that there is no excuse 
 for such unmanly conduct." 
 
 "You may be wadin' in deeper than you know of, 
 parson," retorted Bennett, with a grim smile. " Sup- 
 pose we discuss the question a bit, parson." 
 
 " I am not ready to discuss such a question. The 
 man is a coward and brute who treats his wife so 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 75 
 
 shamefully, the girl he courted and married and 
 promised to love and care for," answered Dinsmore, 
 hotly. 
 
 " Well, leavin' aside this pint on which your mind 
 seems to be so well sot, parson ; hev ye any objec- 
 tion to discuss the question as to what led to the 
 unfortunate circumstances that seem to rile ye so," 
 answered Bennett. " Would you be willing to an- 
 swer me a question or two." 
 
 " Yes," answered Dinsmore " I am ready to hear 
 what you have to say." 
 
 Bennett paused, and the two sat looking one an- 
 other full in the eye. There was a triumphant 
 gleam in Bennett's eye and a self-confident smile on 
 his lips, as he lifted his chin from his hand, leaned 
 back in his chair, and said 
 
 " What is the fifth Commandment ?" 
 
 Henry was so astonished at such a question, that 
 for a moment he could not summon the familiar 
 words. Bennett smiled, as though this was a point 
 scored in his favor, and, before the young minister 
 had a chance to collect his scattered wits, recited 
 " Honor thy father and thy mother that thy days 
 may be long in the land that the Lord thy God giveth 
 thee " then winked triumphantly at Dinsmore and 
 said, "That's the tune, parson, isn't it?" 
 
 "Yes" gasped Dinsmore "that's right." 
 
 " I thought there couldn't be no dispute between 
 us on that pint" retorted Bennett; while the two 
 women sat aghast to see the parson thus beaten, on 
 his own ground, by Bill. 
 
 "But what has that to do with this miserable bus- 
 
76 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 iness, Mr. Bennett " said Dinsmore, essaying to as- 
 sert himself, after this downfall. 
 
 "It has got a blamed sight more; — if you'll excuse 
 the word parson, I'll stick to it — its got a blamed 
 sight more, I say, to do with this business than you 
 know for; and I'll just let you into that, if you'll 
 give me the chance to be heard." 
 
 " Now he's goin' to tell a pack of lies on me," 
 whined Mrs. Bennett, from the other side of the room. 
 
 " Shut up," roared Bennett; "the parson and me 
 ain't goin' to stand no woman's clack in this here 
 business; and if you don't hold yer jaw, I'll hold it 
 for you; do you mind ?" 
 
 " Mrs. Bennett I think you had better let Mr. 
 Bennett and me talk this matter over alone "said 
 Dinsmore, firmly. 
 
 "Right you are parson, women don't understand 
 these pints o' theology. Now I'll drive ahead. 
 Bein' agreed on the fifth commandment, we're not 
 agoin' to quarrel on small pints. I hev' a boy named 
 Bill, and when he come o' eighteen years he was 
 hankering for a silver watch that I had alius carried. 
 I told him, when he was twenty-one, it was to be his; 
 in the meantime I would lend it to him. 
 
 " Well I lent it to him, about two weeks ago, and, 
 about three days after he had it, I found he warn't 
 carryin' it, and asked him what was gone with it; 
 and he told me he had lent it to one o' his chums, 
 and later on said he'd spouted it for two dollars; 
 and, every time I asked him about it, he had a new 
 story to tell ; and, when I found out that he was 
 givin' me a pack o' lies, I told him he could leave the 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 77 
 
 house, and not come back until he brought me that 
 watch. Well, after I had chased him out and told 
 that woman," with a scornful emphasis on the word, 
 and a contemptuous jerk of his thumb over the shoul- 
 der toward his wife, " that miserable woman, that 
 had promised to love, honor and obey me, jest the 
 whys and wherefores o' the hull business: what does 
 she do but feed the cub, three meals a day regular, 
 when I was down to the shop to work; and give him 
 the money for his night's lodging into the bargain, 
 jest to encourage him in stealin', lyin' and disobe- 
 dience; and, when I told her to take herself off 
 along with her cub, she up and told me that I could 
 clear out myself. Now what I want to put to you 
 parson is; hadn't I the right to demand that watch 
 back ?" 
 
 " Most certainly you had, Mr. Bennett " answered 
 Dinsmore. 
 
 "Right you are parson. Secondly hadn't I the 
 right to say to that boy, you shan't come to this 
 house unless you bring me that watch?" 
 
 " If you chose to take such harsh measures, you 
 doubtless had the right to do so;" answered Dins- 
 more, with some hesitation. 
 
 " Well, I did choose to ; and so that pint is settled " 
 answered Bennett. "Then thirdly, had my wife any 
 right to uphold that boy in his disobedience?" and 
 his eye gleamed with satisfaction. 
 
 " No, she had not " said Dinsmore firmly. 
 
 " Well, that settles the case " said Bennett grimly, 
 as he rose to his feet " and I congratulate you, par- 
 son, on the level head you keep on your shoulders." 
 
78 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 "No; I don't think that it does settle the case. 
 I have two or three questions to ask you Mr. Bennett, 
 if you will sit down for a few minutes." 
 
 " Certainly, parson ; with the greatest of pleasure " 
 answered the blacksmith, and, with an elaborate bow, 
 he took his seat. " It is a real pleasure to talk with 
 a gentleman who has sech a clear head to see a pint, 
 when shown him and an honest tongue to own when 
 he's beaten." 
 
 Dinsmore looked him quietly in the eye, for a 
 moment. 
 
 " I feel as if I had come to know you better this 
 evening, than in all the months I have been here, 
 Mr. Bennett; and there is the making of a man in 
 you," said Dinsmore, cordially; for his heart yearned 
 toward this poor mortal in the toils of the demon's 
 net. 
 
 It was Bennett's turn to be startled now. He 
 had braced himself for an assault; but not on this 
 side. 
 
 The women too were aghast at the turn things 
 were taking, and felt that their champion was be- 
 traying their cause. After a minute's silence, which 
 seemed ten, when it had become almost painful, 
 Dinsmore continued " I want you to come to church, 
 Mr. Bennett." 
 
 " By G " began the smith. 
 
 " Hush " said Dinsmore raising his hand. 
 
 "Well, parson, I must put sommat to it. Be 
 hanged if I don't. I will, so help me God, I will 
 be there next Sunday, " and his voice began to quiver, 
 with maudlin sentiment. " I want to hear you 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 79 
 
 preach, parson. I love you, I do. I'd like to be 
 converted by you, parson." 
 
 "There! that will do" said Dinsmore. "I must 
 go home to supper. Your wife will not fear to stay 
 with you to-night. You will for my sake promise to 
 treat her kindly. I will see your son to-morrow, and 
 will talk over this with you, when you are feeling all 
 right. You will promise me to do nothing more 
 about it; until you and I have talked it over" and 
 Dinsmore held out his hand, with a genial smile, to 
 the poor fellow. After a moment's hesitation Ben- 
 nett took it and gripped it until the blood flew into 
 Dinsmore's face and said, almost sobbing 
 
 " I will, so help me God. You've downed me par- 
 son, you have; and jest when I was sure I had the 
 better o' ye. I don't see how you got the under 
 holt; but I'm downed. I am" and he dropped into 
 the chair and bowed his head on his hands and 
 sobbed. 
 
 How it touched Dinsmore. The tears came to his 
 eyes. 
 
 "We are friends, Mr. Bennett," he said "firm 
 friends, from this day forth, and, so help me God, I 
 mean that you shall be such a man as nobody can 
 down." Turning to Mrs. Bennett, he said "I think 
 it would be better for you to say nothing more of 
 this, Mrs. Bennett, until your husband and I have 
 had a chance to talk it over." 
 
 And so he left them. That night he was wakened 
 by the sound of a man's voice under his window 
 which fronted on the village green. There on the 
 fence sat Bennett, muttering curses at " the snivel- 
 
So A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 ling, little parson that stuck his nose in other people's 
 affairs. And he thought he downed me, he did; 
 when I could ha' knocked him to kingdom come, if 
 I'd a mind to. I'll do it, next time; and he won't 
 go off crowin' over Bill Bennett;" and he wound up 
 with a curse full-mouthed and deep. 
 
 The next day, Henry met him on the street, and, 
 as the young minister came near, Bennett drew back 
 off the narrow side-walk and stood with his back 
 close against the high-board fence, with his hand to 
 his hat in military salute and his eyes on the ground, 
 every feature rigid. Henry lifted his hat, gravely, 
 and passed on. 
 
 On the following day, as he passed the shop the 
 furnace was in full blast, and the anvil rang to the 
 swift swinging blows, which the young minister was 
 glad to hear. As he was making up his mind whether 
 or no the iron was hot for him to strike, Bennett 
 came to the door, and, with an evident effort, said 
 
 " Parson I have a word for you." 
 
 "All right, Mr. Bennett "said Dinsmore, cheerily, 
 "there's not a man in the village I want to hear 
 from as much as you." 
 
 "Parson," said the smith solemnly, "I want to 
 explain to you, that I am obliged, sometimes, for a 
 weakness of my innards to take a little quinine and, 
 to make the quinine go to the spot, I am obliged to 
 use a little whiskey. Well, between 'em, they have 
 a curious effect on me, and they set me to thinkin', 
 and sometimes to sayin', exactly the contrary o' 
 what I really think and feel; and, most times, this 
 comes on me late at night. That's all parson." 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 8 1 
 
 Henry put out his hand to him and, while he held 
 the great brawny fist in his, said 
 
 "That's all right, Mr. Bennett. I think we un- 
 derstand one another, perfectly; and we are going 
 to be firm friends after this, and I am going to see 
 you at church every Sunday." 
 
 " Right you are parson, so help me God " said the 
 smith, returning the firm clasp of his hand; "and 
 bygones is bygones." 
 
 "Not only between us; but between you and the 
 whiskey bottle too, Mr. Bennett " said Dinsmore, 
 pressing his advantage. 
 
 " Do you want me to sign a pledge parson ?" said 
 Bennett, doubtfully. 
 
 "No, I do not, Mr. Bennett, " answered Dinsmore. 
 " I want you to be man enough to see the evil of the 
 thing, and to feel how it debases you, and make up 
 your mind that, by God's grace helping you, it shall 
 not pass your lips. This is a better way than sign- 
 ing a pledge. Weaker men may need the force of a 
 pledge; but you have brains and conscience enough 
 not to need such help. God and your own brave 
 spirit will pull you through." 
 
 " Parson it does hearten me to hear you talk like 
 that. Do you think I can," he said humbly. 
 
 " I know you can, and will do it" said Dinsmore, 
 brightly. 
 
 " Hanged if I don't come and hear you preach, if 
 you can talk like this " answered the smith. 
 
 And, sure enough, from this time forth Bill Ben- 
 nett was at the head of his pew, and every day the 
 ring of his anvil, as Henry went by, was like music 
 6 
 
82 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 in the young pastor's ears; and, when other plans 
 and projects came to grief, it made his heart glad to 
 go into the smithy and have a chat with Bill. 
 
 He made it his business to seek out the wayward 
 boy, release the silver watch from pawn, and secure 
 its restoration to the father, and, on the evening of 
 that day, went to supper at the Bennett's. 
 
 " It's not for the like o' us to have the minister to 
 supper " said Bill, when Henry proposed to take a 
 meal with them. 
 
 "If I'm good enough to preach to you, I should 
 think you might let me eat at your table, " said Dins- 
 more, with a smile. 
 
 " Oh Lord! parson that's not the way I meant it " 
 said Bennett, in dismay. 
 
 "Yes" answered Dinsmore "but that's the way I 
 shall take it, unless you ask me to supper." 
 
 " Well then, for gracious sake, come to supper to- 
 morrow night" said Bennett. 
 
 " It was the proudest day of my life " said Bill to 
 his customers of the next and many ensuing days, 
 "when I hed the parson to supper. My! didn't he 
 eat, and said the things was good; and didn't he 
 make himself to home and talk right in with us." 
 
 From that day customers were regaled with bits 
 of Dinsmore's table-talk or scraps from his sermons, 
 so that he got the nick-name of the " parson's Billy," 
 and the scoffers called his shop " The Bethel Black- 
 smith's shop." It was well that their jokes were 
 turned on him and not on the minister; for Bill 
 would have sealed his testimony to the parson with 
 the blood of those who spoke lightly of him. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 OUTSIDE of the range of the ordinary life of 
 Clintonville, isolated from all influences that 
 could lift them from their degradation were the 
 Scoopers, in their hamlet in a swampy hollow, north- 
 west from the village. Dinsmore had, once or twice, 
 walked nearer to it, on his way to or from some visit 
 in that neighborhood, but his approach had been a 
 signal for the inhabitants to retire to their huts and 
 for the snarling half fed curs, with a starved and 
 wolfish aspect, to come out from their lairs. These 
 outcasts seemed altogether unapproachable. Nor 
 did enquiry from the farmers round about elicit 
 much information. They regarded them and their 
 dogs, which harassed the sheep, as much on a par, 
 and their attitude toward them was exclusively de- 
 fensive. The only person in the tribe who excited 
 the least interest among outsiders was the " witch- 
 woman," as they called her, old Barbara Fisher. Of 
 her even the well-to-do farmers stood in awe, as one 
 who could cast some sort of spell to make their wells 
 run dry and their cows give bloody milk, and who 
 had more than once discovered a stolen horse, when 
 three hairs dropped from the lost animals tail were 
 brought to her. These hairs she tied together in a 
 knot and laying them on a shovel lighted the ends, 
 
 83 
 
84 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 and which-ever way two curling ends of the singed 
 hairs pointed, thither the thief had gone. She had 
 a wonderful "charm string." It was 203 feet long, 
 composed of shells, old coins, snake rattles and an 
 endless variety of buttons, each with a history, if 
 Barbara was to be credited. This charm, when 
 coiled around the old woman, had a diameter of ten 
 feet or more, and weighed some 300 pounds, with 
 this she practiced her divination. Her powers were 
 undisputed by the Scoopers, and were not altogether 
 discredited among the country folk, at least they 
 thought it not unwise to propitiate her from time to 
 time, with gifts, which, though given in the name of 
 charity, were a secret tribute to her powers. 
 
 More than one country maid, with whom the 
 course of true love did not run smoothly, or per- 
 chance, stood altogether still, had asked counsel or 
 help from old Barbara Fisher, with many misgivings, 
 it is true; but nevertheless they had gone there, as 
 a last resort, and had come away with assurances, 
 which were vague enough to leave Barbara's reputa- 
 tion unimpaired which-ever way events might turn. 
 
 Henry, after much reflection, decided that she, 
 alone was approachable; and yet he did not quite 
 see his way clear, as minister of the Presbyterian 
 church, to pay court to old Barbara by consulting 
 her as a fortune-teller. Nevertheless he made up 
 his mind to visit her, and trust to the spur of the 
 moment to extricate him from any predicament in 
 which he might be placed. It was easy to find her; 
 and there was no mistaking her, when he saw her. 
 She was about 80 years old, but still active and ap- 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 85 
 
 parently strong, though much bent and wrinkled. 
 Her thin hair was as white as snow, and long, white 
 hairs grew from her chin in such profusion as to give 
 them almost the dignity of a beard. Her pale blue 
 eyes were as bright and keen as a hawk's, and she 
 fixed them so intently on her visitor that there was 
 undeniable power in her gaze. There was a very 
 great veneration for her among the scoopers, which 
 was heightened by the fact that well dressed people 
 came there to consult her, and paid her money for 
 advice ; and her powers were indisputable after farmer 
 Brown had charged her with bewitching his dog so 
 that it ran wildly about in a circle, suffering great 
 agony, and she had refused to exorcise the spirit, 
 until he had paid her an exorbitant sum of money. 
 Whereupon the justice had fined her three dollars; 
 this settled, in their minds, the fact that her power 
 was beyond question. Every deformed, idiotic, 
 tongue-tied or "liver-grown" child, (as the sickly 
 little ones were called), in the whole region, was a 
 testimony to Dame Fisher's secret powers. Of these 
 she did not need to boast, there were plenty to do 
 that in her behalf; she simply needed to look wise 
 and be silent, while these things were laid at her door. 
 
 For the rest, they were such a miserable horde 
 that Dame Fisher stood out in bold relief, and Dins- 
 more heard, on every hand, of her wonderful powers 
 and of the potent sway which she exercised over the 
 band. 
 
 He dressed himself in a shabby suit, which had 
 been through many a tangled brier patch and laurel 
 thicket along the trout brooks, and started off, one 
 
86 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 afternoon, to seek the "witch- woman," feeling not 
 unlike the wayward King of Israel, when he set him- 
 self to seek the witch of Endor; and he had as little 
 idea of what the outcome of his visit would be. The 
 autumn sunshine was still warm and the hazy atmos- 
 phere was full of dreamy suggestion, as he stood on 
 the brow of the hill that overlooked the little hamlet. 
 Here and there, some more industrious scooper was 
 plying his trade, at the door of his hut; but none of 
 them gave him any other greeting than a sullen glance 
 as he enquired the way to Barbara's hut, toward 
 which they gave him a nod of direction. At the door 
 of her hut sat the old woman, sunning herself, with 
 her idle hands folded in her lap, and her keen eyes 
 blinking in the sun. On the door of her hut there 
 were nailed two bats, with outstretched wings, and 
 in the middle of the floor, lay coiled the mighty 
 " charm string ;" in one corner was a brass caldron 
 and on the walls hung charms and amulets and 
 branches of withered herbs. 
 
 She had a sense of the surroundings appropriate to 
 her calling and had enhanced her reputation, not a 
 little, by these stage properties. 
 
 On a shelf in the other corner was a large folio, 
 bound in boards, with its heavy covers secured by 
 brass clasps, into which none ever looked but herself. 
 This was her "Wonder Book," over 300 years old, 
 written by a great Magician who was her ancestor, 
 many generations back. And those who had caught 
 a glimpse of it in the old beldame's hands declared 
 that it was written in great black letters of a strange 
 character, and the first letter of the pages in blood. 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 87 
 
 On the way over, Henry had been pondering how 
 he should open his conversation, and here he was 
 face to face with her and without any idea of how he 
 was to explain the object of his visit. 
 
 "Is this Dame Fisher?" he asked with some em- 
 barrassment. 
 
 "Aye, so they call me. What do you want?" 
 asked the old beldame, eyeing him suspiciously. 
 
 " I was passing this way and had heard of you 
 often, my good Dame, and I felt as if I would like 
 to know you," he answered. 
 
 "I am not used to be called 'good Dame;' and I 
 have no time to waste on them that comes to gape 
 at me, with no good reason for it " answered the old 
 woman, looking keenly at him. 
 
 Dinsmore smiled, as he replied to this thrust; 
 
 "There are not many women like you, Dame 
 Fisher; and I wanted to be able to say that I knew 
 you, and also ask you to tell me something about 
 yourself. I like to know the story of those who are 
 my neighbors; and I feel an interest in every one of 
 them." 
 
 " And be there so little business for such as you, 
 that you have time on your hands to gossip about 
 every old woman that lives within five miles of your 
 meetin'-house " said the old woman; and her keen 
 look said, as plainly as words, " You have not fooled 
 the old witch-woman with a suit of shabby clothes." 
 
 Dinsmore laughed outright. 
 
 " Then you know me, Dame Fisher, as well as I 
 know you. Ah! well, there is no use trying to out- 
 wit you, I see that, so I may as well talk to you about 
 
88 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 your parish and ask you what I can do, with your 
 help, for the good of your people." 
 
 This tribute thawed the heart of the old dame a 
 trifle, and she was less inclined to stand on guard 
 against this cheery, young fellow who seated himself 
 down so comfortably and seemed inclined to recog- 
 nize her as the leader of this community. 
 
 "You have plenty to do, without bindin' your 
 hands with such thriftless folk as ours. We do well 
 enough as we are; if other folks mind their busi- 
 ness." 
 
 "Ah! well, I don't want to meddle with your 
 people, Dame Fisher; but there are a host of little 
 children about here. They can't all be bred to the 
 scooper's trade; some of them must go out into the 
 world and look for work, and they will stand but a 
 poor chance if they can't read or write. You have 
 got some grand-children here yourself, haven't you?" 
 
 "Yes I have that, five little ones that would stand 
 but a poor show for their bread and butter, with my 
 Barbara's drunken husband, if I didn't help them, 
 out of my own purse. Yes, yes the children must 
 live, and after us, what are they to do? That's what 
 I often ask Barbara, what will you do when I'm 
 dead and gone?" 
 
 " Then let me try, with a Sunday School, over at 
 farmer Brown's, with his daughter Fanny for teacher, 
 and let the children learn to read and write," said 
 Dinsmore. 
 
 " There ain't much use of it, as I can see " answered 
 the old woman, drearily. "They ain't got no 
 clothes; and you can't get farmer Brown to be 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH, 89 
 
 havin' scooper's brats — that's what they calls 'em — 
 hangin* round his place." 
 
 "That's my look-out," said Dinsmore, "If you 
 say that the children may be taught, I will see to it 
 that they get taught. Won't you show me your 
 charm-string, Dame Fisher, I have heard so much 
 about it that I want you to tell me how it is made." 
 
 The old woman took him into the hut and was 
 soon in the midst of a voluble tale of the wonders of 
 the charm-string, and when and how each token was 
 gotten and added to the treasure. She let the young 
 minister gaze on the covers of the "Wonder-Book" 
 also, but denied him even the most transient peep 
 between the lids. As Henry was about to leave, 
 after inspecting the wonders of the cabin and listen- 
 ing to Barbara descant upon them, he renewed the 
 subject of the school. 
 
 " I am going to see Fanny Brown " he said " and, 
 on Sunday afternoon, I will bring some picture books 
 and readers, and will come over here to gather some 
 of the children for a school in farmer Brown's barn, 
 and your four grand-children will surely come, and 
 such others as you can persuade to come with them." 
 
 " I'll see what I can do " she answered. Then, as 
 Dinsmore slipped a quarter into her hand to buy some 
 sugar and tea, she said " I can't take your money, 
 without telling your fortune." 
 
 "And I can't let you tell my fortune; for, you 
 know, we ministers believe that God not only made 
 but takes care of us all, and that He only can know 
 what will happen to us." 
 
 "Oh! yes, I know all about that preacher's talk; 
 
9° A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 but I took you for a sensible young man, and a kind- 
 hearted one too," she said. 
 
 "Oh! well, Dame Fisher, may be you will think 
 better of me, when the children begin to learn, in the 
 Sunday School," said Dinsmore, laughing kindly. 
 
 "I don't know about that," said the old woman; 
 "but I can't take this quarter, without telling a for- 
 tune for it; for its unlucky to have dead money," 
 and the old woman eyed the shining silver, as it lay 
 in her open hand, with a pathetic look of regret. 
 And then without further parley, she continued, " I 
 was sittin' in the centre of my charm-string, last 
 evening, for I felt in my bones the kind of ache I 
 always have when a stranger is comin' ; and I fell 
 asleep and dreamed, that there I was a sittin' at my 
 door and a young man came and wanted to see me 
 and wanted to know about something strange and 
 new, and he didn't ask his fortune and so it came to 
 me, all the quicker. He had a long, long life-line 
 in his palm, and very soon across his life line there 
 was a love-line, very deep and strong. And I dreamed 
 of two crows and that means black will mate with 
 black and I dreamed of a robin and a wren and that 
 means that the tall will marry the small, and the one 
 who laughs little will marry the one who laughs 
 plenty for both; and he is tired already of a lonely 
 life, and he wants some one to talk to, and some one 
 to share his troubles, and some one to make him 
 merry, and she is near at hand, and is waitin' until 
 he tells her what he wants, and then she'll want to 
 do as he wishes." Henry grew confused, under the 
 old witch-wife's keen eye, as she drew a picture, for 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 91 
 
 which he could supply the living counterpart and 
 wondered how in her isolated life, she came to know 
 so much, or whether after all it were only a shrewd 
 guess. At all events he did not dare try to find out 
 and stood before her like a child in the dark, afraid 
 to move hand or foot, for fear, as the children put 
 it, something would catch him. " It was a pretty 
 dream, and though I am an old, lone witch-woman, 
 it made me remember the time when I was young, 
 and my dim eyes could laugh, as well as my lips, 
 and they were waitin' for some one to make them 
 dance. The pretty girl, I saw in my dream, was a 
 kind young lady too, and was good to the poor, and 
 would be a help to a man, and make him feel kind 
 to the poor and sick. She stood at the door and 
 smiled on the lad as he went down the steps of her 
 father's house; and he looked back, when he got to 
 the bottom of the steps, and she smiled again; and 
 the young lad smiled all the way down the gravel 
 path; and my 'Wonder Book' says the first smile 
 that a maiden gives puts a wedge in the centre of a 
 young man's heart, and the second smile that a 
 maiden gives fastens the wedge in its place; but the 
 third smile is right in his eyes and drives the wedge 
 home and splits his heart in two." Dinsmore'sface 
 grew red, as the old woman sketched, with all too true 
 an outline for his comfort, his parting with Mary Low- 
 ther, but three days ago, as he left the Judge's house. 
 
 "But there is no truth in dreams, Dame Fisher," 
 he said. 
 
 " And yet the preacher's tell us about Pharaoh's 
 dreams" answered the old woman. 
 
92 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 " Well some dreams come true because God wished, 
 by them, to tell men something that they needed to 
 know and they would believe it if it came to them by 
 dreams, sooner than in any other way," he replied. 
 
 " And so do I believe most in what comes to me 
 by dreams; and my dream will come true, and when 
 it does come true, then Barbara Fisher will earn an- 
 other silver piece" said the old woman, with a sly 
 twinkle in her eye. 
 
 " My dream, Dame Fisher, is of a tidy group of 
 little ones, that are left uncared for now, gathered in 
 a school, and learning to be good men and women. 
 You will help me to see that my dream comes true," 
 said Dinsmore. 
 
 "I will help you " said the old woman "but my 
 dream needs no help from any one; it comes true of 
 itself." 
 
 Dinsmore let her have the last word, a satisfaction 
 which is said to be an inexorable demand of her sex, 
 and in this case he did not feel inclined to dispute it. 
 He went his way, in the autumn afternoon, with the 
 dreamy air floating around him, and he was not ten 
 paces from the old woman's door, before his thoughts 
 were astray from the Sunday School in farmer 
 Brown's barn, and the judge's front door was in his 
 mind's eye, as clear as an actual vision, and Mary 
 Lowther's dancing eye led him on and Mary Low- 
 ther's catching laughter rang in his ears, and — ah! 
 well it is a waste of words to go on telling how, step 
 by step, he trod the "primrose path. " It will suffice 
 to 6ay that he was near half a mile beyond farmer 
 Brown's gate, before he remembered that his mission 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 93 
 
 to Dame Fisher had been, not to have his fortune 
 told, but to organize a Sunday School for the for- 
 saken children of thescooper's dell. Shame-facedly 
 he retraced his steps, castigating himself with the 
 lash of conscience as faithfully as ever did anchorite 
 with the thongs, when he had been lured away from 
 his devotions by thoughts that would intrude like 
 uninvited guests. 
 
 But the lash did not preclude a smile or two, as he 
 retraced that penitential half mile. 
 
 Arrived at farmer Browns he gave them an ac- 
 count of his visit to old Barbara; and it was as the 
 old " witch-woman " said, the thrifty farmer was 
 averse to having the " scooper cubs git the run o' his 
 place." But by dint of persuasion Dinsmore won 
 his permission to turn the big barn into a Sunday 
 School room, and imparted to Fanny Brown some of 
 his hopeful enthusiasm as to the result. And she un- 
 dertook the task which he proposed for her, and 
 suggested that they ask Mary Lowther to come 
 down and lead the singing and tell the children some 
 stories. " You know Mary has taught the infant 
 class, and she's just splendid at tellin' Bible stories. 
 I know that our children'll walk all the way to the 
 village, any day, just to be in Mary's class." 
 
 "I don't know about asking Miss Lowther, if she 
 has the infant class" said Dinsmore, who was not yet 
 healed of the smart that old Barbara had inflicted, and 
 thought that the old witch-woman would see visions 
 and dream dreams of a more pointed character still, 
 if, with her hawk-eyes, she saw him coming with Mary 
 Lowther, to farmer Brown's, next Sunday afternoon. 
 
94 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 " Oh ! Law " said Fanny " you needn't be afraid to 
 ask her; she'll come. She loves to work; and don't 
 mind a walk either; and she has her pony and phae- 
 ton, if she wants to ride. And I heard her say, when 
 you first come, that she'd be bound if she didn't do 
 all she knew how to help the new minister along. 
 So you can just depend on her the same's if you had 
 already asked her." 
 
 Dinsmore accepted Mrs. Brown's invitation to stay 
 and "take a sup with them," and, after supper, the 
 young pastor was asked to lead family prayers for 
 them, and declining farmer Brown's invitation to 
 drive him home, thinking that he would rather be 
 alone on the way, to think over his Sunday School 
 plans, betook himself home, in the autumn moon- 
 light. The Sunday School plans were soon settled 
 to his satisfaction. These naturally led him to think 
 of Mary Lowther and her place in the proposed 
 scheme, and the thought of her naturally led him — 
 ah! well led him naturally and sweetly, through the 
 soft moonlight, all the way home. 
 
 Do not let us prejudge him as sentimental and an 
 easy prey to light fancies, he had been driven to 
 think of her; on every hand her name had been 
 spoken, or the picture of her had been drawn and set 
 before him, and the thought of her crept, softly and 
 sweetly, into his imagination, even as circumstances, 
 not of his seeking, were making them allies in every 
 good work. No we cannot blame him; we may pity 
 him if we choose; but he might not be grateful for 
 our pity. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ON the next evening, after prayer-meeting, Henry 
 asked Mary Lowther to aid them in their pro- 
 posed scheme for the improvement of the neglected 
 children of Scooper's Hollow. " I should certainly 
 be ashamed to say no after the talk that you gave 
 us, in prayer-meeting " she answered, with a merry, 
 little laugh. " Are you testing my faith by my 
 works?" 
 
 " Oh ! no " he replied with more confusion than the 
 occasion warranted. " I was talking over the plan 
 with Miss Fanny Brown and she suggested your 
 name." 
 
 " Well I will come, and very gladly too" said Mary. 
 
 Then Dinsmore felt that he ought to offer to pilot 
 her there, and yet he did not feel quite clear in his 
 mind as to the best way of doing so; and, while he 
 was fumbling for a convenient phrase, she said 
 brightly: "I suppose you will be there, Mr. Dins- 
 more, and, if you like to walk, I shall ask your es- 
 cort." 
 
 "Indeed I would much prefer it," answered Dins- 
 more, leaving the young lady to guess whether his 
 preference was for the walk, or for her company; 
 but so it is that we do not always say what we mean, 
 any more than we always mean what we say. 
 
 The prayer-meeting had been one of more than 
 95 
 
96 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 usual interest. Dinsmore was making an effort to 
 enlist some of the people in what he called the con- 
 ference quarter. He had arranged the prayer-meet- 
 ing on rather a novel plan. They occupied an hour, 
 from half past seven to half past eight. But the 
 prayer-meeting proper did not begin until a quarter 
 before eight. For the first quarter of an hour, he 
 was not in the desk, but walked round among the 
 pews shaking hands with one another and talking 
 aloud with them, asking them questions, principally 
 about the subject of the prayer-meeting, which he 
 always announced the week before and again at the 
 Sunday service. The subject for this evening was 
 "sweetness and light." The large number of his 
 hearers were a silent audience, which he trusted were 
 receptive of what he strove to teach them, but cer- 
 tainly were not able to impart anything of that which 
 they received. These, ordinarily, spoke in sepulchral 
 whispers, or sat altogether silent; but, by dint of 
 persistent effort, Dinsmore broke up this propensity 
 to whisper. To some he would appeal for sugges- 
 tions or questions which they would like him to take 
 up; and sometimes he gained apt and homely re- 
 sponses. 
 
 Mrs. Livingston always answered to the point and 
 Mary Lowther too was active among the younger 
 girls, some of whom only giggled when Dinsmore 
 addressed them. Deacon Shelton was all too apt to 
 fall into a lengthened homily, which sounded omi- 
 nously like an abstract of one of his father's sermons, 
 and it gave Dinsmore not a little trouble to curb the 
 loquacious Deacon. 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 97 
 
 But old Deacon Gilder could be relied on, always, 
 to speak pithily and to the point, albeit much in- 
 clined in his talk to ride his two hobbies, a crusade 
 against rum and tobacco; but never did he do this 
 in his prayers, which were real, earnest and direct, 
 as to a person with whom he was talking familiar- 
 ly, but reverently. He strove very faithfully with 
 the young pastor against the occasional segar with 
 which Dinsmore would quiet his nerves, after a hard 
 day's work, but, as yet, without avail; so the old 
 man pitied him and loved him, and trusted to the 
 persistency which he purposed to use in winning his 
 pastor to better ways. 
 
 Hugh McDonald the white-haired, rosy-cheeked 
 Scotchman was sure to have some quaint and homely 
 saying, to the point, and all the better put, for the 
 Scottish words that, here and there, cropped out in 
 his richly accented utterance. Sometimes their very 
 pithiness would provoke a smile, as when he prayed 
 " Oh Lord prevent us, that we do not learn to ape the 
 devil and strut aboot the warld as if we were some- 
 body." 
 
 Then too from Deacon Shrake there sometimes 
 came just as quaint bits of strange mental processes; 
 but not always so full of pith or wisdom, as when 
 the subject of family worship was under considera- 
 tion, the week before, Dinsmore was dismayed to hear 
 his sapient announcement" I believe there be warrant 
 o' scriptur' for holdin* that the chief sin of the five 
 foolish virgins was that they did not maintain family 
 worship." 
 
 But, with all these drawbacks, Henry felt that 
 
98 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 there was this compensation in his plan, that, after 
 some fashion or other, each, according to his ability, 
 was set to thinking upon the subject that was to be 
 presented to them. 
 
 On this evening he had asked Mrs. Livingston, as 
 he stood by her side, in the aisle 
 
 " What can you tell me about the sweetness that 
 comes from light, Mother Livingston." 
 
 "Well, I ain't no hand at talkin' in meetin' and 
 least of all tryin' to teach my minister; but I du 
 know that there is nothin' like light for keepin' milk- 
 pans sweet, and there is no use tryin' any other way 
 than settin' them in the sun. Stove heat won't do 
 it, so as you don't give 'em a sunnin' from time to 
 time — Mebbe folks get sour the same way." 
 
 " How is it about the butter, must that be made 
 in the light?" said Dinsmore, smiling, as others did, 
 at the homely wit of the old woman. 
 
 "Well no; on the contrary, you want to keep 
 sweet butter in the dark. But mebbe churnin is 
 more like afflictions, and when we're beat about then 
 we show whether there is any good in us or not." 
 
 " I guess that is pretty near the truth of it Mrs. 
 Livingston — The word that we use for trouble, tribu- 
 lations, comes from a Latin word tribulum, a thresh- 
 ing flail, and tells us that troubles thresh the chaff 
 from the wheat; and the same lesson is taught you 
 by the churn that brings the butter from the cream." 
 
 •■ Du tell?" was the old dame's only comment. 
 
 " I like to know these homely illustrations of the 
 truth. They make our every-day life preach to us 
 — And what have you to say, Mr. McDonald, that 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 99 
 
 will give me another homely figure for my talk on 
 light, to-night " said Dinsmore to " Auld Hughie, " as 
 they called the Scotch Deacon, whose twinkling eye, 
 as he listened to the talk between Mrs. Livingston 
 and Henry, assured the young pastor that the canny 
 Scot was wide awake on the subject. 
 
 "Aweel" answered McDonald, "I was grubbin' in 
 my cellar, one day, makin* ready and clean for the 
 roots to be put awa' for the winter, and I found a 
 wee bit potato, puir thing, that was left alone, sin 
 last spring; and it had made shift to sprout in the 
 darkness and had grown up atween the box and the 
 wall till it found the licht, at the window, and there 
 it lay down its head on the window sill wi' twa green 
 leaves on the top o' it, and a* the rest o' it was but 
 the wraith o' a potato stem, wi' ne'er a leaf alang it. 
 But it minded me o' the Lord's sayin' 'a bruised reed 
 hewinna brake;' and I took the puir thing out and 
 plantit it in the garden, and surely it turned green; 
 but it winna bear ony fruit. And isna that like mony 
 a puir sickly soul, Mister Dinsmore." 
 
 "Indeed you're right, Mr. McDonald; and that is 
 one thing that I want to put before you to-night;" 
 and, with that, Dinsmore turned to the desk and gave 
 out a hymn. 
 
 Mary Lowther played the melodeon and led the 
 singing in a way that put sweetness and light into 
 that part of the service. After a prayer by Deacon 
 Gilder, sweet and simple in its heart-felt recognition 
 of the mercy that had given us the power of seeing 
 and such a wealth of beauty to reward our sight, he 
 plead for those who could not see; and Miss Anna 
 
ioo A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 Smith, whose gentle face was pathetic in its sweet 
 content, when you knew that those soft eyes were 
 only turned toward you in courtesy, but knew neither 
 day nor night, sighed softly to herself as the tears 
 trickled through her lids. 
 
 Then Dinsmore talked to them, for fifteen minutes, 
 on the text " The light is sweet and a pleasant thing 
 it is to behold the sun" Eccl. n, 7. 
 
 " It is a fashionable phrase 'sweetness and light' 
 with which some have beguiled themselves into think- 
 ing that they have found a new philosophy or relig- 
 ion; but it is as old as the very beginning of the re- 
 ligion of the Bible, and the truth is to be sought, not 
 in the twilight of human reason, but from Him who 
 is light. Here is the true light, and it is for every 
 man that comes into the world. 
 
 " Its clear shining enlightens the whole nature, 
 giving light to the reason or understanding, and to 
 the conscience, and to the heart." 
 
 He then made use of some of the homely illustra- 
 tions that had been furnished him by his quarter- 
 hour talk; and closed by making the broad distinc- 
 tion between the philosopher's doctrine and the 
 doctrine of the Bible. 
 
 "With them the doctrine is that light and sweet- 
 ness shall be sought for its own sake and for the 
 benefit of those who seek it; but the urgent teaching 
 of the Bible is that we must seek it, in order to give 
 it away. It cannot be kept, any more than the sun 
 can keep from shining; to have light we must give 
 light." 
 
 Then he told them of his plan to reach the children 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. IOI 
 
 of the outcast Scoopers, and that, after he had got- 
 ten this plan in working order, he should need clothes 
 and books and some money with which to start the 
 school, and this, with what help he needed in the 
 way of teachers, was to be their share of the work. 
 
 After this, what answer could Mary Lowther make 
 to his request but a cheerful assent? 
 
 On the next sabbath afternoon, directly after din- 
 ner, Dinsmore called at the Judge's house and found 
 Mary ready for the walk. There was a fine touch 
 of womanly delicacy in the plain and simple dress 
 which Miss Lowther wore. Dinsmore recognized 
 the feeling that prompted her to this plainness of at- 
 tire and felt how fine and true her woman's instinct 
 was, when, even in such a trifle as this, she regarded 
 the feelings of those whom she sought to reach. He 
 could reason out the laws and grounds of Christian 
 conduct, and analyze the Christian character and the 
 motives that should govern conduct; but, after all, 
 there were lessons that he could learn, and, on every 
 hand, he was beginning to see that living truth was 
 to be sought in human hearts, and not in books. 
 
 They went out of the village and on, over the 
 hill, in the glorious autumn sunshine, and the en- 
 chanted ground and the princess, and all the fairy 
 tale seemed as though it were indeed come true. 
 
 But the way was not trod in the silent reflection 
 which had marked his lonely ride up through " the 
 Barrens." 
 
 He began to tell Mary Lowther something of his 
 inner history, his hopes, his fears, his dreams and 
 how, in some measure, he was realizing them, and 
 
102 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 as she listened entering into all his plans (for she 
 was a dear, good girl) there was borne in upon his 
 heart the emphatic teaching of old mother Living- 
 ston, that, " of all men, a minister needed someone 
 to talk to." 
 
 As they came up over "the hill, where the road 
 forks, and the one branch leads off over the hill to 
 Pleasant Pond and the other winds down through 
 Scooper's Hollow, past Hard-Scrabble (astheScoop- 
 er's hamlet was called), there, at the fork of the 
 road, was old Barbara Fisher with nine of the un- 
 kempt, ragged scooper brats. They looked thor- 
 oughly scared, and, like a pack of wild rabbits, ready 
 to take to the woods, at the slightest approach of 
 the strangers. Barbara, apparently, had been taxed 
 to the utmost in fetching them hither, and it seemed 
 very doubtful whether she had not reached the limit 
 of her influence to move them farther, by entreaty or 
 threats. They huddled close to her, it is true, like 
 a frightened covey of partridges, and as many as 
 could do so clutched tight hold of her scanty skirts, 
 and those who could not get hold of her, held fast to 
 those who had a grip of her garments, so that, if the 
 strain of a sudden fright had been put upon them, 
 her well-worn skirts would have been torn to shreds. 
 But while they clung to her, as their sole defence, it 
 might be another matter when she tried to deliver 
 them over bodily to the enemy. In such a crisis 
 Dinsmore and Mary might have to hunt their Sun- 
 day School through the copses of Scooper's Hollow. 
 
 Mary Lowther took in the situation at a glance, 
 and asked Dinsmore to walk on, up the hill road, to 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 103 
 
 farmer Browns, and " Remember Lot's wife " she 
 said "and do not look back." 
 
 She carried a satchel, slung over her shoulder with 
 a strap, and out of it, she drew a parcel of tea for 
 old Barbara, being careful to hold the bag so low 
 that the children could catch a glimpse of some cook- 
 ies, doughnuts and ginger-snaps within. 
 
 "I have brought you some tea, Aunt Barbara," 
 she said, smiling pleasantly on the children. " And 
 is this little Barbara, for whom I dressed the dolly, 
 when she was sick," and she patted the head of a lit- 
 tle flaxen-haired child, who had the blue-eyes of old 
 Barbara, which had descended to the second gener- 
 ation. " Thank you kindly, my pretty lady " said the 
 old woman. " Aye that is Barbara. Curtsey to the 
 lady, you ill-mannered hussy " she said, giving the 
 child a cuff, which produced a certain semblance of 
 obeisance. "Ah but they're an ill-mannered set of 
 young uns", she continued; "and they're no ways 
 worth your takin' all the trouble to come here to 
 teach 'em; for what they learn from the pretty lady, 
 on one day, they'll forget before she comes again. 
 But it'll bring you good luck, one way or another, 
 this tramping out, of a Sunday afternoon, to do a 
 good turn to the Scooper's children." 
 
 If Mary Lowther guessed the old woman's hid- 
 den meaning, she did not show it by any outward 
 sign; she probably had not the slightest inkling 
 of it. 
 
 All her thought and address were needed to secure 
 the leadership of this covey of wild game, and get 
 them into farmer Brown's big barn. She was glad 
 
104 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 that it was the barn and not the parlor, for before 
 the terrors of the horse-hair furniture and the splen- 
 dors of the gorgeous carpet they would have flown, 
 when their steps were on the sill. Into the barn she 
 might hope to lead them, perhaps some of them had 
 been there before, on a foraging tour for fresh eggs; 
 but this may be doing them injustice. 
 
 "We are going to have a kind of children's party 
 over in the barn " she said to Barbara, not looking 
 at the others. " I am going to tell you some stories, 
 and sing for you, and teach you to sing a little with 
 me, if you will. Then we will have a little feast with 
 these cookies and doughnuts," and she opened her 
 bag and showed them the tempting contents, and it 
 was evident that the appeal was not in vain. Little 
 Barbara lifted her eyes to Mary's, as she bent over 
 the child, took a long, searching look right into her 
 eyes; then, with childish decision, let go her grand- 
 mother's skirt and put her hand in that of the pretty, 
 young lady, who had dressed the doll for her when 
 she was sick. And Mary was repaid for that unre- 
 membered act of kindness done on an impulse of 
 compassion, when old Barbara begged at her father's 
 door, in the name of her sick grand-child. The 
 next time that the old woman came, the doll was 
 ready. The Judge had laughed at her for being so 
 easily " gulled by the old witch-woman's lies;" but, 
 all the same, he kissed his girl and blessed her for 
 her kind heart, if he did make merry over her too 
 easy credulity. Now it would be her turn to boast 
 over him, that she had felt the touch of reality in 
 the pathos of the old witch-woman's voice, when she 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 105 
 
 told the tale of her little grand-child's sickness, which 
 it turned out was true. 
 
 She turned to go, with little Barbara holding her 
 hand tightly; then, looking back, said to the rest of 
 the pack of urchins " Barbara and I will have a very 
 nice time together; but it will be ever so much nicer 
 to have all of you come along. Here's plenty for all. " 
 
 " Go long with you, you foolish brats " urged old 
 Barbara, flinging them from her. " Don't you know 
 when you've got a good thing?" 
 
 Thus urged, in both directions, the majority of the 
 children timidly followed Mary, who began to sing 
 to Barbara, as they went along, and then fell into 
 chat with her about the doll, asking, particularly 
 after her health and the state of each piece of her 
 small wardrobe. And as the others heard Barbara 
 begin to prattle vigorously, they drew nearer and 
 some ventured so far as to enter a contradiction to 
 the little girl's statements in regard to this doll, 
 which had been a famous character among the chil- 
 dren of the settlement, being the only whole doll that 
 had ever been known in Hard-scrabble, to say noth- 
 ing of the wonderful clothes in which it was arrayed. 
 As the spirit of contradiction drew one and another 
 into the controversy, or led them to mention scenes 
 and incidents connected with the doll and her ward- 
 robe which Barbara omitted, Mary took advantage 
 of this to learn the names of each new combatant 
 that entered the list, and, before they had reached 
 the barn, knew the names of more than half of her 
 covey; and little Barbara would have followed her 
 anywhere. 
 
106 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 As she went off leading the flock, like the famous 
 Pied Piper, Old Barbara watched her and muttered 
 "Aye, she has the beguilin' tongue o' them, when 
 they're young and pretty. But, bless her pretty 
 heart! she was kind to me when little Bab was sick. 
 She shall have all the good luck that I can help her 
 to; and she'll lose none of it by comin' over the hill 
 with that fine young lad, every Sunday afternoon, to 
 teach the Scooper's brats." 
 
 Arrived at the barn they found a very primitive 
 arrangement but, on that account, the most suitable 
 to ensure them success. There was a table, with the 
 pail of water and tumbler that seems to be an essen- 
 tial feature of every gathering in a country school- 
 house, whether secular or religious. Behind the 
 table were two wooden bent-back chairs and, on one 
 side, was Miss Fanny Brown's little portable melo- 
 deon. The seats had been lifted from two carry-alls 
 and set on the floor, and these, with some sheaves 
 of straw, formed the benches for the children. All 
 this had an easy, natural look that did not over-awe 
 the wild flock ; they eyed the melodeon askance but 
 it was not a formidable looking monster. Besides, 
 the barn doors were left open and escape was easy, 
 as none of the enemy were in the rear. 
 
 Overhead the sweet hay hung out from the mows 
 and the quiet, sedate farm-horses peered out from 
 their stalls at this unwonted invasion of their Sabbath 
 rest, and from the nearest stall, a soft-eyed cow 
 watched curiously the proceedings, dividing her at- 
 tention between the Sunday School programme and 
 a staggering calf that whisked about the stall in the 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 1 07 
 
 most uncomfortable way, now solemnly eyeing the 
 children, and then, making a frisky rush around the 
 heels of its mother, as though seized with an idea 
 sudden and imperative; and with every repetition of 
 the obstreperous conduct, the cow gave a deep low 
 of remonstrance or warning. All this interested the 
 children very much. They were akin to these dumb 
 creatures, and had a feeling of assurance in their 
 presence. 
 
 At the first notes of the melodeon the horses pricked 
 up their ears, the calf went frisking around the stall 
 with tail erect and an old hen, who had been laying 
 an egg in the mow, came fluttering down, with a tre- 
 mendous cackling, and ran out of the barn, while the 
 old cow came in with a fine lowing bass; all this 
 made the children laugh and set them entirely at ease. 
 
 Dinsmore told them the story of Joseph, and then 
 handed them over to Mary Lowther, who sang for 
 them a bright, lively tune, with a simple refrain. 
 This she tried to teach them, but there was not a 
 peep or mutter from any of them when it came to 
 their turn to join in the refrain, save only from little 
 Bab. She had given herself over to the pretty lady, 
 heart and soul, and so she set herself firmly on her 
 little square feet and shouted lustily, all out of tune, 
 but with plenty of pluck in her singing. 
 
 She was rewarded with Mary's hearty comment 
 " Well done, my brave Bab. The first cooky shall 
 be yours, for that;" and Bab was as proud as a 
 prima donna. 
 
 The cookies were distributed, and then Dinsmore 
 tried to teach them a text of scripture, and made a 
 
108 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 short prayer, a portion of the service which was 
 wholly unappreciated by these little ones. 
 
 "What's he adoin' Bab? He's shut his eyes, and 
 so hes the young ladies; let's cut, " whispered Bab's 
 next-door neighbor, appealing to her as an authority. 
 " You set still " answered Bab " she knows what she's 
 about. When they wakes up, they's goin' to give 
 us dough-nuts." 
 
 "Why don't he talk with his eyes open?" queried 
 another who had listened eagerly to this whispered 
 conference, and was a little overawed by the unusual 
 exhibition. 
 
 "I dunno " answered Bab "unless he's thinkin. 
 Granny mostly shets her eyes, when she thinks. 
 Mebbe he's askin' our fortunes." 
 
 But they were not left long to ponder; for Dins- 
 more's prayer was very short and simple. 
 
 "I wonder if he'll get what he wants," thought 
 Bab to herself, as she looked up into the hay, to see 
 whether there was any one hidden up there. 
 
 As Mary distributed the doughnuts Bab pulled her 
 down and whispered in her ear "who's up in the 
 mow?" 
 
 The question was so earnest and direct that Mary 
 turned, with a start, to see what the child meant. 
 
 "Why no one Bab, did you see any one?" she 
 said. 
 
 " No maam " answered Bab " but he was talkin' to 
 the mow." 
 
 " What do you mean child ? Who was talking to 
 the mow ?" asked Mary, utterly at a loss. 
 
 "Why him, your young man, when he shut his 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 109 
 
 eyes," answered Bab, pointing to Dinsmore. Mary 
 flushed slightly, as she answered " I will get him to 
 tell you about it." 
 
 " Mr. Dinsmore," she said, as she came back from 
 her round "the children do not understand, what you 
 were doing when you prayed. Bab asked me who 
 you were talking to in the hay-mow, when you shut 
 your eyes." 
 
 So the exercises in the barn were concluded with 
 what Dinsmore felt to be, one of the hardest tasks 
 which he was ever set to do, to explain to these chil- 
 dren what was the nature and ground of our belief in 
 prayer. 
 
 But there was this comfort and pleasure in it, he 
 was answering an enquiry, they were interested in 
 hearing the answer, he was telling them truths which 
 they had never heard before. There was something 
 very inspiriting in all this, it was sowing in virgin 
 soil. They listened with keen attention, with won- 
 der and the simple faith that has never heard the 
 mooting of a doubt. Then when they had sung, or 
 rather Mary had sung to them, another hymn, she 
 said, 
 
 "Now you can go children; but next Sunday after- 
 noon we want you to come here; and we will have 
 some pretty picture books and begin to teach you to 
 read. Good bye now, until next Sunday afternoon; 
 and then bring some more of your playmates with 
 you." 
 
 At first it seemed as though it would be no less 
 hard to get rid of them than it was to persuade them 
 to come. They lingered in their seats apparently 
 
no A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 afraid to move, and then, as if moved by one sudden 
 impulse they jumped out of their seats, and made a 
 wild rush for the door and out into the field and 
 down the road; all except little Bab. She stood her 
 ground bravely, standing alone in the middle of the 
 barn floor, with her flushed face and a scared look 
 in her blue eyes wide and wild; irresolute she looked 
 for a moment toward the door where her companions 
 were gone, and then turned and ran to Mary and 
 hid her face in the folds of her dress. 
 
 " Must I go away now ? Can't I walk down to the 
 forks, hold of your hand " she pleaded, plaintively. 
 
 " Why surely you can, Bab, and right glad I will 
 be to have you; and, every Sunday I shall expect you 
 to meet me there and we will walk up here holding 
 hands, and down again holding hands; and we shall 
 be great friends." 
 
 "I will," said Bab; and there was no doubt about 
 it, after that. 
 
 As Dinsmore and Mary went home, after parting 
 with Bab, and talked over the opening of theScooper 
 Sunday School, they were very well content with 
 the first afternoon's work. They had secured the 
 confidence, and in some degree, the interest of the 
 children; and they both felt that they had one 
 stout missionary in the person of the doughty, little 
 Bab. 
 
 "Isn't she a brave little lass?" said Mary, who 
 was won by Bab, quite as thoroughly as Bab had 
 been won to her. " My heart always warms to a 
 trusting child. Of all the winsome ways of child- 
 hood none touches me more to the quick than that 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. Ill 
 
 open, hearty confidence. It makes us friends at 
 once." 
 
 "Yes," said Dinsmore, crediting, in his mind, as 
 much to the winsome ways of Mary as to those of 
 the child. "Yes, they win us quickly and firmly. 
 And, as I think of our afternoon's work, the beauti- 
 ful phrase of the prophet comes to me, 'A little child 
 shall lead them. ' This will be true perhaps, of this 
 outcast band, these Ishmaelites that none can be- 
 friend; I have felt that it was hopeless; I could not 
 go among them and do anything but excite their sus- 
 picion, and what I could not do, and you could not 
 do, perhaps, that little child is going to do. And so 
 I not only love such a child and feel drawn to her, 
 but I have a reverence for a child, as a sort of priest 
 of God; in its simplicity, owning a power which 
 we, with riper years have lost, to appeal directly 
 to the higher side of human nature and enlist in 
 behalf of better things, hearts that are sodden to 
 every other influence. 
 
 "That child can win the other children of the ham- 
 let, and, more than this, the fathers and mothers to 
 think better of us and our scheme than we could do, 
 by the most earnest argument with them. They 
 will believe her and trust her statement that we mean 
 them well, when they would put a sinister interpre- 
 tation on anything we might say. It was a grand 
 missionary work when you secured Bab, and through 
 Bab, old Barbara." 
 
 Then Mary remembered the unconsidered trifle 
 which won the victory, of which Dinsmore knew 
 nothing, and she thought what a mighty truth lay in 
 
112 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 the Apostle's words " do good unto all men as we 
 have opportunity." How small the opportunity, 
 which she had embraced ; how wide-reaching its con- 
 sequences had been. It seemed as if that doll were 
 to be an important factor in the evangelizing of 
 Scooper's Hollow. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE following week Dinsmore was called outside 
 the bounds of his hillside parish, to the Fall 
 meeting of Presbytery at Tonanda. 
 
 Dr. Bainbridge's elder brought his six-seated 
 mountain wagon and picked up Dinsmore on the way, 
 and to their party were added Henry Wurtz, pastor 
 of Plainville, whose predominating quality was con- 
 scientiousness, and Nathan Wood the Dominie of 
 Weymouth, who had perhaps a less imperative con- 
 science and a large capacity for humor, and, later 
 on, they picked up Father Search, as he was called, 
 who, having no fixed parish, made the whole country 
 his parish and worked here and there, as opportunity 
 offered, in season and out of season. He was an 
 ardent temperance lecturer, and had spoken to 
 enormous audiences all over the country, and, in the 
 course of a period of labor, extensive both as to time 
 and place, had met with many singular and some 
 very stirring experiences. He was a fine raconteur, 
 with that genuine gift at story-telling that does not 
 suffer the tale to flag for want of the proper touches 
 to round it off. He was therefore a good companion 
 for a long drive. Very small of stature, with a long, 
 white beard, an incisive eye and mode of speech, he 
 held his hearers, as did the Ancient Mariner. He 
 8 113 
 
H4 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 had but just returned from a tour in the lower coun- 
 ties, and was full of these his last, but by no means 
 least, stirring experiences. 
 
 While laboring in White County he had heard of a 
 lumbering village called Buck's Nest where the rough 
 and ready men of the woods, who drank whiskey like 
 milk, had expressed a wish to see " the little, white- 
 bearded scoundrel who was goin' round the country 
 black-guardin' a man for takin' his sup." This was 
 the invitation that sounded sweetest in his ears, for 
 he was sure of speaking to the purpose, under such 
 conditions. 
 
 He was full of his experiences, and Dr. Bainbridge 
 took occasion, at once, to draw his fire. 
 
 " How did you fare in your crusade at Buck's- 
 Nest, Father Search?" he asked, as soon as the little 
 man was fairly seated. 
 
 He stroked his long white beard, his keen eyes 
 glistened, and there was a smile playing under his 
 white mustache that assured those who knew the 
 symptoms that they were to be treated to something 
 racy. 
 
 "Well, Brother Bainbridge," began the little man, 
 eyeing the Doctor keenly, " I don't know how you 
 will measure the success, for your lines have fallen 
 in such pleasant places, and you have such a span 
 of horses, and an elegant fur-trimmed coat, and Brus- 
 sels carpets on your floors, and a silk-dressed con- 
 gregation, that perhaps you may not think such an 
 experience of much account, for I converted nothing 
 but poor, rough lumber-men; yet I regard it as one 
 of the triumphs of my life." 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 1 15 
 
 The Doctor smiled ; he was used to these excur- 
 sions of Father Search's; and they did not wound 
 him. 
 
 " I suppose they have the same immortal souls, 
 the same sins, sorrows, temptations, under their home- 
 spun, that are to be found in the hearts of my silk- 
 clad people, " he answered. " If there is any difference 
 you have discovered it, not I, Father Search." 
 
 The little man glared at him for a moment, and 
 resumed " I have not; and I am glad to hear you set 
 yourself right on the question, Brother Bainbridge. " 
 To which the Doctor's only answer was a smile; and 
 the little man went on — " Well, when I heard how 
 badly they wanted to see me, I regarded that as a 
 distinct call of God to give them the chance, and 
 down I went, without further notice. It was the 
 night that a public meeting was called in the school- 
 house to take means to prevent Father Search from 
 speaking in that settlement. The room was packed 
 and there was a pretty strong current of feeling, and 
 it was all one way. It is not often in a man's life 
 that he has an opportunity of listening to such a 
 hearty and unanimous opinion of himself as I heard 
 that night. But there was no one there that could 
 make a speech to the crowd, and, after two or three 
 had gotten up, and cursed me in pretty tame sort of 
 speech, there was nothing more to be had in the way 
 of a speech to keep the pot boiling. So I called out 
 'Boys give me a chance and I'll give you a talk on 
 Search, I know him, like a book, and I'll tell you all 
 about him. ' The cry was raised 'give the little sucker 
 a chance' — 'Hand him over ' shouted a tall fellow in 
 
n6 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 front, and, the aisles being jammed, they picked me 
 up bodily and passed me along from one to the other, 
 and the last man set me on the desk ; then there was 
 a cheer and cries of 'Go it little un' ! ' 'Light onto 
 him,' 'Give him rats.' When the noise lulled a bit, 
 I began. You want me to tell you about Thomas 
 F. Search, boys. I will begin by saying that I 
 have an opinion of that man so mean, so small, so 
 contemptible that I don't regard him as worth five 
 minutes talk. Here came shouts of 'Go on' — 
 'Drive ahead.' Well, if you want to hear about 
 him, here goes. You may know a man best by the 
 business he goes into. It takes a fine pattern of 
 a man to be a lumber-man. He must know how 
 to swing the axe with a sturdy blow, to make the 
 chips fly clean and clear, to leave a smooth and even 
 cut on the lumber he fells. He must be able and 
 willing to live a rough life and not growl at the hard 
 fare that he has to eat. He must be a clear-headed, 
 sure-footed, brave-hearted man to drive logs, to go 
 out on a jam and know where to cut and when to 
 stand his ground. He must have all his wits about 
 him. It takes a fine pattern of a man to be a lum- 
 berman. Then they cheered me finely. But what 
 about this Search. He is not to be named in the 
 same breath with such a man. What is his business ? 
 Running round the country, sticking his nose in other 
 people's business, telling these splendid fellows that 
 they must not have their dram of whiskey to com- 
 fort them on a cold day, to cheer them up when they 
 are tired, to make them sociable when a few of them 
 are gathered for a little frolic. What do you say to 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 117 
 
 such a man as that? I leave you to imagine the 
 howls of derision and the curses, which were their 
 answer to this. 
 
 " And what in the world, my friends, can this man 
 mean by making himself this kind of a public nui- 
 sance ? I suppose he must have some reason for it. 
 Perhaps he has heard a story of some brave fellow, 
 clear of head and strong of limb, going out on one 
 of the lumber jams to break it up and, though he had 
 been for many a long day the leader of the gang that 
 drove the logs, yet this time he was lost, and the 
 story ran that the reason was that he had taken a 
 drop too much. (You see this happened only two 
 weeks ago.) Then I went on and pictured the 
 widow and five little children left penniless, to mourn 
 that the husband and father, the bread-winner was 
 gone, only because he had taken that drop too 
 much. I tell you, brethren, there was scarcely a 
 dry eye in that room, and those who were not weep- 
 ing looked as scared as if a thunder-bolt had struck 
 the school-house. Then I went on 'Well, if old 
 Search hears such stories and believes that they're 
 true, no wonder he carries on so ; but we know bet- 
 ter. ' 'It is true, every cruel word of it is true ' wailed 
 a woman from the farther end of the room. I tell 
 you, Brethren, that woman's voice made my blood 
 run cold. 
 
 " Is that true? I asked of a great, stalwart fellow 
 in front, who had been loudest in cursing me. 'Yes, 
 stranger' he said solemnly, 'that's gospel truth. ' Well 
 I heard it and I came down hereto find out all about 
 it, and I have a subscription that I have been collect- 
 
Il8 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 ing for his widow; and I'm Father Search; now what 
 are you going to do about it? 
 
 "God bless you! said a dozen or more voices, 
 and, Brethren, before I left the school-house, every 
 man there had signed the pledge, and that settlement 
 is a temperance town to-day " and the little man's 
 eyes gleamed as he said it. 
 
 "Well, my brother" said Dr. Bainbridge, "I con- 
 gratulate you. That is more than I can do with my 
 people clad in silks and satins." 
 
 As they rode on, up the banks of the winding river, 
 now slowly climbing a hill that overlooked fertile 
 flatlands and again passing through groves of oak 
 and chestnut they came to a field where three fine 
 chestnut trees had been left standing, and their 
 spreading branches bending down low were laden 
 from top to bottom with the open burrs full of the 
 merry brown nuts. One of the party (which one was, 
 ever after, matter of dispute) suggested that they 
 should call a halt, fill their pockets with the abundant 
 fruit and provide a perpetual feast for the rest of the 
 drive. No sooner said than done; and soon sticks 
 and stones were flying and the showers of nuts were 
 falling. 
 
 But good Henry Wurtz, alone of all the party, lin- 
 gered on the outside of the fence. With firm but 
 gentle remonstrance he recalled his erring brethren, 
 and bid them remember that the fruit was not theirs 
 to gather. But, when, at some more effective cast 
 of a club, there fell a golden shower of nuts, then he 
 broke the restraints of conscience, bounded over the 
 fence, and soon had his pockets as full as any of the 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 1 19 
 
 others. But scarce had the good brother been fairly 
 trapped into the felonious business, when a shout 
 came from the far-away farm house down the hillside, 
 and up came the angry farmer. 
 
 " What are ye doin', stealin' my nuts ?" he shouted 
 as he hurried on toward the group. 
 
 " There !" said the good brother, dolorously, " what 
 did I tell you brethren? This is nothing less than 
 robbery." 
 
 " My good man," said Dr. Bainbridge, " we did not 
 mean to trespass on your rights. There was such an 
 abundance of chestnut trees all along the road, that 
 we thought they could not be gathered and that to fill 
 our pockets from this one was no harm; but we will 
 cheerfully hand you over all that we have gathered, 
 and apologize for the trespass on your land." 
 
 "Well, who be ye, anyway? I can't quite make 
 you out" said the farmer, mollified by the Doctor's 
 quiet tone. 
 
 " We are Presbyterian Ministers on the way to Pres- 
 bytery meeting " said the Doctor quizzically ; while 
 poor Henry Wurtz groaned inly, at the thought of 
 how his cloth was degraded, and fingered a tract in 
 his pocket; but was ashamed to hand it to the farmer 
 under such circumstances. 
 
 "Well, it is as you say," said the farmer. "We 
 don't gather one half o' the chestnuts on the place 
 and you're heartily welcome to all you've got, and 
 there's no harm done at all. I only felt like makin' 
 a fuss because I had given these three trees to my 
 little gal, becus they was easy to git at; and she hes 
 the money fur her own, that she kin make by sellin' 
 
120 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 of the nuts. That was all; but 'tain'tno count; for 
 the boys kin go to the woods and make it up to her; 
 and I'm sure you're welcome to all you kin get." 
 He would not listen to their proposal to disgorge the 
 nuts, nor take any payment. But Dinsmore went 
 round to each one and collected a quarter and put- 
 ting them in a hollow of the tree, laid a stone over 
 the hole and told the farmer to tell his little girl to 
 look there for a part of her crop of chestnuts. The 
 farmer urged them to come back to the house and 
 wait for dinner, but this they could not do; and so 
 they parted, with mutual good will, and the minis- 
 ters were merry over their adventure; all save the 
 good brother Henry. His conscience forbade him 
 to enjoy the nuts, which the rest ate with relish, nor 
 were his pangs of conscience appeased by Dr. Bain- 
 bridge and Dinsmore, who twitted him over the affair. 
 
 " We went into it with clear consciences albeit they 
 may have been blinded by our desire " said the Doc- 
 tor; "but you let your desires get the better of your 
 awakened convictions." 
 
 " And I made full amends, by the payment of ten- 
 fold the value of the nuts that we had taken," said 
 Dinsmore. 
 
 "Ah! brethren you may make light of it; but we 
 have sinned in this matter, all of us; and I have 
 grace given me to see and repent of it," said Henry 
 Wurtz, dolefully; seeming to derive small comfort 
 from his repentance, while the others were very jolly 
 sinners indeed. And so they journeyed on, cracking 
 the nuts and their jokes. 
 
 At the Presbytery meeting, beside the routine of 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 121 
 
 business, there was a very warm and earnest debate 
 on the appropriation from the Home Missionary fund 
 toward the salary of Father Whiton, whose ministry 
 of many years to the outlying village of Smugtown 
 had produced no result other than to gather a dozen 
 or more sleepy auditors. There was no life in the 
 place, nor was there ever likely to be, and the main- 
 tenance of a church organization there seemed a 
 fruitless waste of money that might be used to es- 
 tablish, in some growing Western town, a church 
 that would be living and would become self sustain- 
 ing. This was the view that Dinsmore took, as a 
 member of the Committee, and on him devolved the 
 duty to make the motion that Smugtown should cease 
 to be as a church and be annexed to Father Whiton's 
 charge as a preaching station, leaving the people to 
 remunerate the preacher according to their estimate 
 of his ability and appreciation of his services. 
 
 But the old man was inclined to do battle for" the 
 bruised reed" as he called this feeble parish; and 
 pleaded that his necessities were such that he needed 
 this supplement to his salary. 
 
 Now Father Whiton's wife was reported to be well 
 to the fore in the matter of this world's goods. The 
 old man was tall and florid, with scant locks that 
 were snow-white, and of very deliberate speech, in a 
 low monotone, and had a curious fashion of cocking 
 his head on one side, closing his left eye, and hardly 
 opening his lips as he murmured his speech. 
 
 His feeble, deliberate mode of speaking was irri- 
 tating in the extreme to the nervous, little temper- 
 ance lecturer, who was alive in every fibre; and it 
 
122 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 was a call to battle for Father Search whenever his 
 fellow patriarch of the Presbytery rose to his feet. 
 When therefore the old man pleaded slowly and 
 faintly for his perishing little flock in tones that 
 seemed to reflect their dying condition, his traditional 
 foe grew restless, and watched for the point of attack. 
 
 " I leave the question therefore with you, my breth- 
 ren," said Father Whiton; "believing that you will 
 recognize the spiritual need of the church and that 
 you will not altogether ignore my own temporal ne- 
 cessities. " 
 
 " Did I understand the brother to refer to his own 
 necessities, with that new carriage-robe that covered 
 his lap, that glistening new buggy in which he rode, 
 and that high-stepping nag that brought him over to 
 Presbytery," said the keen, little Father Search. 
 " If necessities was the word that he used, I think it 
 about time that he shall give us his definition of the 
 term." 
 
 " These trifles which the brother refers to are the 
 property of my wife; but, brethren, she has her 
 limits, and, when these are reached, I have thought 
 it prudent to refrain from urging little matters of 
 daily necessity upon her attention," he said it slowly, 
 and with a pathetic spreading out of the palms, and 
 Dinsmore was touched at his helpless position. He 
 knew what merciless raillery from Father Search such 
 a situation would invite, and he wanted to shield the 
 old man. "We'll endeavor to lose the old lady's 
 grip on the purse-string" Father Search muttered; 
 but before he could uncross his legs, Dinsmore was 
 on his feet, and, having the floor, moved that this 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 1 23 
 
 question be referred with power to the Committee on 
 Home Missions, having in his mind a plan to soften 
 the blow to the old minister. Father Search made 
 an effort to debate the question, but Dinsmore held 
 him firmly to the point and carried his motion, with 
 one dissenting vote. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 ' ' T HEAR that the summer boarders hev' begun to 
 
 1 come to the hotel," said Mother Livingston, as 
 Dinsmore sat on her porch, one fine evening. 
 
 "Yes! there is a young fellow here who, I am 
 afraid, is far gone in consumption; his cough is not 
 so bad, but he is wasted, and his hands have that 
 transparency that seems to me a very bad sign." 
 
 Then there was a pause. 
 
 "I didn't know anything about the young man," 
 resumed Mrs. Livingston, " but on Sunday I saw a 
 bunnit in the congregation that I know'd wa'n'tmade 
 outside of the city; and Wednesday evenin' after 
 prayer-meetin', where I couldn't get because my 
 rheumatiz' was so bad, Adaline Morse, the milliner, 
 dropped in, and I asked her ' whose was that bunnit;' 
 and she said she seen it at prayer meetin', and kept 
 her eye on it as it went out, and sort a-lingered along 
 and saw that she was a summer boarder at the 
 hotel." 
 
 The old lady did not add that the wearer of the 
 bonnet had waited for Dinsmore to escort her from 
 the prayer-meeting; nor did he volunteer the unnec- 
 essary information. 
 
 "Oh! that was Mrs. Keene," he said. Again there 
 was a pause. 
 
 124 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 125 
 
 "Is she goin' to spend some time here?" queried 
 the old lady. 
 
 "I believe so," was the laconic reply. 
 
 "Any of her folks with her?" persisted Mrs. Liv- 
 ingston. 
 
 "No one, but herself," his answers were so brief 
 that, but for the tone of his voice, they would have 
 been curt. 
 
 " Is she a married woman, or single?" asked Mrs. 
 Livingston. 
 
 "She is married or has been, at least;" he stum- 
 bled over this sentence. 
 
 "She's a widow, then, I suppose," said his tor- 
 mentor, for by this time she seemed so. 
 
 "Well, no. That is I don't exactly know, but I 
 believe she is not living with her husband." 
 
 "Humph!" was Mrs. Livingston's reply to this, 
 which incited Henry to further explanation. 
 
 "She seems to be a very lovely woman, and has 
 shown a great interest in my work here, and I am sure 
 whatever her history is, that she is not to blame; for 
 a husband who could be untrue or unkind to such a 
 woman must be a brute." He paused; here he was, 
 after only a week's acquaintance, acting as champion 
 and defender of this charming divorcee. 
 
 To this warm defence, Mother Livingston's re- 
 joinder was " Of course there is generally more fault 
 on one side than on the other, sometimes it's wholly 
 on one side; but more times it's about equal. Is 
 she goin' to work in the church, while she's with us?" 
 
 " I do not know " answered Henry. " I presume 
 that she will " he added, though it seemed rather in- 
 
126 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 congruous the idea of this brilliant, witty, well-read, 
 fascinating woman teaching in the Sunday School, 
 or indeed doing any other work than that which she 
 was now doing so well, namely encouraging and en- 
 tertaining the pastor by her bright talk about books 
 and society, both American and foreign, giving him 
 a rest from the routine work of his country parish. 
 
 " Well ! as she is going to be one of us while she's 
 here, I think I'll make it my business to call on her," 
 said the old lady. 
 
 As he walked homeward Dinsmore pondered upon 
 the outcome of such an interview, but it was not his 
 province to help or hinder it. He hoped that his 
 name would not be brought into the conversation of 
 this ill-assorted couple; for he dreaded the thought 
 of the impression of his character which Mother Liv- 
 ingston might impart to Mrs. Keene; nor did it 
 please him to think of what Mrs. Keene might say 
 of him to this shrewd old " mother in Israel." 
 
 There was much that enlisted his interest in Mrs. 
 Keene. She had told old Mrs. Hollis something of 
 her life's sad story, and Mrs. Hollis had re-told it to 
 Dinsmore. It seemed so out of place that one as 
 young and gifted as she, with such an earnest and 
 tender nature should be left, with the grave respon- 
 sibility of her twelve year old boy, to face life alone. 
 If death had robbed her of her natural guardian and 
 protector, that would have been sad enough ; but she 
 had to bear the bitterness and reproach of desertion. 
 She seemed, too, so capable of loving, so worthy of 
 being loved. 
 
 " I cannot tell you Mr. Dinsmore," she said to him 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 127 
 
 one day, and her eyes filled with tears, " how I long 
 for some one to counsel me in regard to my boy. I 
 want him to be a man true and noble, scorning mean- 
 ness of every kind, manly and brave; but how can a 
 weak woman so guide and mould a boy's nature, 
 that he shall be what a man ought to be." 
 
 "There is nothing that tells on a boy's character 
 like a mother's influence if she be such a mother "he 
 was about to say — "as you;" but he thought better 
 of it and concluded " as some of the noblest and best 
 of men have born witness have moulded all their 
 lives." 
 
 " That may be true in early life, then I will admit 
 that the mother's influence is formative; but as the 
 boy grows toward manhood he shirks his mother's 
 influence and needs the firm, strong hand, the wiser 
 counsel of a man, from whom he is content to learn 
 the lesson of how to be a man. If my lot in life 
 were cast here, I should have no fear, for I could 
 turn to my pastor, whom next to a boy's own father, 
 one may naturally look to as willing to exercise a 
 sort of paternal control. Could you not write me a 
 set of rules by which, when I am among strangers, 
 with no one to look to, I might guide my boy to be 
 such a man as you are." She leaned toward him, 
 her voice, low and soft, was a very pathetic plea, 
 enforced by her moistened eyes; and, in the inten- 
 sity of her feeling, she laid her hand gently on his 
 arm. She watched the effect of this upon the young 
 pastor. He did not move, nor was there the slight- 
 est sign that he was conscious of her touch. 
 
 Dinsmore was absorbed in thinking of her hapless 
 
128 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 position, and anxious to be of real use to her, he was 
 also too much embarrassed by her allusion to himself 
 to have the fitting answer ready at the moment ; and 
 yet he felt her touch and acknowledged it by a cer- 
 tain thrill, which made it harder still to make a 
 suitable reply to her appeal. 
 
 " As the responsibilities of life are laid upon us, 
 wisdom and grace are given us to meet them," he 
 said, taking refuge in a vague generality. 
 
 "Ah! yes, wisdom, if we only know how to apply 
 it to each case as it arises," she answered in a sad 
 and dreary voice. 
 
 There was a brief silence. She toyed with the 
 leaves of the book that lay in her lap and watched 
 Dinsmore as he sat with his eyes fixed on the line 
 of blue hills that bounded the southern horizon. 
 
 He started as she leaned forward and picked a 
 thread from his coat sleeve; he remembered how 
 much meaning some attribute to such an action on a 
 woman's part. 
 
 " I wonder how you would solve the problem of 
 life as it lies between the covers of this book; how 
 much you would find true, how much false, and how 
 much a matter of indifference ? I have thought of 
 you, all along, as I read," she continued. 
 
 " I am quite sure that very little would seem a 
 matter of indifference," he answered, "unless it were 
 so untrue to life that it was unworthy of notice. To 
 me things rank themselves always as true or false; 
 if they make any impression on me." 
 
 Then she sketched the outline of the story for him; 
 one of those pictures of love, so called, which is but 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 129 
 
 the basest counterfeit of the affections; and closed 
 her analysis of the story with the question " How do 
 you think we would have worked out that situation?" 
 
 " Unless I had lost all my senses, I would never 
 have gotten myself in any such situation. I abhor a 
 man who looks on women as subjects of conquest; 
 and regards them as able to take care of themselves, 
 putting them on the defensive. Every true gentle- 
 man ought to make a woman feel that in his company, 
 under any circumstances, she is safe. There was a 
 time when gentlemen regarded themselves as the de- 
 fenders of women," he spoke rapidly and with ear- 
 nestness of tone. 
 
 She smiled and commended the chivalrous tone 
 which he assumed. " But was it always so, my young 
 knight-errant? I have heard that those young stu- 
 dents in the city's schools are ' sad dogs;' that they 
 work havoc with the hearts of the girls, and do not 
 despise any game that comes within their range. 
 They make some of their conquests over the counters 
 of the shops — make a clean breast of it. I know 
 how kind you are to these country girls. There is 
 that little Mary Lowther ; you have generously spared 
 her, and I commend you for it. If she had only had 
 some advantages of good society, she would be 
 charming game, quite worth your while. She has 
 pretty, rustic manners, she is intelligent and well 
 read, she seems like a sincere, good girl, with a sweet 
 disposition." 
 
 Under this rdsumt of Mary Lowther's character 
 Dinsmore winced; he was ill at ease, and would have 
 resented it, if there had been anything that he could 
 
 Q 
 
130 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 have laid hold upon. Mrs. Keene watched him and 
 a pleased little smile nestled in the corners of her 
 mouth. 
 
 " I am not going to let you break that pure, little 
 heart, while I am on hand," she continued. "But 
 no, I will not do you the injustice to assume that you 
 will cease to be merciful, as you have been. But tell 
 me, truly, have you always been so kind to women 
 as you are now ?" and she laughed lightly, and waited 
 for his answer. 
 
 He was all on edge; but he did not want to let 
 her see how angry he was. 
 
 " I have never looked on women from the point of 
 view that you assume that all men take. It may be 
 that it is a common one; but in my set of acquaint- 
 ances there was no one that took such a view. I 
 may have been unusually fortunate; and yet I must 
 say that my experience is that such rakes as that 
 story pictures, are not common among American gen- 
 tlemen; and, when they are found out, they are 
 given the cold shoulder." 
 
 She smiled again at the hot words with which he 
 scorned the picture which the realistic Russian had 
 drawn of human nature. 
 
 "You cannot always live in Arcady," she said; 
 " some call will come to a 'wider field of usefulness. ' 
 I think that is the usual term for a larger salary, is 
 it not? When some city churchmen wander up this 
 way and hear you preach, you will be called away to 
 be in nearer touch with the great world, and may 
 see men and women from another point of view." 
 
 He rose to go to his study. The two-seated buck- 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 131 
 
 board belonging to Judge Lowther was coming along 
 the Main Street, with the brisk pace at which the 
 pair of Morgan horses always stepped, with Mary 
 Lowther in the back seat. She was coming to take 
 Mrs. Keene for a drive; who had brought a letter of 
 introduction from her counsel in the city to Judge 
 Lowther. 
 
 He had called upon her more than once, and she 
 had fascinated him with her gracious manner and her 
 easy conversation. 
 
 " Upon my honor, Mary " he had said, in his pom- 
 pous fashion, after his first call, " there is a woman 
 who might well beguile a man of sober years to think 
 on matrimony, for the second, or even the third 
 time." 
 
 And when this first visit had been followed up by 
 a second and a third, within a fortnight, the inter- 
 ested observers of village life and conduct, sometimes 
 called gossips, had begun to whisper that the Judge 
 was "keeping company with the city widow." 
 
 At all events, he had insisted upon having her there 
 to tea, on the score of courtesy to the " learned 
 counsel " who had commended her to his kind offices. 
 Moreover he had offered her the use of his horses, 
 and Mary's services as cicerone, to show her some- 
 thing of the beauties of their drives over the hills 
 and through the valleys surrounding Clintonville. 
 
 It was the first of these engagements to drive that 
 Mary Lowther was coming to fulfil ; and it cut short 
 this conversation. 
 
 Mrs. Keene rose to meet her as she jumped from 
 the buckboard and came bounding up the steps of 
 
132 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 the house, her eyes aglow and her cheeks flushed 
 with the fresh, mountain air. 
 
 No one could resist her smile nor fail to answer 
 with anything less than a genial smile to her laugh- 
 ing eye. 
 
 Dinsmore did not wait to see the meeting of these 
 two; but retired to his study. His windows com- 
 manded a view of the Main Street of the village, for 
 a half mile or more. He stood at the window and 
 watched them as they drove away; there was a va- 
 cant seat in the buckboard. He might have been 
 in it just as well as not; but, if he had been, would 
 it have been a comfortable seat? 
 
 When they were out of sight he turned to begin 
 work on his sermon for the coming Sabbath. He 
 had already chosen the text and made some notes 
 from which to write. The text was " For love is of 
 God and cannot fail." 
 
 He sat musing, with his head resting in his hand. 
 He read over the text, and then there floated before 
 his mind the image of Mrs. Keene and Mary Low- 
 ther; and he wondered how each of them would look 
 at the proposition of the text. He reviewed his talk 
 with Mrs. Keene. How out of touch all her thoughts 
 of love were with the opening clause of his text. 
 Such love as she recognized was certainly not of God. 
 
 In her view love was of man, on his lowest side. 
 How was it with Mary Lowther? It was strange; 
 he had known her much longer, they had been as- 
 sociated in community of interest, in work that was 
 a bond between them, but they had never spoken of 
 love; and yet with Mrs. Keene, after a week's ac- 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. I $3 
 
 quaintance, he had been led into a discussion that 
 implied an intimacy between them far closer than 
 he would care to acknowledge, even to himself. 
 
 She had touched upon questions of a delicate na- 
 ture, with an ease and fluency that startled him. 
 
 He spent more time in trying to solve the question 
 whether he had led her into this style of conversation 
 or whether she had led him, than he did upon his 
 sermon. When the afternoon was waning he had 
 nothing, as the result of his cogitations, but an empty 
 sheet of paper, an unsolved riddle, and an uneasy 
 consciousness that he had been led into the meshes 
 of a net. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 AS the Morgan horses rattled a long the main 
 street, Mary directed the driver to turn down 
 the road to Pleasant Pond. " It is one of our pret- 
 tiest drives" she said to Mrs. Keene " and a favorite 
 of mine because the road runs along the ridge and, 
 on either side, the hollows are so picturesque, 
 Scooper's Hollow with its rude hamlet, and on the 
 other side the Willowemoc like a silver thread, here 
 and there, among the dark firs." 
 
 "I have heard Mr. Dinsmore talk of Scooper's 
 Hollow. He has a very interesting mission there I 
 think " said Mrs. Keene, smiling as she saw Mary's 
 color rise. 
 
 "Yes, it is very interesting; one feels that such 
 teaching is sowing on virgin soil," added Mary. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, that is what I fancied Mr. Dinsmore 
 felt. A young man is apt to find that sort of sow- 
 ing, ploughing, and reaping wholly to his taste," and 
 she laughed softly, but not sweetly, Mary thought. 
 " But what will the harvest be " Mrs. Keene added, 
 singing the refrain of the popular hymn, in a light 
 bantering way, like an air from the opera. 
 
 Mary did not know what to answer; it grated on 
 her and perplexed her. She was on the point of say- 
 ing "A harvest of souls;" and yet instinctively felt 
 134 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 135 
 
 that this would bring out a further remark from Mrs. 
 Keene that would have the form of sincerity and the 
 spirit of banter. 
 
 She was silent for a moment and then launched 
 into a description of their first experience with the 
 Scooper Children. 
 
 Mrs. Keene listened with an amused smile. 
 
 "How delightful," she said as Mary finished the 
 rapid and somewhat confused account, " It is really 
 a romance, like gathering a posy of wild flowers. 
 Do you know, I should like above all things, to meet 
 this old witch woman and let her tell me some of her 
 tales. Fortune has not smiled on me;" her voice 
 grew soft and tender; " I have made one dear friend 
 since I have come to your beautiful mountain village. 
 I am better here than I was in the noisy, gay world. 
 The nearness to nature has made my heart simpler 
 and truer, I hope; and the quiet of this simple vil- 
 lage, has healed the wounds which I have gotten in 
 the battle of life. I think this has made me appre- 
 ciate how good and true Mr. Dinsmore is. I lean 
 on him more and more every day. But, my dear, 
 minister though he be, he is still a man and we can- 
 not come too near one another without danger to us 
 both. As a young girl, you cannot appreciate this 
 as I do ; but a woman that knows the world, knows 
 that between a man and woman there cannot be too 
 close a friendship without danger to one, perhaps to 
 both. I have begun to feel that I must be careful 
 in my association with Mr. Dinsmore; of all women, 
 one in my position needs a woman friend." 
 
 She paused for a reply; but Mary was at a loss 
 
136 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 what to answer. "Won't you let me call you my 
 friend?" she said, and laid her hand on Mary's. "I 
 could pour out my heart to you, and know that you 
 would sympathize with me." 
 
 "I could do nothing for you, Mrs. Keene, " Mary 
 answered, confused and yet flattered that this woman 
 of the world should lean on her. " I have lived the 
 quiet, simple life of a country girl, in this little vil- 
 lage, and have neither the wisdom of age nor of ex- 
 perience. " 
 
 "Ah! my child, it is not that sort of help I need; 
 but that of a heart fresh and young as yours is, the 
 help of truth and goodness, the contact with a heart 
 and life unspotted by the world. I come to you as 
 I come to your mountain home, with its air pure and 
 untainted with the miasma of the town. " She leaned 
 her head on Mary's shoulder. " Child, let me love 
 you, and love me;" her eyes looked full of unshed 
 tears, and Mary felt that she would give that wounded, 
 weary heart all the love she asked for. 
 
 They drove on for half a mile in silence, Mrs. 
 Keene leaning still on Mary's shoulder and her eyes, 
 in dreamy reverie, resting on the lovely landscape, 
 as it lay on either side of them glorified with the 
 June sunlight. 
 
 " Your life runs in a soft, even current" she said 
 as she sat upright again " and yet it would be mo- 
 notonous enough if you had only these plain people 
 about you. You must find much of your diversion 
 among books and with your music, do you not?" 
 
 "Oh! yes, I am occupied, more or less, every day 
 with reading and practising: but, after all, Mrs. 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 137 
 
 Keene these dull people are not without interest when 
 you come to know their inner life. There are not 
 so many of them, but the story of their lives is very 
 much like that of others in the world, I think." 
 
 "Ah! you have been taking lessons from Mr. Dins- 
 more; that is his favorite theme." 
 
 How Mary hated herself as the color flew to her 
 face. " I suppose he has made me see it more clearly " 
 she said, "but I think, even before he came, I felt it 
 in some degree." 
 
 "He has a wonderful way of enlisting one's feel- 
 ings in what interests him. He has fairly captured 
 me and made me feel as if this 'Hillside Parish' as 
 he calls it, was of more importance than any other 
 parish in the country. If he can lay hold of a 
 stranger's heart in this way, I suppose he can make 
 you, who live here, enthusiasts in his work." 
 
 " Indeed, I am " answered Mary. " There is nothing 
 I love better than to work with him. He is so full 
 of life and real earnestness; he has so many new 
 ideas, and whatever he undertakes he is sure to carry 
 through. He is so gentle and so strong; makes you 
 see what he wants you to do, and it seems so well 
 worth doing." 
 
 She paused as she noted the smile on Mrs. Keene's 
 lips. She could not tell whether it was one of pleas- 
 ure or amusement; but it checked the free flow of 
 her speech. 
 
 "You do him barely justice Miss Mary," Mrs. 
 Keene added, after a short pause, " He is all that 
 you say, and more too, for he is a highly cultured 
 man, of fine mind, well read, and able to hold his 
 
138 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 own in a very much higher sphere than the one which 
 he now occupies. But my dear, he is not the safest 
 of spiritual advisers. He is too handsome, too sym- 
 pathetic, too engaging in every way for us poor 
 women. I think too that he is susceptible. We must 
 keep him within bounds; you and I can teach him 
 some things of which he may stand in need;" and she 
 laughed and patted Mary playfully on the shoulder. 
 
 It was very discomfiting to Mary to be forced into 
 this partnership. It placed her in a relation to her 
 pastor which she was loath to occupy. She resented 
 it in thought, but did not know with what words to 
 voice this resentment. 
 
 " I always think of Mr. Dinsmore as our minister, 
 and cannot imagine myself trying to teach him " she 
 said. 
 
 "Do you?" laughed Mrs. Keene. "Ah! little 
 woman, men are men, whether in homespun or 
 broadcloth ; and we are women, and sooner or later 
 we find each other out, even through the thickest 
 disguises." 
 
 " I do not want to believe, and I do not believe, 
 at all, that Mr. Dinsmore thinks of anything before 
 his work " broke in Mary, after a moment's pause, 
 in which she seemed to be mustering strength to 
 speak her mind boldly. " If you knew him as I know 
 him, Mrs. Keene, in the work of the parish, you would 
 not think so." 
 
 Mrs. Keene smiled. " I must admit, my dear, 
 that I do not know him as you know him. That 
 could not be unless I were, like you, a fresh young 
 nature unspotted by the world. But, my dear girl, 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 139 
 
 he is, after all said and done, a marriageable young 
 man, and he knows it." 
 
 On their way home, they stopped to visit Old Bar- 
 bara Fisher. The old dame greeted Mary with a 
 smile; but when Mrs. Keene stepped forward, her 
 small, blue eyes shrank and glittered like a snake's 
 in the intensity with which she looked into Mrs. 
 Keene's eyes. She gave no answer to her greeting, 
 and under her fixed and silent gaze, Mrs. Keene was 
 uneasy, and soon ready to leave. 
 
 After his vain attempt at sermonizing, Dinsmore 
 came out on the balcony and watched, in listless 
 mood, the road down which the buckboard had dis- 
 appeared. On the steps below he saw Sidney Keene. 
 The handsome little fellow, like himself, had been 
 left behind. He too had spent the last quarter of 
 an hour sitting on the steps looking down the road. 
 But his gaze was not so fixed as Dinsmore's, for, 
 from time to time, he looked up the road, in undefined 
 hope that he might see something suggestive of what 
 to do. 
 
 Presently he ran down the steps, jumped on the 
 gate, and swung to and fro vigorously, making a few 
 sounds, half war-cry, half hurrah, such as none but 
 a boy can make, and no one else would attempt. 
 They meant nothing except that he was a boy off 
 duty and ready for anything that should turn up; 
 and they broke the oppressive silence better than 
 whistling. 
 
 Suddenly, as if a bright thought had struck him, 
 he threw open the gate and ran down the street, 
 yelling like a young Indian. Dinsmore leaned over 
 
140 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 the balcony to see what had fired his enthusiasm; 
 there was not a sign of man or beast on the broad 
 street, lying still under the June sunshine. It was 
 simply the intensity of physical action finding vent; 
 there was nothing else to do, so he did that. A dog 
 ran out from under a porch on the other side of the 
 street. Sidney picked up a stone and threw it at 
 the dog and then bent over as he watched the stone, 
 with his eyes and mouth screwed up, as though he 
 was afraid that he might hit the dog. He had 
 thrown the stone because he and the dog and the 
 stone were there; but he did not want to hit the dog. 
 He was glad that the stone missed, but delighted that 
 it fell so near as to send the dog on a gallop up the 
 street. As the dog disappeared around the first cor- 
 ner, he turned and looked intently up into a tree. 
 There was nothing there, but there might be. Then 
 he whistled with a long, shrill note, then, with a yell, 
 broke into a run, and rushing into the yard banging 
 the gate behind him, sat down on the steps again. 
 He had done something, he was, for the time being, 
 content. 
 
 As Dinsmore watched him, it recalled so strongly 
 the physical demand of boyhood for activity, that he 
 too felt that he must be on the move, and leaning 
 over the balcony, he called to Sidney that he was 
 ready to fulfil his promise to take him trout-fishing, 
 if he wanted to go. There was no other answer to 
 this proposition than a yell of delight, as he came, 
 like a whirlwind, up the stairs. 
 
 They walked off the genuine and fictitious activity 
 by the time they had gotten over the North Moun- 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 14 1 
 
 tain to the Willowemoc, the Indian's " Noisy Water;" 
 well named, as it tumbled around and down the 
 mountain's base. 
 
 As they came out of the stream near the North 
 settlement with a nice string of trout, and struck the 
 road to Clintonville, they were in sight of the North 
 grave-yard, on a little plateau skirted by the brawl- 
 ing stream, the long stretch of country road on the 
 other side, and the North Mountain rising above the 
 sea of hemlocks that skirt its base. There is a low 
 stone wall around it, and at the entrance a sliding- 
 gate, hung on two posts with a beam above, such as 
 the farmers use at the entrance to their fields or 
 barn-yards. 
 
 The big gate was padlocked, but, beside it, is an 
 open stile, leaving the yard free to passers on foot 
 to come or go. Dinsmore and Sidney went in, and 
 sat down to rest. 
 
 Far down on the water, at the foot of the hill, the 
 foam drifted lazily around the bend of the stream, as 
 clouds and distant objects seem to move; for, as if 
 in courtesy to the dead that rested on its banks, the 
 " Noisy Water " grew still as it rounded the rocky 
 base of the grave-yard hill ; and the white foam, with 
 its dreamy motion, seemed the counterpart of the 
 clouds that floated still above it. 
 
 There were only two shafts, one over the grave of 
 a soldier who died in the din of 1864; another, in- 
 scribed simply "Toothaker," surrounded by a curb 
 of cut granite. On this curb, Dinsmore and Sidney 
 seated themselves. 
 
 Dinsmore looked at the shaft in the centre of this 
 
142 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 plot and thought if there had been a " ch " in the 
 last syllable, one might proclaim a pilgrimage to this 
 spot where lies the evil genius that puts in the mouths 
 of men the grumbling misery that steals their pa- 
 tience. But the headstones round about showed that 
 it was merely the grave of an old patriarch, who 
 rested here, surrounded by his children, grand-chil- 
 dren, and great-grand-children. 
 
 He had been a minister of the gospel, and had 
 transmitted his name to many descendants. The 
 other side of the shaft revealed him as the Rev. Ben- 
 jamin Toothaker, dying at the ripe age of seventy- 
 two years. He had been the mortuary poet for the 
 numerous households of his descendants. 
 
 On one side of the tablets of this family were usu- 
 ally inscribed simply "Husband," "Father," "Wife," 
 or "Mother;" which mixed the genealogy, from 
 Dinsmore's point of view. 
 
 But on the reverse of the " Toothaker " headstones 
 there was, during the time covered by the old min- 
 isters abiding in the flesh, some simple verse. One 
 of these, a variation of the famous " Stop careless 
 friend as you pass by," read — 
 
 " Friend pass this spot at a slow pace 
 And view where I am laid to rest, 
 Far from the anxious care and toil 
 Which once my soul oppressed." 
 
 Another could lay claim to originality — 
 
 " Dear Mother has gone, she has gone to her rest 
 Her trials on earth are all o'er 
 We have smoothed her grey locks, the last kisses prest 
 She needeth our care no more." 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 143 
 
 Then the good old minister, who for two genera- 
 tions had gone in and out among them, baptized, 
 married, and buried the people, was taken. There 
 was doubtless a great gathering and sore lamentation 
 as they bore him tenderly to the grave-yard among 
 the hills. But there was no one to write an epitaph 
 for him and, after his departure, no verses on the 
 tombs of his descendants. 
 
 The rest of the graves had no inscription other 
 than the names. One was marked only by a stake, 
 on which was nailed a cedar board, and on this, in 
 large letters, was written with lead pencil (as garden- 
 ers mark their planted seeds) " William Bradford, " 
 a good old Mayflower name. There was an Ameri- 
 can Flag on this and on several other graves, and 
 the withered flowers of Decoration Day lay scattered 
 about. 
 
 There were many graves which had no stone, save 
 those of which the soil was full, which made a mel- 
 ancholy rattle on the coffin's of those buried in this 
 " God's Acre." 
 
 Among the branches of the Toothaker family was 
 one full row of Perkins; whose favorite device was a 
 hand in bas-relief, with the thumb and three fingers 
 tightly folded, and a preternaturally long index fin- 
 ger pointing upward — sometimes with the legend 
 "Heaven is my home;" sometimes the hand alone, 
 leaving the rest to the imagination of the passer by, 
 which was more economical. 
 
 As Dinsmore sat reading the inscriptions, or watch- 
 ing the drifting foam down on the stream, or the 
 cloud shadows chasing one another across the dis- 
 
144 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 tant hill, Sidney suddenly asked " What are those 
 grave-stones, Mr. Dinsmore?" 
 
 " They are the graves of Perkins" he answered, 
 absently. 
 
 "Why do they bury them here" asked the boy in 
 a wondering tone. 
 
 "Because they died," replied Dinsmore; as he 
 read some more of the inscriptions. 
 
 "What are Perkins?" asked the boy in a per- 
 plexed tone; and then before Dinsmore could reply, 
 "Oh! they are people" he said, spelling out the 
 name of one Eli Perkins. 
 
 He had mistaken them for some nondescript, 
 whether of the animal or vegetable kingdom Dins- 
 more did not enquire. "How much of a history like 
 that of the world of living men " he thought " one 
 can gather from a country grave-yard, reading be- 
 tween the lines on the grave-stones, matching dates 
 and names, as the children do in their zigzag puz- 
 zle; putting together the picture that has been cut 
 into pieces. I wonder how nearly I have matched 
 this picture of times gone-by. " 
 
 Then they picked up their string of trout and set 
 out on their homeward way, 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 DURING the next week, the young Pastor was 
 initiated into one of the important ceremonies 
 of the village, namely the funeral of one of his par- 
 ishioners. 
 
 Everybody went to a funeral in this little village; 
 the Academy was closed, and the scholars were ex- 
 pected to use the half-holiday in attendance at the 
 service; an expectation not always fully realized in 
 nutting time, or when the trout were biting. 
 
 The coffin was placed in the centre of the parlor; 
 on a side table was an array of gloves, the scarf of 
 white linen for the minister and long bands of crape 
 called " weepers " for the undertaker and pall-bear- 
 ers. There were six pall-bearers, who took their 
 places on either side of the coffin, and acted as ush- 
 ers for the company. For the more prominent per- 
 sons of the village society and for the immediate 
 friends of the family, kid gloves were provided; for 
 the humbler class of attendants, the gloves were 
 black cotton, and it was a nice point to decide who 
 were entitled to kids. 
 
 As Dinsmore entered the room Tim Mitchell came 
 forward, his face beaming with satisfaction, holding 
 in his hands a pair of two-button kids for " the Dom- 
 inie " and the white linen scarf, which he adjusted 
 10 145 
 
146 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 with the peremptory air of one who knows exactly 
 how it should be done. 
 
 Dinsmore took his seat near the head of the coffin 
 by a small table on which was a bible, a hymn-book, 
 and a glass of water. The crowd outside pressed 
 close to the windows; for it was the new Dominie's 
 first funeral. 
 
 Eli Hilton who knew well the customs of Clinton- 
 ville, and was a sort of leader in good society, was the 
 first to enter and view the corpse. As he came into 
 the room he took off his hat with his left hand, and 
 with his right smoothed down his hair, answered the 
 whispered enquiry of Tim Mitchell, "What is your 
 size?" received his kid gloves, walked up to the 
 coffin, gazed upon the face of the corpse, drew down 
 the corners of his mouth and closed his eyes tightly, 
 and then passed out to the plot in front of the house. 
 
 " It's as beautiful a corpse as I ever saw " he said 
 as the crowd outside waited for his verdict. " You 
 oughtn't to miss the chance of seein' it." 
 
 One after another filed in, and observing the same 
 order of coming and going, each making some wry 
 face as they looked on the face of the dead girl, re- 
 turned to the lawn in front of the house and talked 
 politics or swapped horses and heifers, until it was 
 time " to lift." 
 
 In former times, as they left the house, they passed 
 by a table on which were set out cold meats, bread 
 and butter and liquors, where each took a glass of 
 his favorite toddy; but now, as one old man said to 
 Dinsmore, with some bitterness " Temperance has 
 done for funerals." 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 147 
 
 The service was brief and simple. Dinsmore made 
 a prayer, the choir sang a hymn, he read the XlVth 
 chapter of St. John's Gospel, and commented briefly 
 on the first four verses. 
 
 " It was a middlin' short service, it seems to me," 
 said Deacon Shrake, whose bargain for a yearling 
 heifer was interrupted by the announcement that it 
 was " time to lift. " " It was short " answered Deacon 
 Shelton, "but we must remember that Julia was 
 quite a young gal, and had been a church member 
 not over six months. Of course on some of us older 
 ones the Dominie will hev more to say. There is a 
 natural propriety to be observed in all these things 
 which those of us thet hev experience understand." 
 
 This silenced Deacon Shrake, but did not console 
 him for the loss of his bargain. 
 
 Tim Mitchell marshalled the procession promptly, 
 as one who knows he is in command and what is ex- 
 pected of him. Dinsmore with his white scarf and 
 long, crape "weeper "was in the lead; after him 
 came the six bearers whose " weepers " reached to 
 their waists; then came the coffin, covered with the 
 black, velvet pall, carried by the four under-bearers; 
 then the family and the friends, arranged by Tim, 
 with peremptory order : he snibbed them into file with 
 a nod of his head or a touch of his hand, and no one 
 dared move except at his prompting. Through the 
 village they walked their horses decorously, but, once 
 out of the village bounds, they rattled along at a 
 good, round pace; for Tim was a busy man. 
 
 When they came to the North burying-ground, 
 where the Snyder's family plot was, the black bier, a 
 
148 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 simple shelf of wood on four legs, was brought by 
 the friends of the family who had volunteered to dig 
 the grave, as was the universal custom. 
 
 After the brief prayer at the grave, everyone stood 
 around and watched in silence while the friends filled 
 in the stony soil, set a rough stone at the head and 
 foot, rounded up the soil over the grave and replaced 
 the sod, packing it down with the backs of their 
 spades; and then planted the black bier over the 
 new-made grave to await the next who might need 
 it. 
 
 To Dinsmore it was a most melancholy scene; 
 needlessly harrowing, he thought, to those who stood 
 there as mourners; and yet they seemed to find a 
 grim kind of consolation in this dreary ceremony. 
 
 "Have you seen Mrs. Snyder since Julia Ann's 
 funeral " said Mrs. Livingston to Dinsmore, two or 
 three days later. " I tried to talk to Anna but 'twant 
 no use. She's got the notion into her head that 
 'twas harder for her to lose Julia than 'twould be 
 for any one else to lose their darter. Of course she 
 was the only gal in the family; but there's been 
 others where 'twas the same," and the old lady sighed 
 as she remembered the day when, with her own 
 hands, she stitched the shroud and laid out her own 
 and only daughter. "No! 'taint no use talkin' to 
 any one when they get the notion that what they 
 suffer is more'n others suffer in the same afflictions: 
 I guess we're all built on nigh the same pattern." 
 
 " I have seen her once, but could not talk with 
 her," said Dinsmore. "She sat cold and numbed 
 with her grief, and with a stony gaze, looking straight 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 1 49 
 
 before her; she did not seem to hear one word that 
 I said." 
 
 " You'd better go see her soon again. If she don't 
 get moved out o' that rut she's in, I wouldn't answer 
 for her life; let alone her reason." 
 
 So Dinsmore betook him to the little house, set 
 back from the roadside about one hundred feet. 
 Along the straight path bordered with box, which 
 had a funereal aspect and odor, were the flower beds 
 planted and tended by Julia Snyder, a delicate girl 
 as pale as one of her snowdrops, but as sunny at 
 heart as one of her daffodils. She had faded away 
 gently, and, three days before her twenty-second 
 birthday, had died. She passed away with a tender 
 smile on her lips as her mother held her hand, trust- 
 ing and believing, without a shadow on her soul. 
 
 Dinsmore had thought it an ideal parting from 
 this life to enter on the new and higher life. 
 
 But it had left the blackness of darkness in the 
 mother's heart. " It's all right for you Mr. Dinsmore ; 
 you're the preacher, and it's your business to talk 
 about God's being good and Julia's bein' happy; 
 but she wan't your daughter, and you don't know 
 nothing about that side of the matter. I could ha' 
 borne it if she'd been took young; but here she was 
 just growed up to be a comfort to me; she was a 
 help every way ; she was all that made my life happy, 
 and I say it ain't fair to leave me to get so wrapt up 
 in her and to take her right away — no warnin' giv 
 and nothin' left to me. I don't call that fair. I 
 wouldn't do it to my worst enemy." 
 
 " His ways are not our ways and His thoughts are 
 
150 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 not our thoughts," replied Dinsmore solemnly, to 
 this tirade. 
 
 "No, they are not" she replied hotly, "That's just 
 what I say, I would be ashamed to look anyone in 
 the face that I had treated that way." 
 
 " Mrs. Snyder, " said Dinsmore, quietly, " let me tell 
 you a story of another mother whose sorrow was very 
 much like yours, and whose story will perhaps throw 
 some light upon your own case. There was a young 
 mother in Ireland with a daughter about sixteen 
 years old, and three younger boys. They had lived 
 on the same little farm year after year, and their 
 means had grown narrower and their lives more sor- 
 did and hopeless, and they were now at a point where 
 starvation stared them in the face. Her father had 
 often urged her to emigrate to America; but she was 
 afraid of the new and untried country, and, ruled by 
 this fear, she was more ready to let her children al- 
 most starve than move to the undiscovered country. 
 One day, her father came to the house and took 
 away her one, only, darling daughter and carried 
 her off to the far country where there was bread 
 enough and to spare for them all, that he might make 
 her feel that there was a home for her there, where 
 her daughter was; and when, at last, driven by want 
 from her old home, she started for the unknown land, 
 she found that she did go forth with courage, because 
 her daughter had gone before her and was there to 
 welcome her. Do you think that father was cruel ?" 
 
 Dinsmore waited anxiously for her answer. 
 
 "I think he might ha' taken them both together" 
 she answered, fiercely. 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 151 
 
 " But she was not ready to go " he said, gently ; " and 
 what would have become of the little boys ?" he added. 
 
 To this she made no answer, but relapsed into her 
 cold, sullen, indifference. 
 
 That evening he was at Judge Lowther's to tea, 
 and, after supper, told Mary of his talk with Mrs. 
 Snyder, and its fruitless result. " Will you see her 
 to-morrow, Miss Mary," he said in a hopeless tone, 
 as though at his wits end, and having no suggestion 
 to make other than that Mary should see her. 
 
 " I cannot do anything to help her, if you cannot, 
 Mr. Dinsmore " Mary said. But Dinsmore thought 
 that she could. So on the next morning Mary went 
 to see her and found her in the same dull, hopeless 
 state which Dinsmore had described — and felt ap- 
 palled before a grief so dumb; so drowsy, unimpas- 
 sioned, hopeless a woe. 
 
 "Have you looked over Julia's things to see 
 whether there were any that she wanted given away ?" 
 said Mary, scarce knowing what she said. 
 
 "No! I haven't had courage to touch anything 
 belonging to her, nor even to go to her room; but 
 it seems as if I'd dare go if you'd go along with me 
 Miss Lowther. " 
 
 So Mary put her arm around her and led her up 
 stairs to the dainty little room, which though simple 
 and plain in its furniture, showed the marks of nat- 
 ural refinement and delicacy. She sat Mrs. Snyder 
 down, and, with a feeling of awe, opened the bureau 
 drawers and looked on the neat and orderly arrange- 
 ment which had been made by the hands now lying 
 under the stony soil. 
 
15 2 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 As she opened the box in which the handkerchiefs 
 were daintily folded, there lay a letter from Julia to 
 her mother. She looked at it for a moment and her 
 heart beat fast; it was like a message from the other 
 world, this unopened letter. 
 
 She hesitated but for a moment and then took it 
 to Mrs. Snyder, but she looked at it in a dazed, help- 
 less way, as it lay in her lap. 
 
 "Who is it from?" she asked. 
 
 "It is from Julia to you," Mary whispered, in an 
 awed voice. 
 
 "A letter, already, from Julia; and she gone only 
 two days?" 
 
 Mary feared that her mind had given way; but 
 then to her great relief she saw the tears slowly rise 
 to Mrs. Snyder's eyes and drop, one by one, upon 
 the letter lying in her lap. " It was like her " she 
 said, " It was just like Julia to do that. Read it to 
 me Mary. I can't see to read it myself." 
 
 Nor could Mary until, by a strong effort, she 
 checked her rising tears, with the thought that it was 
 for this that she had come here. She could not min- 
 ister to this stricken heart, nor could Mr. Dinsmore, 
 but her ears would be open to the voice of her dar- 
 ling. So she sat on the floor at Mrs. Snyder's feet, 
 with her face turned from her, and read her daugh- 
 ter's letter. 
 
 It was written in a clear hand, without a tremor, 
 and told her mother, first; that she knew how near 
 the end was and that she faced it without any fear; 
 that after she was gone there were some things her 
 mother could do for her, and then she detailed the 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 153 
 
 gifts among her little circle of friends, and others to 
 the poor, which she would like her mother to give in 
 her name. "And will you take them yourself, 
 mother; for it will do you good to talk with those 
 that love me, after I am gone. And remember, 
 mother, whether on earth or in heaven, I am forever 
 and ever, 
 
 Your loving daughter 
 
 Julia." 
 
 When the letter was ended, Mary's restraint gave 
 way and she burst into almost hysterical sobbing. 
 Mrs. Snyder lifted her up and took her in her arms. 
 
 '' Don't take on so, poor child. I oughtn't to hev 
 let you read it to me. Don't cry so, Julia ain't taken 
 away from me. She's my own daughter yet; that's 
 what she says 'on earth or in heaven, your own lov- 
 in' daughter.' Why, child, I see it now. I couldn't 
 see it before, but I see it now — I know it, and want 
 to set right about the things she wants me to do. If 
 you'll help me to sort some of the things, so as to be 
 sure that I get them all right ; 'twill do us both good, 
 I'm sure." 
 
 But there was little need of sorting; for a slip of 
 paper pinned to each article told for whom it was 
 intended. 
 
 As Mary left the house and bade Mrs. Snyder 
 good-bye, the cold, set look was gone from her face; 
 it was soft and loving, and there came to Mary's 
 mind the words " the peace that passeth understand- 
 ing;" this must be what was meant. 
 
 That night, at prayer meeting, Mary understood 
 what lay on the young pastor's heart so heavily, as 
 
154 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 he seemed to strive in prayer for hearts that were 
 burdened with sorrow greater than they could bear. 
 
 She saw his look of surprise, when, after the meet- 
 ing, Mrs. Snyder came to him and said briefly " I see 
 it now Mr. Dinsmore, as I didn't see it when you 
 were talking to me." 
 
 He walked home with Mary Lowther, who told 
 him of the scene when she read Julia's letter; and 
 while Mary dwelt on the sweetness of heart and mind 
 shown by the dead girl, he credited the living mes- 
 senger with much of the result, though she seemed 
 unconscious that she had borne any important part 
 in healing this broken heart. 
 
 On his return to the hotel, Mrs. Keene met him 
 and tried to enlist him in a discussion of the book 
 that lay in her lap, then rallied him upon being so 
 distraught; but could not recall him from the mem- 
 ory of that scene which Mary had so graphically but 
 simply described to him, where it seemed, almost, 
 that one had risen from the dead to tell of what lay 
 beyond this life. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 MRS. KEENE filled so large a part in the vil- 
 lage gossip, and her name was linked, now 
 with Judge Lowther's, and, again by others, with 
 the young minister's; and there were so many con- 
 flicting opinions regarding her, that Mrs. Livingston 
 made up her mind that it was her duty to call and 
 see for herself what kind of a woman this was, who 
 might become her pastor's wife. So, donning the 
 black satin dress and the black mits, which were re- 
 served for grand occasions, and carefully adjusting 
 the poke bonnet, she made her way slowly up the 
 village street, halting from time to time to take a 
 look at one or another neighbor's yard and note their 
 flower beds, or to pass the time-o' day with them, 
 and, at last, found herself at the hotel. 
 
 Enquiring for Mrs. Keene, she found that she was 
 out for a drive, but Mrs. Hollis was at home, and 
 the panting old lady sat herself down, partly to get 
 her breath, and partly to hear from Mrs. Hollis her 
 impression of this grand lady. 
 
 "Good-day, Mrs. Hollis! After walkin' down 
 street and up them steps I really haven't breath 
 enough left to ask after your health. How ever folks 
 live in houses with high stoops, beats me to know." 
 
 " If you'd asked after my sickness I could ha' told 
 i55 
 
156 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 you more about it, Mrs. Livingston. My health's 
 been gone so long that I most forget how it feels to 
 be healthy." 
 
 "Do you keep your appetite to eat?" 
 
 "Well, I never hed no appetite to boast of: but I 
 do take some comfort still in corn-beef and cabbage, 
 if I can have mince pie for dessert, to round it off. 
 I notice my failin' mostly in that I can't bear sour 
 bread. It turns my stummick upside-down. I was 
 tellin' Mrs. Joyce to-day that I can't stand her 
 bread, no longer. She flared up in a minit; but I 
 told her it wan't no use her gettin' mad, for that 
 only proved the bread was sour." 
 
 "Sour bread is more'n you're called on to stand, 
 Mrs. Hollis, specially at your time o' life." 
 
 "I ain't so old as some folks take me for, Mrs. 
 Livingston, and can git up a flight o' stairs without 
 losing all the wind in my body; but I alius was 
 springy in the tread." 
 
 " The most poorly of us hessomethin' to be thank- 
 ful for, if we only know to find it out " said Mrs. Liv- 
 ingston; then shifting from ground that was getting 
 dangerous, " I dropped in to see Mrs. Keene, seein' 
 that she was attendin' our church, quite regular. 
 Hev you made any acquaintance with her, Mrs. 
 Hollis?" 
 
 " Why, I may say Mrs. Livingston, we are quite 
 intimate; she bein' a stranger here, I felt bound to 
 enquire who she was and where she come from; and 
 hevin' no one else to turn to, I went straight to her. 
 I am bound to say she acted like a perfect lady. 
 She's been unfortunate in her marriage, through no 
 
A HILLSIDE FAKISH. 157 
 
 fault of hers, and now she's free from a perfect brute ; 
 how she came alive out of his hands is more than I 
 can tell: but through it all she acted like a perfect 
 angel. I've advised her, as the safest course for her, 
 to marry some good man who can protect her and 
 her little boy: and there's only one man in the vil- 
 lage fit to call her wife. Amelia Ann don't agree 
 with me; but that's no reason to make me alter my 
 mind. I'm bound to make that match if lean. She 
 reads books way ahead of anything that is writ in 
 English, and reads poetry too; and what's more she 
 understands it. She's just cut out for a minister's 
 wife, by her winnin' ways. Why, when she's a'talkin' 
 to you, you know there ain't no body in the world 
 she'd rather talk to, and she knows just what you 
 want to talk about. I tell you she'd make sech a 
 ministers wife as hes never been seen in the country ; 
 and, poor thing, after all she's gone through with, 
 she deserves just sech a man as Mister Dinsmore;" 
 the old lady paused to take breath. 
 
 "Well, I'm real grieved she's not to home," an- 
 swered Mrs. Livingston. " I shall surely call again, 
 hopin' to find her in. And I'll say good-afternoon, 
 Mrs. Hollis." 
 
 "You'll be pleased Mrs. Livingston " answered the 
 old lady; and despite her "springy tread" she bade 
 the old dame good-bye at the top of the stairs. 
 
 On her way home, dame Livingston stopped to 
 look at no flower-beds or pass the time-o' day with 
 her neighbors. Steadily she plodded her way home- 
 ward, pondering. What she had heard, even from 
 the enthusiastic admirers of Mrs. Keene, by no means 
 
158 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 assured her that either Mr. Dinsmore or the parish 
 would be benefited by having this lady installed as 
 the pastor's wife. She was more than ever deter- 
 mined to get her own impressions, from a personal 
 interview. 
 
 She let but one afternoon pass before, arraying 
 herself again in her company dress, she trudged up 
 the Main Street to the Inn. And, this time, fortune 
 favored her, for she found Mrs. Keene sitting on the 
 balcony. Passing into the parlor, and seating her- 
 self on the sofa she waited until she had gotten her 
 breath and then, finding Mrs. Joyce, asked her to tell 
 Mrs. Keene that she had come to call on her. 
 
 As Mrs. Keene came into the darkened parlor, 
 from the bright sunshine, she looked round, for a 
 minute, before she discovered Mrs. Livingston, nes- 
 tled on the sofa in the darkest corner of the room. 
 
 This gave the old lady a chance to see her at close 
 range, without the glamour of Sunday dress and that 
 city "bunnit." Her dress was of white muslin, with 
 a red sash at her waist, a little bow of red ribbon in 
 front and on the sleeves. Her light, auburn hair 
 was coiled in a simple Grecian knot, low down on 
 the back of her head. Her figure was slight and 
 girlish, and her agile movement contributed to make 
 her look ten years younger than she was. It was 
 only when one got a nearer view of her face, and 
 talked to her, that one could form a truer estimate. 
 
 From the dark corner, where she was passing her 
 crooked fore-finger across her lips, Mrs. Livingston 
 set her down as " giddy." 
 
 As the old lady arose, Mrs. Keene hurried across 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 159 
 
 the room to meet her, with outstretched hands and 
 a smiling welcome. 
 
 " I cannot tell you how much I feel complimented 
 by your calling on me Mrs. Livingston. It was 
 rather my place to have asked you to let me call and 
 see you." 
 
 "That's not our way with strangers, Mrs. Keene. 
 We like to make them welcome to our village and 
 so, as I did not find you home day before yesterday 
 when I called, I came again to-day; that you might 
 not think us neglectful." 
 
 "Why, my dear Mrs. Livingston," said Mrs. Keene 
 seating herself on the sofa beside the old lady and 
 laying her hand on her arm, " I am so sorry that I 
 did not know of your call, so as to have saved you 
 this walk in the hot sun. I should have returned 
 your call right away ; but I did not receive your card. " 
 
 "And no wonder you didn't, for I have never fell 
 into that new-fangled way of goin* round leavin' 
 cards to let folks know that I've called. I've alius 
 held that the best card to leave was a good shake of 
 the right-hand. There are only four folks in the 
 village that use those cards any way; and they never 
 use 'em on me. I've alius supposed that they come 
 to see me, and, if I wan't to home, they'd come an- 
 other day when I was; and I never could see how 
 leavin' a card makes out a visit." 
 
 Mrs. Keene did not deem it worth while to enter 
 into the defence of the customs of society with this 
 downright old lady, who sat, comfortably blinking 
 at her, and stroking her lips with her crooked fore- 
 finger; which had the same disconcerting effect on 
 
160 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 Mrs. Keene that it had on every one, who saw it for 
 the first time. 
 
 " Do you expect to stop some time in the village" 
 enquired Mrs. Livingston? 
 
 " I cannot tell how long I shall be here. I came 
 for rest and change of scene after six months of 
 trouble that had quite broken me down." 
 
 " It seems to ha' done you good already, for you 
 look now as if you were in the best o' health." 
 
 " There are some troubles of the heart that do not 
 show on the face, Mrs. Livingston." 
 
 " Yes, but I thought there was alius a sort o' bright, 
 protrudin' eye that went along with heart-disease. 
 I don't think your eyes have that look," and the old 
 lady scanned her keenly, as she passed her forefinger 
 to and fro across her lips. 
 
 " I do not mean heart disease, Mrs. Livingston. 
 I mean sorrow of heart, trials and troubles that wear 
 out life and make it seem not worth living." 
 
 "Yes, we all of us have our troubles. Some of 
 'em we make, some we borrow, and some are sent to 
 us. I never knowed anyone to die of 'em though. 
 I've seen a many that felt they was goin' to die; but 
 they didn't. They lived right on, and a'most killed 
 those that had to live with 'em. Besides religion, 
 I think the best cure for these is to try to help some- 
 one else, who is in worse trouble than you are. That 
 seems to fetch you right out of the rut and give you 
 more of a lift than you give to them." 
 
 As this did not meet Mrs. Keene's case, from her 
 point of view, at least, she made no answer to the 
 dame's homilv. 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 161 
 
 " Are you a professor ?" 
 
 Mrs. Livingston shot the question at her, after a 
 moment's pause, so briefly and quickly that she an- 
 swered with some confusion — " No, I have never 
 taught; having never needed to earn my living." 
 
 The old lady smiled. " I didn't mean it that way. 
 Are you a professin' member!" 
 
 "Oh! I beg your pardon. No, I am not a com- 
 municant of the Church, though I am a regular 
 attendant." 
 
 " Yes, I saw you there whenever I was out, and 
 when I wasn't others hev told me of your bein' out, 
 and at prayer-meetin' too. It might do you good if 
 you was to become a professin' member. It helps 
 some folks very much; others it don't seem to do no 
 good to; but that I hold is their own fault." 
 
 " You must congratulate yourselves on having se- 
 cured such a man for your pastor. Mr. Dinsmore is 
 such an interesting preacher that one does not care 
 to miss his services." 
 
 " He seems to be gettin' his place among the 
 people," Mrs. Livingston answered. "To be sure 
 we miss our old Dominie yet, especially in seasons 
 of trouble. You know young folks don't take no 
 account of trouble, Mrs. Keene. As we get along 
 in life and hev had our own, we can understand those 
 of other folks. Mr. Dinsmore knows of course, the 
 right texts to use in cases of affliction, and his re- 
 marks on Julia Snyder was very affectin'. Some 
 said that they was ruther short, but I told 'em they 
 was full o' gospel peth; and long enough, seem' how 
 hot the weather was and the corpse three days old. 
 
1 62 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 And then, there was an awful big crowd to see the 
 corpse, and it was the fust time Mr. Dinsmore was 
 scarfed; and everythin' seemed to point to a short 
 service. Our Old Dominie, I don't suppose, was 
 generally considered so good a preacher as Mr. Dins- 
 more, but he knowed us through and through — hed 
 baptized most the whole congregation; seen 'em 
 through teethin', measles and chicken-pox; married 
 'em and buried one or more out o' every family in 
 the village. When he come to talk to you in afflic- 
 tion, maybe he couldn't handle texts as good as Mr. 
 Dinsmore; but he knowed us clean through, and 
 could tell us, without any texts, just what we needed 
 to hear. I suppose you hev found it so in your 
 afflictions, Mrs. Keene, that a young minister ain't 
 nowhere alongside o' one that's old and full of expe- 
 rience." The old lady paused for a reply. 
 
 " My troubles were of a kind, Mrs. Livingston, 
 that led me to seek relief not in the counsel of min- 
 isters, but in the courts of law." 
 
 "That's hard lines for a woman, but if our old 
 Dominie hed been livin', so as you could ha' gone to 
 him, I'll be bound he'd ha' fetched you through 
 without leavin' you in the clutches o' the lawyers. 
 Be you goin' to work in our church while you're with 
 us, Mrs. Keene?" 
 
 " I do not know, Mrs. Livingston, whether I can 
 find anything suited to me in the way of work. I 
 should have been delighted to have gone out to that 
 Sunday school in Scooper's Hollow. There is some- 
 thing charming in the idea of taking hold of minds 
 that are almost savage in their ignorance and watch- 
 
A HILLSIDE PAXISH. 1 63 
 
 ing them as they begin to develop; but I stopped 
 there the other day, with Miss Lowther, and that old 
 witch Barbara glared at me with such an evil eye, 
 that I do not want to go near the place." 
 
 "You'd get no harm from Barbara, Mrs. Keene. 
 She's round the village a good deal, and whatever 
 folks may say about her bein' a witch, she's the best 
 of the whole lot; and, if you're kind to her young 
 ones, she'll do you a good turn. The old woman 
 does more than the whole lot of those drunken lazy 
 men to keep them Scoopers in some sort of order. 
 But if you don't take to work with the Scoopers, I 
 was thinkin', from what Mrs. Hollis said of your 
 readin' o' furrin books and poetry and such like, 
 you'd be just the one to take a Bible Class o' young 
 women. You see, as the girls git older, they want 
 a little higher schoolin', than those who hev been 
 brought up in the village is apt to give 'em." 
 
 Mrs. Keene smiled, as she thought of the "furrin 
 books" as subjects for Bible Class study. "Well, 
 we will see about it Mrs. Livingston, and I will ask 
 Mr. Dinsmore what he thinks of my fitness for a 
 Bible Class teacher. They tell me that you have 
 such a charming home Mrs. Livingston, so cosy and 
 full of comfort, and that no one ever forgets the first 
 day they taste your chicken-pie; that your garden is 
 full of those dear old-fashioned flowers, which are so 
 much sweeter than these new things with long names. 
 May I come to see you, some time soon ? and when 
 you know me better I shall hope for an invitation to 
 supper with you." 
 
 " Sakes alive! how folks do talk. 'Taint nothin' 
 
1 64 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 to raise primroses and daffodils and lilacs and sweet- 
 peas, and marigolds, and 'taint nothin' to make a 
 chicken-pie, when you've got the chickens and hev 
 been taught, from a girl, to roll puff-paste. I'd ex- 
 pect you to come to see me, or I wouldn't ha' called 
 on you; and you're welcome to supper, any day, 
 only so I know it the day before, so as to hev a 
 chicken killed. I like to let 'em lie one whole day 
 before puttin' 'em into pie. Suppose we make it day 
 after to-morrow. We take supper at six. And I'll 
 bid you good-afternoon, Mrs. Keene, hopin' as your 
 health will allow you to come down, to-morrow af- 
 ternoon;" and, without more ado, the old lady sailed 
 out of the room, nodding her head to Mrs. Keene's 
 acceptance of her invitation, and acknowledging it 
 with a series of low grunts. 
 
 When she was gone Mrs. Keene sat down on the 
 sofa and burst into a merry, ringing laugh. 
 
 On her way down the street, Mrs. Livingston, by 
 turns, knitted her forehead or smiled shrewdly, and 
 nodded her head; at times emphasizing her thoughts 
 with a low, aspirated grunt. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 SOCIALLY considered it had been a dull year for 
 Clintonville. Neither wedding, fair nor festi- 
 val had broken its monotony. During the winter, 
 owing to the lack of a pastor's wife to superintend 
 them, there had been no church sociables and the mis- 
 sionary sewing society had suspended. In fact Julia 
 Snyder's funeral had been the one social event of the 
 year. Eli Hilton, the well-to-do village bachelor, 
 whose failure to marry was one of the unsolved prob- 
 lems of life in Clintonville, declared that " unless 
 some one else died or got married he was agoin' to 
 do it himself;" uncertain, it seemed, whether to 
 choose a wedding or a funeral. 
 
 He was sauntering past the hotel waiting for the 
 stage-coach, as was his wont, summer and winter, in 
 rain or shine; for being well to the fore in worldly 
 goods, and having no other occupation, he made it 
 his business to inspect every new-comer to the village 
 and gather the outside gossip which the stage-coach 
 brought. 
 
 There were very few strangers, or old inhabitants, 
 who escaped the sort of customs inspection of which 
 he was the self-appointed officer. 
 
 Dinsmore had accosted him, as he was strolling 
 by, with the inquiry, " why have you changed your 
 165 
 
1 66 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 seat from the front pew in church to the very 
 last?" 
 
 "Well! Dominie, I didn't care to sit quite so close 
 to the mouth of the cannon," he replied, with a twin- 
 kle in his eye. 
 
 " I can't see that it makes much difference whether 
 you are near or far away." 
 
 " It seems a little easier back there. I can see 
 how it strikes some o' them in front; and it don't 
 seem to come so straight at me, Dominie. I'm more 
 comfortable back there." 
 
 Eli was reputed to be something of a free-thinker, 
 and this might account for his preference for a long 
 range. Dinsmore did not pursue the subject. 
 
 Then he uttered his protest against the dull mo- 
 notony of life in Clintonville, and wound up with the 
 suggestion of a donation party for Dinsmore. 
 
 It required some persuasion on Dinsmore's part to 
 divert this compliment from himself to Mr. Forrester, 
 but he was finally successful ; for Eli, who prided 
 himself on the breadth and liberality of his opinions, 
 was impartial in all relations of life. He meted out 
 his attentions, measure for measure, among the vil- 
 lage belles, so that if he was reported to be " keep- 
 ing company " with one of them he would, during the 
 next week, equalize matters by the same amount of 
 expenditure on another; he voted in alternate years, 
 with conscientious regularity, for the candidates of 
 each political party; he had a pew in both the Epis- 
 copal and Presbyterian churches and was scrupulous 
 in dividing his attendance, and his contribution of 
 25 cents per week, between the two churches. 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 167 
 
 Dinsmore persuaded him that age and priority of 
 service entitled Mr. Forrester to be considered first, 
 and thus diverted the threatened function from him- 
 self to the old rector. 
 
 He had been honored by one such gathering, on a 
 much smaller scale, and without the donation feature, 
 and that festivity had been enough to make him 
 eschew such honors, until the memory of that party 
 at Farmer Brown's had been softened by time. 
 
 The families of the West Settlement had been in- 
 vited by the hospitable farmer to meet their new 
 Pastor at a " Sociable." 
 
 To Dinsmore this seemed a sad misnomer; for, 
 when he was ushered into the parlor, there sat the 
 farmers' wives and daughters, on the stiff horse-hair 
 chairs and sofas which were pushed back tight against 
 the wall. They sat in silence staring in front of 
 them, with their hands placidly folded in the lap of 
 their black alpaca dresses, or when those more ac- 
 customed to the ways of Clintonville society broke 
 the silence, it was in a subdued whisper. 
 
 The men were gathered in a knot at the lower end 
 of the hall. Their Sunday clothes gave a Sabbata- 
 rian character to the meeting, and they could not 
 shake off the feeling that it was a church service, or 
 at least a funeral. Their starched shirt fronts were 
 veritable straight-jackets, their cuffs were gyves upon 
 their wrists; they were in thrall body and soul; and 
 looked out from their white shirt collars with a meek 
 and penitential air. 
 
 Farmer Brown met Dinsmore at the front door, 
 took his hat from him and, with a jerk of the thumb, 
 
1 68 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 invited him to enter the formidable precincts of the 
 parlor; but did not offer to lead the way. 
 
 As Dinsmore walked into the room every voice 
 was hushed, even the faintest whisper ceased, and 
 all eyes were fastened on the young pastor. The 
 old Dominie would have gone round the room and, 
 with pleasant nod and handshake, would have asked 
 after the welfare of parents, children and grand- 
 children ; what would the new Dominie do ? Mrs. 
 Brown straightened herself in her chair, prepared to 
 answer any question that might be addressed to her. 
 Fannie Brown would have liked to step right forward 
 and give the young pastor a hearty shake of the 
 hand, and welcome him to their house; but she knew 
 that this would bring upon her the united frowns of 
 the matrons of the whole settlement, and the repu- 
 tation of being a saucy, forward girl; and the con- 
 ventions of good society in Clintonville restrained 
 her from even a smile, and kept her eyes demurely 
 on the carpet at her feet. 
 
 Dinsmore stood for a moment in the glare of the 
 kerosene lamp on the centre table, and two tallow 
 candles on the mantel-shelf, and looked for his host- 
 ess. The men in the hall had crowded to the door 
 to see what would become of him. In the dim light 
 of the kitchen he saw a cluster of faces at that door, 
 where a number of the young men and girls had re- 
 treated and were having a good time, on the bare 
 floor and wooden chairs. 
 
 The row of farmers' wives in black alpaca or dark 
 serge dresses round the wall with their hands folded 
 in their laps and the throng at the two doors of the 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 169 
 
 room, reminded him so strongly of the gathering and 
 conduct of the people at a funeral, and there was 
 the open melodeon with a Moody and Sankey hymn- 
 book on the rack, that his first impulse was to shut 
 his eyes, fold his hands and say "let us pray." 
 
 He caught sight of Mrs. Brown at the farther end 
 of the room, and walked quickly over to her. " I'm 
 awful glad you could come, Mr. Dinsmore." 
 
 "Thank you Mrs. Brown," and he shook hands 
 with her. 
 
 There was a sigh of relief, some of the women 
 looked at each other in a meaning way, one or two 
 smiled, their young pastor had done the proper 
 thing; their minds were relieved; on the main point 
 of etiquette he was all right, it only remained now 
 to be seen what order he would observe in speaking 
 to the others, and what time he would devote to each 
 one; whether he would remember those who had 
 been or were now sick, and whether he would inquire 
 for the children by name, and get the names at- 
 tached to the proper families. 
 
 There was almost a question of principle in this 
 latter point; for some families were wont to indulge 
 in names gotten from books of poetry or call their 
 children after leading men or women, while others 
 adhered, on principle, to names taken from the Bible, 
 and even these they tried to choose not at random, 
 but with conscientious regard to their meaning. 
 
 It was a serious blunder therefore, to forget that 
 farmer Hilton's oldest boy was Adonijah, or con- 
 found his name with Deacon Shrake's son, whom he 
 had called Extra Harry Lincoln Shrake. 
 
170 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 Therefore the whole room listened while Dinsmore 
 went the round, with Mrs. Brown by his side as cha- 
 peron; for, after the handsome way in which he had 
 come right up and spoken to her, she would not leave 
 him in the lurch. Not only did she recall to him the 
 name but often some of the family points of each 
 guest, as he made the round, thus saving him from 
 more than one pitfall. 
 
 As he passed around a hum of conversation arose; 
 those to whom he had spoken fell into talk with their 
 neighbors, those who were awaiting him were silent. 
 
 When the circuit was completed, there was a sud- 
 den relief of restraint; every one talked freely. 
 
 Fannie Brown came forward and asked him which 
 was his favorite hymn, and when he hesitated to 
 make choice of the many good things in the Moody 
 and Sankey books, she chose three herself, and hav- 
 ing distributed the books, sat down at the melodeon 
 and led the company, supported by a muffled bass 
 from the hall and the kitchen. 
 
 The announcement that supper was ready in the 
 kitchen brought another hush upon the company, for, 
 in Clintonville society there was observed a certain 
 becoming gravity when they were summoned to the 
 serious business of eating. 
 
 As soon as the announcement was made all con- 
 versation ceased, a self-restraint of manner was ap- 
 parent, and an absence of anything like unseemly 
 haste to go to, or even turn toward the kitchen door. 
 The hostess was expected to go round to each guest 
 and with some pleasant quip or more serious invita- 
 tion urge their flagging steps toward the loaded table 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 171 
 
 in the kitchen. " I hope you ain't left all your ap- 
 petite to home Mrs. Shrake. " 
 
 "Well if I had, Mrs. Brown, I expect I'd git it 
 again, when I see your biscuits." 
 
 "Of course Mrs. Smith you'll not find chicken pie 
 like your'n, but sech as it is, you're welcome to it." 
 
 " Law Miss Brown how you do take on, my hus- 
 band makes me real jealous when he tells me about 
 that pie o' your'n he tasted, when he was helpin' 
 raise your barn." 
 
 " If you can stand my butter Miss Pelton, I hope 
 you'll make yourself to home at the supper-table." 
 
 " It's the first time I ever heard a word said agin 
 your butter; but, comin' from yourself, I suppose 
 you ken stand it." 
 
 With more familiar friends there was greater free- 
 dom. 
 
 "Law sakes! Amanda, I've seen you eat in this 
 house, till I was fairly amazed to see what you could 
 hold. Now, you go and show the rest on 'em that 
 there ain't nothin' wrong with them vittles. " 
 
 Such appeals were met with a smile and shake of 
 the head, and sometimes with a "Law! how Miss 
 Brown does take on, " and the subject of appeal would 
 bridle and march into the kitchen. The young pas- 
 tor was led by Mrs. Brown to the head of the table, 
 and asked to say grace. 
 
 Then decorum required that all should stand 
 around, and with great solemnity, view the feast. 
 It was in order at this time to make whispered com- 
 ments loud enough for the hostess to hear on the 
 golden color of the butter, the lightness of the bis- 
 
172 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 cuit, the puffiness of the paste on the chicken pie, 
 the size and splendor of the turkey. 
 
 It was then in order for the hostess to invite them 
 to begin the feast with some pleasantry. 
 
 " If you set such store by them biscuit, Miss 
 Jones, I don't see why you don't find out whether 
 they taste as good as they looks." 
 
 " I say Mr. Brown, you're wanted in here to carve 
 this turkey. Why don't you men in the hall step 
 right in and help yourselves first, and the women 
 afterward." 
 
 This brought the men straggling in shamefacedly. 
 
 They clustered in the far corner and eyed with 
 fixed. gaze, in unbroken silence, the women on the 
 other side of the room or Farmer Brown as he carved 
 the great turkey. 
 
 Hiram Shrake, the deacon's oldest boy looked 
 stiffly out from his white shirt front at pretty Sue 
 Pelton, standing demurely'on the other side of the 
 room with her eyes downcast. Was that the girl 
 that he had chased across the meadow this afternoon, 
 when she dared him to catch her and kiss her if he 
 could. She had outrun him; but he could catch her 
 now. He shivered to think what the effect on the 
 company would be if he did it, and claimed the for- 
 feit, then and there. 
 
 The silence was such that you could hear the fat 
 sizzle as the Farmer cut off great, generous slices. 
 
 But when this preliminary work was gotten through 
 with, and they were all seated and helped, and had 
 begun to eat, then the more genial and homely sur- 
 roundings of the kitchen, the absence of the horse- 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 173 
 
 hair furniture, ingrain carpets and mantel ornaments 
 began to tell on the spirits of the company, and the 
 " Sociable " closed in a way to justify its name. 
 
 The donation party to Mr. Forrester was a differ- 
 ent kind of entertainment, a combined festival and 
 fair. The old minister's powers did not extend to 
 the consumption of all the good things with which 
 his host of friends were sure to testify their good- 
 will. 
 
 It would not please them to think these good things 
 were turned over to fill the larder of the inn; and so 
 they made an arrangement to consume them on the 
 spot, and, that the old rector might benefit by this 
 arrangement, the attendants at the donation party 
 were expected to take their supper there and pay for 
 it. Articles too bulky, not cooked, or otherwise, 
 unsuitable for the supper were auctioned off to the 
 highest bidder, and the proceeds of these sales were 
 handed to Mr. Forrester. 
 
 An odd consequence of this method was, that, 
 sometimes, a farmer's wife who had brought a great 
 pound cake which was left over from the supper, 
 would find her husband loyally bidding a fine price 
 for his wife's cake, and in the end it would be 
 knocked down to him at about twice its value, and 
 they would carry it home again, not quite sure in 
 mind whether they had been gainers or losers by the 
 transaction. 
 
 There was none of that awkward stiffness which 
 had made Dinsmore shrink from having the honor 
 conferred on him. 
 
 It was a brisk, cool Fall evening and every one 
 
174 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 came into the warm room with blood astir and nerves 
 keyed up, by the bracing, frosty air. Mr. Forrester 
 knew them all well, many of them from the cradle. 
 Fred Hutton was there, and he wore starched shirts 
 every day of the year. Judge Lowther and Mary 
 were among the guests, and Mother Livingston. 
 These were all people who received callers in their 
 parlors, ate in dining-rooms, with carpeted floors, 
 and used the kitchen only for cooking. 
 
 Mrs. Hollis came gasping downstairs, Amelia Ann 
 wore a pale blue silk, and Mrs. Keene came to see 
 the novel sight of a donation party. 
 
 Eli Hilton, who felt that the party owed its exist- 
 ence to him, came in, a little late, with his mother 
 on his arm, wearing for the only time in her life a 
 black silk dress, the first and, as she declared, the 
 last that she ever would buy. " It cost a terrible 
 sight " she whispered to mother Livingston. She 
 saw the old lady's eyes on her, the minute she entered 
 the room, and the crooked forefinger began to play 
 across the old lady's lips. Mrs. Hilton was sure 
 that it must seem a sinful waste, in the eyes of Mrs. 
 Livingston, for a woman, at her time of life, to buy 
 such a dress as that. So she made her way over to 
 the sofa on which the old dame sat hunched up in 
 the corner, and without more ado burst out with the 
 confession on the one subject uppermost in her mind. 
 
 "Yes! it did cost a terrible sight; but you see, 
 Eli, he knowed that, about twelve years ago come 
 Christmas, I had made up my mind to have a real 
 silk dress; and I had the samples in the house, I was 
 trying them for spots with water, and for fadin' with 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 175 
 
 a hot iron. You see I knowed it would need to be 
 turned in time, and the seams would have to be 
 pressed, and I wanted to be sure which kind would 
 stand the iron. 
 
 "Well! the very night I had made up my mind 
 which sample I'd buy from, our barn burned down. 
 As soon as I saw the fire I said 'there goes my black 
 silk.' Well I spose Eli has heard me tell that story 
 forty times since then; and the last time I told it he 
 says, 'I guess you better quit telling that tale, 
 mother; and the only way I see to stop it, will be 
 for you to get that dress. ' 
 
 "Quick's a wink, I says its too late now, Eli — I'd 
 look like an old fool in a black silk dress with hair 
 as gray as mine is. He up and says 4 I want the 
 girls to know that the women folks o' my family can 
 dress in silk if they choose to. ' Well ! you know, 
 Mrs. Livingston I had set my heart on Eli's getting 
 a good wife before I'm gone; then the dress will an- 
 swer for me to wear at his weddin' ; and I'm sure 
 there's nothin' could be so suitable to lay me out in 
 — I alius did fancy a corpse in black silk — It sets 'em 
 off so; and they do look the perfect lady. — So, 
 takin' it by and large, it didn't seem to me a useless 
 waste," and then she paused for the old dame's reply. 
 
 The old dame passed her crooked finger to and 
 fro, her eyes twinkled, and after a pause, she an- 
 swered quietly, " I do think you've laid out use 
 enough for that dress to make it worth while to buy 
 it, if it didn't come higher than silk dresses usually 
 do." 
 
 "What do you think o' the set 0' it, Mrs. Liv- 
 
176 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 ingston. It's city-made; I sent 'em my old alpaca 
 tellin 'em I was a leetle fuller in figger than when 
 that was made. That was all they had to go by, 
 and I think they did wonderful. This is the fust 
 time I've worn it out, and I feel a little strange to 
 it. I've had it four weeks. I wear it Sunday morn- 
 ings an hour, before church-time. I haven't had the 
 face to wear it to church. Silk does rustle awful 
 loud in a still church, and our pew, till last Sunday, 
 was 'way front. I had thought of waitin' till the 
 fust hymn was bein' sung, and, under cover o' that, 
 gittin' into our pew ; but then folks would ha' thought 
 I had come late just to show off my dress. I don't 
 see no other way than just to git used to it by wearin' 
 it regular to home and then, some Sunday mornin', 
 just walkin' off, careless like, to church tryin' to 
 think to myself that I had forgot to change it till 
 'twas too late. I spose folks gits used to them, 
 like they do to anything else; don't they Mrs. Liv- 
 ingston?" 
 
 "Yes," answered the old dame, with a gentle 
 smile, "you'll get used to it Mrs. Hilton. I've 
 known harder things than that to get used to." 
 
 As Mary Lowther came up to speak to Mrs. Liv- 
 ingston, Mrs. Hilton moved away, slowly, for the silk 
 creaked when she moved fast ; and she did not want 
 it to become, too suddenly, the object of attention 
 from the whole company. 
 
 She wanted to give Eli a word of warning; she 
 felt that he would be reckless with his money, though 
 no one else thought of him as a spendthrift. Tne 
 supper would cost twenty-five cents, Eli would be 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 177 
 
 sure to take two girls, to avoid suspicion ; then there 
 was his supper and her own, that would make one 
 dollar; there was lemonade, which was extra, and 
 there was no telling how much he would spend on 
 this; there was a candy-stand besides. 
 
 She was too late. She found him at the candy- 
 stand surrounded by a bevy of girls, and overheard 
 him say, " Havin' a good time Miranda?" 
 
 "Oh! just splendid Eli!" 
 
 " Enjoying it are ye?" 
 
 "Oh! more'n enjoyin' it!" 
 
 " How'd ye like the lemonade ?" 
 
 "Oh! it was splendid!" 
 
 " How's them gum-drops Sally Hill ?" 
 
 "Oh! ain't they good! They're just awful nice. " 
 
 "Which flavor did you take, rose or lemon?" 
 
 " Well I took rose 'cause they was so pretty in 
 color, but I wish now I'd a' took lemon. They seem 
 to last longer." 
 
 " Let me get you a paper of lemons and you can 
 try first one then tother and see which you gets the 
 most chaw out of." 
 
 At this sally there was a chorus of laughter. As 
 Eli stepped out of the circle to buy the lemon drops, 
 Mrs. Hilton laid her hand on his arm. "Ain't you 
 goin' a little too far Eli? Remember them girls can 
 chew gum-drops all night; and you ain't got no call 
 to give 'em all they ask for." 
 
 "Well mother they enjoy it; and one dollar and 
 fifty cents ain't nothin' to me, if I see a girl enjoyin' 
 things." 
 
 With a sigh, she let him have his way, comforting 
 
 12 
 
173 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 herself with the thought that this lavish expenditure 
 might make the girls feel that Eli's wife would have 
 pretty much anything in reason that she asked for. 
 
 Fred Hutton and Amelia Ann were standing watch- 
 ing the group. Eli stopped in passing, " Mealy I want 
 you to come down and see a Lafayette Watch that I 
 picked up for a mere song the last time I was in the 
 city " ; for Eli was a collector of antiques when they 
 could be had at the price named for this one. 
 
 "Thank you Eli, your antiques always interest 
 me; for they are generally as cheap as they are old, 
 and I never feel that money has been thrown away 
 on them," and Amelia smiled on Fred, who responded 
 with a giggle. 
 
 "I know antiques always interest you Mealy; they 
 are a sort of let up from Fred," and Eli had his turn 
 to laugh. 
 
 " If you want to add some genuine antiques to 
 your collection, Eli, you ought to look up your toys 
 when you were a child," retorted Amelia, "They 
 would grace the collection of any museum." 
 
 Eli laughed heartily, "So they would Mealy; but 
 you ought not to try that joke on this generation of 
 boys. Fred, it was thirty-six years, come Thanks- 
 giving that she got off that joke on me, at Deacon 
 Shelton's dinner. I felt sore about it then; but she's 
 repeated it about every five years till the sting is out 
 of it, and its only fun now." Miss Amelia flushed, 
 drew her thin lips together tightly over her large 
 prominent teeth, for a caustic answer; but Eli fore- 
 stalled her, with a wicked twinkle in his eye and an 
 elaborate bow as he said " Upon my word, Mealy; 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 179 
 
 you hold your own well, you don't look a year older 
 than you did at that Thanksgiving dinner;" and he 
 turned again to the gum-drop counter before Amelia 
 could gasp out her reply. 
 
 Her eyes glowed, her cheek flushed with anger, 
 Fred Hutton giggled. 
 
 " A nasty, sour, old bachelor is the meanest thing 
 on earth " she said ; then as she saw Fred's suppressed 
 mirth; "except a giggling boy," she added. "Don't 
 be a fool, Fred." 
 
 To which Fred's response was to burst out into 
 open and irrepressible laughter. 
 
 Amelia turned away disgusted with men, and began 
 to enlighten Mrs. Keene as to some of the people 
 with comments which, if they had not the glitter, had 
 at least the hardness of steel. 
 
 Judge Lowther joined them. " I have had an 
 amusing afternoon on the bench " he said " It is not 
 often that the stern duty of finding out and punishing 
 the crimes of your fellow men are relieved by such a 
 racy scene." 
 
 " Let us hear it Judge ", said Mrs. Keene, turning 
 towards him in an attitude of delighted attention. 
 
 " Pat Dunn a full-bearded, wild-eyed Irishman was 
 before me on a charge of beating his wife with a 
 shovel, with intent to kill her. He said that he had 
 no money, and no counsel, and asked me to telegraph 
 for the British Consul; 'For I belong to the king- 
 dom of Great Britain,' he said with a strong accent 
 on the Great. In the absence of Her Majesty's 
 Consul I assigned him counsel, but he would have 
 none of him, and preferred to defend himself. His 
 
i8o A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 wife burst into tears, when I told her to uncover her 
 head and show the wounds. 'I don't want to show 
 it; I don't want to do him harum,' 'The fine girl! ' 
 muttered Dunn, 'It's like her kind heart.' The 
 next witness was John Bing the constable. 'Aren't 
 you an informer of the corrupt police,' roared Dunn, 
 in cross-examination. 'I am not ' said Bing. 'Don't 
 you know that I treated my wife right, and that in 
 testifying against me, Sir, you are depriving a family 
 of a good husband and father, that is supportin' them 
 in fine style ?' shouted Dunn. 'I do not ' replied Bing. 
 'When you had me under arrest on another false 
 charge didn't you try to beat a confession out o' me 
 with your blackthorn?' 'I did not ' replied Bing. 'Yes 
 you did ' roared Dunn, 'and you told me that you'd 
 like to mash my fine nose as fiat as your own mug. ' 
 " Two more witnesses closed the case, and I asked 
 Dunn how long he wanted to sum up. He said he 
 would need two hours, and I gave him twenty min- 
 utes. He used up most of his time in denouncing 
 the charge as a conspiracy against Her Majesty's 
 subject. In one part of his harangue he said 'Man 
 is fallen, gentlemen of the jury, and every man is at 
 some time a brute. Man is frail and is prone to beat 
 his wife. You should all sympathize with me, gen- 
 tlemen, and join me in putting down this conspiracy. 
 My wife fell down stairs, poor soul, and hurted her- 
 self severely, and you should spare her the suffering 
 of seeing me disgraced, who never laid a hand to 
 her.' The jury promptly convicted him. I asked 
 his lawyer if had any objection to sentence being 
 passed, he said he had not. Then I asked Dunn — 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 181 
 
 "'I have' he said, 'I demand a new trial. I do 
 not consent to abide by this one. Give me a new 
 trial, Judge, or I swear that I renounce allegiance to 
 the United States, and will go back to the Crown of 
 Great Britain.' 
 
 "All this in a fine rich brogue, which I cannot re- 
 produce," and the Judge laughed heartily, as he re- 
 called the scene. 
 
 "And what will be the punishment of such a 
 brute?" asked Mrs. Keene. 
 
 " I haven't sentenced him " answered the Judge. 
 " He may get three or five years at hard labor in the 
 State's prison. But his wife begs hard for a light 
 sentence." 
 
 "That is the old story; the patient, forbearing, 
 long-suffering woman pleading for the man that has 
 broken every vow he made to her," said Mrs. Keene. 
 
 "Yes, Yes," said the Judge, uneasily, "I agree 
 with you Mrs. Keene." 
 
 " Only a woman can know what it is to have her 
 natural protector turn into her foe. But this woman 
 has some one to do her justice. It must be a grand 
 thing to sit as a judge righting the wrongs of the 
 weak and oppressed," and Mrs. Keene looked up 
 into the Judge's face. 
 
 "Well, sometimes, I don't know about it always. 
 Your judgment is sometimes reversed on appeal ", said 
 the judge, as he moved to speak to Mrs. Livingston, 
 who had been watching him as he talked to Mrs. 
 Keene. 
 
 It was a merry scene as the evening wore on. 
 The three long tables in the dining-room of the Inn 
 
I »2 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 were filled with a jovial party; the hot supper, the 
 lemonade and the gum-drops contributed to make 
 their joy more unconfined. They were not under the 
 restraint of conventional rules, and none were afraid 
 to give voice and laugh free swing, amid the merry 
 din that filled the room. 
 
 Mr. Forrester moved about like a genial old 
 spirit, stirring up mirth wherever he went, leaving 
 many a blushing girl in his wake; for if his jokes 
 had been effective, the whole party of young people 
 would have been mated without more ado. 
 
 He expected one or more wedding-fees as the re- 
 sult of one of his donation parties; and he was not 
 always disappointed. 
 
 He was a matrimonial promoter, little reason as 
 he had for regarding it as a blessed estate. In these 
 ventures he got the fee and there his responsibility 
 ended. 
 
 For the older people he had a pleasant word or 
 jest, a story about the time when they too were 
 young, and always a word of apology or defence for 
 the boisterous merriment of the young people; so 
 that every one united in pronouncing one of Mr. For- 
 rester's donation parties, "a jolly lark." 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ABOUT ten days after Mr. Forrester's donation 
 party, when life at Clintonville had settled 
 down to its wonted routine, Dinsmore stood on the 
 balcony waiting for the arrival of the stage. On his 
 right was Mrs. Keene, with a fur wrap thrown over 
 her shoulders, to his left Mrs. Hollis stood with a 
 black cashmere shawl over her head and held tightly 
 under her chin, which threw into bold relief her 
 gaunt, pale face. 
 
 The October sunset glowed amber toward the 
 West, streaked near the horizon with a deep orange 
 red, and fading off toward the South into violet and 
 gray, against which the " Barrens " were outlined in 
 deep, misty purple. 
 
 The old coach loomed like a ship at sea, as it came 
 lumbering over the crest of the hill, the passengers 
 on top silhouetted against the violet gray sky. 
 
 As it drew nearer to the Inn some familiar look in 
 the pose of one of these figures on the top made Dins- 
 more scrutinize it more closely, and as the stage 
 drew up before the door, all doubt was dispelled, 
 when there rang out, in clear, strong tones, like the 
 herald at the head of an advancing army, "Hello! 
 old Harry! Pax vobiscum, your Reverence." 
 
 It was Tom Whitlock, an old law chum of Dins- 
 183 
 
1 84 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 more's in Judge Channing's office. He was a loyal 
 son of Stentor, and his greeting was so loud and 
 hearty that the village street seemed invaded by an 
 army corps. 
 
 It rather disconcerted Dinsmore, but he hurried 
 down to greet his old friend, and help him unload 
 his traps his dog and gun and array of hunting gear; 
 for Tom had come to try the partridge shooting and, 
 armed with all the necessary outfit and a letter to 
 Judge Lowther from Judge Channing, felt confident 
 that he was secure of good sport, under ample pro- 
 tection. His foot was hardly on the ground before 
 he opened on Dinsmore a battery of questions. 
 
 " I say, your Reverence, are there any birds in 
 your parish ? Do the farmers object to a man's 
 hunting through their fields? Will a letter to Judge 
 Lowther let me in for some sport ? Who was that 
 trim filly beside you on the balcony, not your wife, 
 eh? Did she hire that old witch to stand on your 
 other side, as a foil ? Is there much game of that 
 kind here, for an evening's sport or a rainy day's 
 hunt? How go the girls of this rural parish ?" 
 
 Tom could not modulate his voice to a prudent 
 tone, even when he tried to do it, and Dinsmore's 
 chief concern was to get him under cover. 
 
 " Get your traps together and come to your room, 
 and I will tell you all I know," he said, as he picked 
 up the gun-case and led the way. 
 
 The door was scarcely shut before Tom began 
 again "Who is the trim filly? Not yet your wife?" 
 
 " Her name is Keene, she is a widow with one 
 little boy," said Dinsmore. 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 1 85 
 
 "A widow! — Why man alive she is not a day over 
 twenty, trig as a girl; and such a pose!" rattled on 
 Tom. 
 
 " But widows were too much for Weller, and she 
 has all the elements to make her as fatal as the worst 
 of 'em. Look out, Harry, my boy, she is not to be 
 trifled with, she knows the whole game, having played 
 it to a check-mate; you only know the opening." 
 
 "I ought to revise my first statement; she is not 
 exactly a widow; she has recently been divorced 
 from her husband; who must have been a perfect 
 brute." 
 
 "Oh! ho! worse and worse, a widow may have 
 been softened by affliction ; but a divorcee has simply 
 played the game out to the end, with a cool head 
 and a firm hand. Moreover, she has none of that 
 sentimental regard for her previous partner which 
 surrounds him with an impossible aureole of noble 
 attributes; he is simply a blunder which she has 
 committed and which she proposes to rectify in her 
 next selection; or he is an impersonality merged into 
 the sex male, and she will get even with the said sex 
 male by taking to herself another, and making him 
 live the life of a dog. My guileless friend, Heaven 
 forefend you from the pitfalls with which your path 
 is strewn." 
 
 "Nonsense, Tom! how you let your tongue run 
 away with your brains. One would think I had an- 
 nounced to you my desperate infatuation with Mrs. 
 Keene " interrupted Harry. 
 
 "Not infatuation, not so far or so bad as that; 
 but I confess that I was startled by that expression 
 
1 86 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 'brute of a husband.' Those little straws do sug- 
 gest the quarter from which the wind blows, to a 
 man of the world." 
 
 " All right, Tom, when my common sense gives 
 out, I will draw on you at sight, for a check of 
 worldly wisdom." 
 
 " Then it will be too late. I want to keep the 
 balance in your favor," laughed Tom. 
 
 " But enough of this, Verbum sat. Have you any 
 flowers not bred in a conservatory, native to the 
 soil, wild, sweet, fragrant, blushing, unwooed. I 
 have a letter to Judge Lowther, has he any family?" 
 
 "Yes, one daughter." 
 
 "Her age?" 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know. I never asked her." 
 
 " At a guess, should you say twenty or forty," per- 
 sisted Tom. 
 
 "Well, certainly nearer twenty than forty." 
 
 " Give me her points, size, color of hair, and eyes, 
 complexion, previous condition of servitude?" 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know what you mean by that 
 last." 
 
 " I mean, engaged or not, affections enlisted or 
 fancy free?" 
 
 " It is not part of my duty as a pastor to inquire 
 into these matters," answered Dinsmore. 
 
 "Well unless the black cloth has wrought a mighty 
 change on your mental composition, I don't believe 
 you knew the girl two weeks before you had your 
 opinion pretty well formed on this point." 
 
 " Let's go down to supper ", answered Dinsmore. 
 
 "Let's hear what is Miss Lowther like," retorted 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 187 
 
 Whitlock. " You were fly enough with your infor- 
 mation as to Mrs. Keene. Is Miss Lowther such a 
 cipher that she is indescribable. What's the matter 
 with her? Is she hump-backed, or an imbecile? 
 Out with it." 
 
 "What nonsense, Tom, come to supper; after sup- 
 per I have to go to Judge Lowther's and you can 
 come along and present your letter, and see Miss 
 Lowther for yourself." 
 
 " All right. But this mystery I will fathom, this 
 riddle I will solve, if I have to give up my whole va- 
 cation to it." 
 
 At supper Whitlock's curiosity as to Mrs. Keene 
 was set at rest by an introduction and a seat beside 
 her, with Dinsmore at the head of the table, and 
 Mrs. Hollis and Amelia Ann on the opposite side. 
 
 " So you are fresh from the great, gay city, 
 Mr. Whitlock, and can tell us plain country-folk 
 something of what is going on in the world;" and 
 Mrs. Keene smiled as she saw Miss Amelia bridle at 
 this. 
 
 " No, Mrs. Keene, I cannot lay claim to be in 
 touch with anything in New York, but a lawyer's 
 office," answered Whitlock. 
 
 "You must be a paragon of diligence, if day and 
 night you hang over those musty law-books. Even 
 a stroll along a city street, the men and women that 
 one meets on a single block, are an education to us 
 who are stagnating on these hill-tops. Thus much 
 of society you must allow yourself even in going to 
 and from your office." 
 
 " I remember the bon mot about knowing a woman 
 
1 88 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 being equivalent to a liberal education; but passing 
 them on the street, is hardly enough to educate one. 
 It is merely tantalizing to pass a face, in which there 
 seems great possibilities, that you will never be able 
 to realize. Don't you think so?" 
 
 " Yes, that may be one view to take of it, another 
 might be the determination to find that face again 
 and test its possibilities. But if the crowd tantalizes 
 you, perhaps you are come among us to take up some 
 of these human possibilities seriatim try them one by 
 one, as you find them scattered on the waysides? If 
 that is your mission, I will go about warning the 
 young rustic maidens. I am the guardian of these 
 simple-hearted damsels. I have warned another 
 young man that he is not at liberty to break hearts 
 without interference from me," and she gave Dins- 
 more a knowing smile. 
 
 Tom Whitlock laughed heartily, Dinsmore frowned 
 slightly, and added, " Mr. Whitlock is here to spend 
 a short vacation in his favorite pastime, partridge 
 hunting." 
 
 "Against that I have nothing to say, especially if 
 he brings the partridges to the Inn. Did it ever 
 strike you how strong the predatory instinct is in 
 men. They are always hunting something, pursuing, 
 chasing, bringing down innocent creatures. They 
 call them 'game ' and seem to think that gives them 
 a right to hurt and kill or capture. Women are not 
 so. 
 
 " It is a survival of the primal instincts of man, 
 when hunting was his only or chief means of subsist- 
 ence," answered Dinsmore. 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 189 
 
 " It seems to me " broke in Whitlock " that there 
 is merely a difference of method. Men hunt, and 
 women net their game." 
 
 "Women are put on the defensive by men, and 
 must have recourse to the only methods that are 
 within their reach, finesse and tact," answered Mrs. 
 Keene, warmly. 
 
 Whitlock burst out laughing; Mrs. Keene replied 
 to the laugh with a touch of asperity in her tone, 
 " Men do not care to hunt game that is too easily 
 caught. What is that couplet about 
 
 " ' The toy so fiercely sought 
 
 Hath lost its charm by being caught ; ' 
 
 and it is true." 
 
 "Oh! yes, no question of it," replied Whitlock, 
 still laughing. " But my remark was intended to 
 apply not to the hunted ones, who, chased by a too 
 eager pursuer, throw here and there a lure or pitfall 
 in his way to make him halt, and turn, and so give 
 them a breathing spell. I think, to an onlooker, 
 such a game as that, well played, is very pretty sport ; 
 and I am always with the hare rather than the hound. 
 But, unless my eyes have misled me, I have seen the 
 game reversed, and the net laid with great care, cau- 
 tion and skill directly across the path where the sup- 
 posed hunter was wont to stroll without any thought 
 of hunting. If I am wrong, you can correct me 
 Mrs. Keene. And so it seemed to me that the 
 sport went on from both sides; but with different 
 kinds of weapons," 
 
 " You need hardly appeal to me for correction, Mr. 
 
190 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 Whitlock, you seem able to draw your own conclu- 
 sions," answered Mrs. Keene. 
 
 "We all draw our conclusions," laughed Whitlock, 
 " even if they are only snap shots. But I would like 
 to have, from some woman competent to tell the 
 truth on the subject, an answer to these two ques- 
 tions. Are there not more women flirts than men 
 flirts? Are not women greater adepts at the art, 
 especially in that most subtle phase of it viz: making 
 the man believe that he is the only one? Can't you 
 give me an answer Mrs. Keene?" 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Whitlock; I must disclaim being 
 ' competent to tell the truth on that subject,' as you 
 are pleased to put it. It is one of those endless con- 
 troversies, for which no answer will ever be found 
 that will satisfy a majority of either sex." 
 
 " It is a horrid man's notion that women are 
 always flirting with them," broke in Miss Amelia. 
 "I can tell them, it isn't so half the times they think 
 that it is." 
 
 "Thank you, Miss Hollis" said Tom, with the ut- 
 most gravity, and a deferential bow. " That is cer- 
 tainly an honest opinion on an important phase of 
 the question, and I shall note it down for future 
 use." 
 
 Dinsmore felt uneasy and made a move to go, 
 while Tom was inclined to sit still and push the con- 
 versation to extremes. " If we are going to Judge 
 Lowther's, we had better be moving," said Dins- 
 more. 
 
 "Why so? The Judge doesn't retire at early can- 
 dle light, does he?" answered Tom. 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 191 
 
 " If you are going to Judge Lowther's you will find 
 a chance to put your question to a simple girl bred 
 in this country town, far from the wiles that are 
 practised in society. She is a dear, sweet, good 
 girl, and is under my special care and protection. If 
 she had had advantages, she would have been a 
 match for any of you, and could have held her own 
 without any help from me." 
 
 " She is entirely safe, Mrs. Keene, if you have 
 thrown your aegis over her " said Whitlock, in a tone 
 that made Miss Amelia titter with delight. " I have 
 tried to get a description of her from my friend Dins- 
 more; but I take it that he does not know Miss Low- 
 ther very well, from the meagre scraps that were all 
 I could gather." 
 
 Mrs. Keene turned on Dinsmore, with an arch 
 smile, and lifting her eyebrows, answered Whitlock, 
 "Fairly well, I should say." 
 
 At this Dinsmore rose, determined to leave Tom 
 alone rather than let him run on, who could tell 
 whither. 
 
 Tom followed him. " She's a hollow one ", he 
 said, as they reached Dinsmore's room. 
 
 "You seemed to strike an unfortunate vein, with 
 her," Dinsmore answered; " she didn't show her best 
 side." 
 
 "She led the conversation; and I naturally let her 
 keep the lead. I don't like her. We will fight when- 
 ever and wherever we meet; and she will lead off." 
 
 "Nonsense! she is not of the fighting kind; she is 
 full of tact, and persuasive rather than combative," 
 replied Dinsmore. 
 
192 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 "She may persuade you; but she will make war 
 on me: mark my words." 
 
 " Tom, Tom, you are, as you used to be, deter- 
 mined that men and things shall be as you think that 
 they are. I tell you that you have seen only one 
 side of Mrs. Keene's character." 
 
 "Which you think is the hard side; and I will re- 
 turn you the favor by telling you that she is letting 
 you feel that her touch is as soft as velvet. Harry, 
 don't let that woman net you." 
 
 " You are wise beyond the demands of the occa- 
 sion, Tom. Mrs. Keene spreads no net for me; we 
 are simply friends by virtue of her unfortunate posi- 
 tion and my ministerial office." 
 
 " Parson Harry, beware ' weave a circle round her 
 thrice, for she on honey-dew hath fed, and drunk 
 the milk of Paradise.' She has been in it; she is 
 out of it; she will be in it again; or my name is not 
 ' Tom the witless,' as you used to call me." 
 
 "As no amount of discussion will settle this matter, 
 but only leave each of us more firmly convinced that 
 he is right, suppose we go up to Judge Lowthers," 
 answered Dinsmore. 
 
 " I'm with you there," said Whitlock ; " for I want 
 to see whether you do or do not know that young 
 woman, and also whether she is worth knowing." 
 
 " All right " said Dinsmore, " draw your own con- 
 clusions and then you are sure to be satisfied, whether 
 they are right or wrong." 
 
 On their way up to the Judge's Dinsmore had to 
 answer a running fire of questions from Tom on 
 nearly every house that they passed. He was full 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 193 
 
 of animal life and off on a vacation, and he seemed 
 to think that this out-of-the-way village was teeming 
 with romantic possibilities. Dinsmore laughed and 
 humored his whim. 
 
 "That is Conan Hill's house, an old, unsuccessful 
 man who has retired from everything because, atevery- 
 thing he tried, he lost money. He has two daughters, 
 Sallie, the village belle and wit, Mary who married a 
 young lawyer with brilliant prospects, who gave her 
 a chance, for two years, to see the life of the city, and 
 then died from drink, leaving her a widow, without 
 means, to return to her father's house and remem- 
 ber her short-lived experience of the outside world." 
 
 "I want to know Sallie. I don't care for Mary; 
 those two years have probably spoiled her," was 
 Tom's comment. 
 
 The next house was Mother Livingston's. Dins- 
 more's description of her interested Whitlock. " You 
 must take me down to see that old lady ", he said. 
 
 "This next house "is Newman Digg's. He is the 
 criminal lawyer of this district. Uneducated except 
 by his own efforts, a fine mathematician, a first-rate 
 chess-player, an inveterate gourmand. In his cellar 
 you will find at almost any time a dozen terrapin fat- 
 tening for his table. He is a skilful engineer and 
 when he goes to New York almost always drives the 
 engine. I attended last summer a remarkable mur- 
 der trial, where he was counsel for the defendant. 
 The trial turned on evidence of motive for the mur- 
 der. There was a note which the prosecution put in 
 evidence showing that the accused owed the mur- 
 dered man a sum which he could not pay. 
 13 
 
194 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 " Just before recess Diggs asked permission to ex- 
 amine this note, preparatory to his cross-examina- 
 tion in the afternoon. He had a photographer in an 
 adjoining room, had a photograph of the note made, 
 had an expert penman on hand and some old paper 
 of the same kind as the note. During the recess his 
 penman made six facsimiles of the note, with a corner 
 torn off exactly like the original. When the court 
 reassembled after recess Diggs took up the cross- 
 examination of the witness; asked him as to the 
 note, whether he was sure that he had seen it and 
 could identify it, handed him one of the fac-similes, 
 asked him if that was the note, and, after he had 
 carefully identified it, handed him out the remaining 
 six, with the true note among them, and asked him 
 triumphantly, whether he recognized them all." 
 
 "Well you have a truly skilful bar, with methods 
 unapproached even by our city counsel. But what 
 said the Judge to this most skilful style of practice?" 
 
 " He said ' Mr. Diggs, this is the most extraordinary 
 conduct of a case that has ever fallen under my no- 
 tice. Your connection with this case is terminated. ' 
 
 " Diggs picked up his papers, smiling broadly, 
 bowed to the Judge, left the court-room, sent a 
 young lawyer in to take his place and directed the 
 case outside of court. He had another case the 
 consequences of which he could not dodge so easily. 
 He defended and secured the acquittal of two noted 
 counterfeiters, and they paid him his fee in counter- 
 feit money. How he did denounce those fellows and 
 consign them to the penitentiary from which he had 
 freed them." 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 195 
 
 The next tale of village life was called forth when 
 they passed Bill Bennett's house. 
 
 " I tell you what, Harry, you showed grit, if you 
 are a parson," was Whitlock's comment on the story 
 of Dinsmore's encounter with the smith. 
 
 "Thanks Tom; but I am not willing to accept a 
 personal compliment at the expense of my profession. 
 There is nothing in a minister's life to make a man 
 a coward, or there ought not to be." 
 
 " All the same, we don't expect ministers to show 
 as much physical courage as other men, and I think 
 you showed a lot when you faced that angry maniac." 
 
 "I don't," answered Dinsmore, "it was mere re- 
 liance on the law that mind would triumph over mat- 
 ter, intelligence over brute force. I had every ad- 
 vantage on my side, as the result showed. And I'll 
 bet you that the chaplains of our army showed as 
 much physical courage as the surgeons, in caring for 
 the wounded on the field of battle." 
 
 " I don't bet with parsons, " replied Whitlock ; " the 
 odds are in their favor." 
 
 By this time the latch of Judge Lowther's gate 
 saved Dinsmore the necessity of a retort. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 AS they walked up the gravel path Whitlock in- 
 sisted upon Dinsmore's giving him the cue to 
 his behavior. 
 
 " Shall I talk law to the Judge and love to the girl, 
 or vice versa" he said. 
 
 ''You must use your own judgment and knowledge 
 of the world," retorted Dinsmore. "But do please 
 remember that I am the pastor of these people, and 
 hoe your own row and not drag me in. I don't 
 think you quite appreciate the situation, Tom. We 
 are not chums in a law school, out for a lark to- 
 gether." 
 
 "Oh! yes, your Reverence, I see the point and 
 will make it plain hereafter that I am an uncircum- 
 cised heathen and you are a priest of the temple," 
 laughed Whitlock, slapping Dinsmore on the back 
 with a blow that almost staggered him. " I suppose 
 the Judge is a sinner and Miss Lowther a saint. I 
 flatter myself that I can adapt myself to both; with 
 the Judge I am Channing's pupil, with Miss Lowther 
 I am a disciple of her revered pastor. I think I 
 see my way clear. I find myself in a new role, the 
 pastor's friend; but I think I can fill it." 
 
 Dinsmore did not doubt that Tom could fill it, but 
 thus far his method had tended to bring such a new 
 196 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 197 
 
 element into his pastoral life that it was rather dis- 
 concerting. But Tom was too good and true a fellow 
 to do intentional mischief, and he could say and do, 
 without offence, what would make for most other 
 men a host of enemies. He was thoroughly good at 
 heart, and could laugh himself out of a predicament. 
 
 They were ushered into Judge Lowther's study, 
 and found the Judge in an easy chair, before a blaz- 
 ing wood fire with his slippered feet on the fender, 
 and a newspaper in his lap; he was listening to 
 Mary playing on the piano in the next room. 
 
 As they came into the room, he held up his fin- 
 ger to silence Dinsmore's introduction of Whitlock. 
 "Listen to that," he said. "Doesn't she play that 
 reel with spirit. Upon my word, I feel as if I could 
 dance to her touch." 
 
 Dinsmore introduced Tom, who presented his let- 
 ter of introduction. 
 
 The Judge read it through, before taking any no- 
 tice of either of them ; slowly and carefully he conned 
 every word, through his gold-rimmed spectacles, as 
 though it were an important piece of evidence on 
 which he was to render a decision. Then, with a 
 wave of his hand, " Sit down, sit down ; and how is 
 Channing? Busy as ever, I suppose; and with a 
 parcel of young fellows about him, whom he is hatch- 
 ing into lawyers. That was always his way. Ah! 
 well, he and I were young, once. Is he as gray as I 
 am ?" 
 
 "He has plenty of white hair on his head; but we 
 never think of him as an old man," said Tom. " He 
 can work us all tired, and he is full of fun over our 
 
I9 8 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 work and has plenty of good stories with which he 
 illustrates his teaching of the law." 
 
 "Yes! that's Channing. He always had a story 
 for everything. 
 
 "Mary," he called, "come here and let me intro- 
 duce you to one of Channing's boys." And thus, 
 without ceremony, was Tom Whitlock brought face 
 to face with this mysterious Mary Lowther. 
 
 She came smiling into the room, amused at her 
 father's abrupt summons, her face slightly flushed, 
 and Tom Whitlock was more than ever at a loss to 
 account for Dinsmore's reticence. 
 
 He laughed as Mary shook hands cordially with 
 him, and she answered him with a merry laugh. 
 They were friends before they had spoken. 
 
 " Mary, take Mr. Whitlock into the parlor and 
 play him some music. I want to talk to Mr. Dins- 
 more about the enlargement of the church building. 
 You young folks won't be interested in that." 
 
 "I won't let you say that, Father, I am as much 
 interested in it and expect to work for it, in my 
 way, as hard as you do in your way," retorted 
 Mary. 
 
 " I know that, my lassie " answered the Judge. 
 "We know that; and as soon as we know what we 
 want to do and what it will cost and how the money 
 is to be raised, we will call you into our counsels, 
 and you will do good service ; but Mr. Whitlock won't 
 care to join in our council of war, and now we are 
 going to discuss only the general plan which will not 
 specially interest you, and so the Court decides that 
 you shall play, and we will plan out work." 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 199 
 
 And so, without further parley, the company was 
 divided, Whitlock and Mary in the parlor, Dinsmore 
 and the Judge in the study; which arrangement 
 suited Whitlock admirably. 
 
 The Judge figured and planned and sketched and 
 made estimates for the extension of the church at 
 the rear end; calculated the number of pews, the 
 rental, what they could raise by subscription, and 
 what they could borrow. 
 
 Since Dinsmore had come to the parish the de- 
 mand for pews had increased, so that now they had 
 a list of twenty names ready to take pews and not an 
 unrented pew in the church. 
 
 Through their discussion ran the strains of one 
 and another song that Mary played or sang. 
 
 Then the music ceased and the murmur of the 
 voices in the other room, with here and there a word 
 or two in a louder tone, would catch Dinsmore's ear 
 and distract him from the matter in hand so that he 
 answered one or two of the Judge's questions so 
 much at random, that the old gentleman took him up 
 with "What? What? What's that you say, Mr. 
 Dinsmore?" and he was more at a loss from the fact 
 that he did not know exactly what he had said ? "I 
 guess you were going over those figures in your mind 
 and did not catch my remark," and the Judge 
 reiterated it so plainly that Dinsmore was able to 
 make intelligent reply. 
 
 Whitlock was getting along famously with Mary, 
 and their frequent choruses of laughter were quite 
 as disconcerting to Dinsmore as the fragments of 
 their talk that floated through the door. 
 
200 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 When the Judge had settled to his satisfaction the 
 general plan for the enlargement of the church build- 
 ing and completed his list of possible subscribers, he 
 proposed an adjournment to the parlor for a song 
 from Mary. 
 
 "We always wind up the evening, before I settle 
 down to my night work, with a Scotch song," he 
 added, as they passed into the parlor. 
 
 " Come, Mary," he broke in on the tcte-d-tcte chat, 
 "Give us ' Within a Mile of Edinboro Town,' " and 
 added, turning to Whitlock, " my lassie has a right 
 to sing the Scotch songs, for her mother was a Mc- 
 Kenzie from Inverness." 
 
 " She certainly maintains her birthright to sing 
 them, "said Whitlock when the song was ended; and 
 the Judge concluded, on the spot, that Whitlock was 
 a sensible young fellow, and with a hearty hand- 
 shake bade him make himself at home with them 
 during his stay in Clintonville. " Drop in to supper 
 with us when you feel like it." 
 
 " Then you will take me out to-morrow and intro- 
 duce me to Farmer Brown, Miss Mary," said Whit- 
 lock, as they turned to leave the room. 
 
 "That's a good move," said the Judge. "Brown 
 has a fine farm with some good covers, and, if you 
 have his good-will, you can hunt anywhere you 
 please about Pleasant Pond." 
 
 Whitlock had certainly done famously on so short 
 an acquaintance, securing Mary as a guide to his 
 hunting ground, and the freedom of the house from 
 the Judge. 
 
 Dinsmore felt as though he were somehow left on 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 201 
 
 one side, like a foot-traveller stepping aside to let a 
 merry party drive by. 
 
 As they walked back to the Inn Whitlock was full 
 of enthusiasm on the subject of Mary Lowther. 
 
 " I tell you what, old fellow, you have let a jewel 
 slip through your fingers, while you were conning the 
 sliddery graces of Madame the forlorn and forsaken." 
 
 " You are off on that tack again, Tom. How 
 often must I tell you that there is no other bond, 
 present or prospective, between me and Mrs. Keene, 
 than the pity which I feel, for a woman in her posi- 
 tion and the help and counsel that I can give her 
 about her boy." 
 
 "Yes I know; and how often must I warn you 
 that pity is akin to love, and that your fatherly in- 
 terest in that handsome boy may ripen into assuming 
 the position permanently." 
 
 Dinsmore laughed, "Have it your own way." 
 
 " It is not my way at all. But no matter what 
 becomes of the 'willing widder, ' you have shown 
 amazing obtusity, not to know that girl better. She's 
 a mighty sweet girl, sensible, cultivated, no non- 
 sense about her, and as jolly as she is pretty. Harry 
 your cloth must have dulled your taste in women. 
 You have chosen dross and let the gold slip through 
 your fingers." 
 
 "Go on; don't mind me," said Dinsmore. 
 
 " That is exactly what I propose to do. You give 
 me a free run. I propose to take it. To-morrow 
 Miss Lowther drives me over to Farmer Brown's and 
 gives me her blessing on my sport. One day shall in- 
 tervene and, day after to-morrow, I will take the 
 
202 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 Judge at his word and go there to supper. And after 
 that the Gods shall guide me. But my next vacation 
 will be spent in this region; and opportunity will not 
 be lost on me. What are the Judge's means?" 
 
 " I know nothing about that " said Dinsmore. " He 
 subscribes liberally to all charitable enterprises, but 
 whether from his salary as a Judge or from an inde- 
 pendent income, I don't know." 
 
 " That's a good sign " said Whitlock. " But after 
 all a girl like that is a fortune to a man, if she brings 
 not one cent of dowry. The Judge is awfully fond 
 of her; would not be able to live without her; would 
 accept any man as son-in-law that pleases his 'las- 
 sie;' would take him in and give him a chance at 
 law practice. There's a future for a rising young 
 lawyer. Harry you may count on us as your par- 
 ishioners and staunch supporters. How immensely 
 superior such a girl is to a city-bred, fashionable girl 
 to whom life is no more than a show, more or less 
 hollow. There's something so genuine about such a 
 girl, fresh air, nature, reality, all that sort of thing. 
 You feel it in every word and look, though you can't 
 define it and say just where it lies." 
 
 "You have certainly made rapid strides in discov- 
 ery on a short acquaintance, Tom," answered Dins- 
 more. " And you lay out a programme for Miss 
 Lowther's future as if she had commissioned you to do 
 it, merely requiring of you that you please yourself." 
 
 "All right, old fellow. You have been more than 
 obtuse, absorbed no doubt in pastoral cares, not to 
 see what a jewel that girl is. I have made a good 
 start with the Judge; and I'm going to have a good 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 203 
 
 time with the 'lassie' — and I will not worry my- 
 self as to the outcome of it. Wish me joy and 
 success." 
 
 " That seems hardly necessary " answered Dins- 
 more. "You seem to enjoy it and feel sure of your 
 success." 
 
 " Then all I will ask of you is not to meddle," 
 said Whitlock, with a laugh, as they bid one another 
 good-night. 
 
 Dinsmore went to his room with a sense of discom- 
 fort, as though something had gone wrong, and yet 
 he could not fix upon anything that should be a dis- 
 turbing element in his thoughts. 
 
 Whitlock was too outspoken and reckless in his 
 talk; but that did not compromise him; he was not 
 responsible for what he said or did. 
 
 The plans which Judge Lowther proposed were 
 reasonable and likely to succeed. It was surely an 
 omen of success that, after six months work, the 
 church needed to be enlarged, and that so prominent 
 a man as the Judge took so lively an interest in the 
 work. 
 
 But it would have added to the interest with which 
 they worked out the plans if Mary had been in at the 
 conference. She was ready with practical sugges- 
 tions, always; and Dinsmore felt as if he must talk 
 it over with her before they concluded on what was 
 to be done and how they should do it. 
 
 It seemed, too, as if she would, in some way, injure 
 her influence as his helper in Sunday School work at 
 Scooper's Hollow if she took Whitlock out to Farmer 
 Brown's on a shooting excursion. There was some- 
 
204 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 thing unsuitable in it, just what he could not say; 
 but the two missions seemed incongruous. 
 
 What an odd stick Tom was. How he blundered 
 along in life; and yet he seemed to make his way, 
 and people took him for what he was, a real good- 
 hearted, clever fellow. 
 
 Dinsmore liked him well, but did not see why other 
 people liked him so well. 
 
 He was altogether in a contrary frame of mind, 
 liking and disapproving, satisfied and unsatisfied, 
 feeling as if something had thoroughly unsettled him. 
 
 And what was it that unsettled him ? The affairs 
 of his Hillside Parish were in a prosperous state. 
 His ministry was acceptable; the church was to be 
 enlarged; his ambition to awaken these people was 
 already being realized. 
 
 He told himself this comforting story; and ad- 
 mitted that it was true, but it did not assure him 
 that all was well. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE next morning, right after breakfast, Mary 
 Lowther drove up to the hotel in her basket 
 phaeton with the pair of Morgan horses. How well 
 she handled the reins, how fresh and rosy the frosty 
 air made her cheeks, and how bright the morning 
 light shone in her eyes. 
 
 Whitlock was ready with gun and game-bag, 
 "Brown Bess, " his cocker spaniel jumped into the 
 wagon and curled herself up at Mary's feet and 
 seemed to smile at Mary, as she leaned over and 
 stroked the silky head. 
 
 Mrs. Keene and Dinsmore stood on the balcony, 
 and wished them good luck, to which Tom roared 
 his thanks. 
 
 " They make a very pretty pair," she said turning 
 to Dinsmore as they drove away. " Quien Sabe? It 
 may be that your friend will bring down some unex- 
 pected game. It is all in the professional line, and 
 the Judge would no doubt approve of a match which 
 brought both him and Mary a partner;" she watched 
 Dinsmore as she waited for his reply. 
 
 "Yes" he said absently, and with a slight rising 
 inflection, that left one in doubt whether he intended 
 to assent to, or question her statement. 
 
 "Your friends impetuous, headlong ways would 
 205 
 
206 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 suit an unconventional girl like Mary very well. 
 She has good sense enough to curb his excess of 
 animal spirits, and yet has not been reared in sur- 
 roundings that would make her take offence at his 
 boisterous ways. He seems to be a well-meaning 
 young fellow," she added, after a moments pause, 
 which had not elicited any reply from Dinsmore. 
 
 " He is a noble, true-hearted, manly fellow. I 
 wish there were more like him," said Dinsmore, de- 
 cidedly. 
 
 " Then he would be a valuable addition to your 
 parish," replied Mrs. Keene, in an almost derisive 
 tone. "We will do our utmost to further this little 
 romance." 
 
 Dinsmore made no answer, but stood absently 
 looking at the line of distant hills radiant with autumn 
 glory. 
 
 " How the leaves flutter down, with every breeze " 
 said Mrs. Keene, as if in a reverie. "And every 
 falling leaf reminds me that the time is drawing near 
 when I must go back into the world. Go back alone 
 with my boy, to face I know not what ; to face it 
 alone; to battle against prejudice and suspicion and 
 evil tongues that will misrepresent everything I do 
 or say. When I am gone may I write to you for 
 counsel, Mr. Dinsmore; or will the affairs of your 
 'Hill-Side Parish' so fill your mind that there will 
 be no place left for anyone outside the bounds of it. 
 You are a man, strong, self-reliant, sure of your 
 place and power in the world, and I suppose cannot 
 know how a woman would dread what I shall have 
 to face. 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 207 
 
 " You have my hearty sympathy, Mrs. Keene; and 
 if I can aid you in any way I want you to feel always 
 that you can call upon me, and I shall be only too 
 glad to do what I can," answered Dinsmore. 
 
 He turned to go to his study, Mrs. Keene walked 
 to the far end of the balcony and stood there tapping 
 her foot impatiently. The young minister did not 
 seem to be in a responsive mood; his answer was cold 
 and formal, lacking spontaneity, deliberate as though 
 it were forced from him. 
 
 This boisterous young law-student was held re- 
 sponsible by her for Dinsmore's lack of heartiness. 
 He was an upsetting element in the quiet life of their 
 little circle; he had a tongue that could not be 
 trusted, and his laugh was positively offensive. She 
 doubted her ability to set him down; for what an- 
 swer could one make to an inane and boisterous laugh. 
 
 In the evening Tom came home from his hunting, 
 in fine spirits, and with his face all aglow from his 
 walk through the evening air from Pleasant Pond. 
 
 He had had a fine day's sport and was in the best 
 of spirits. He had killed five plump partridges, had 
 not missed a single shot, and " Brown Bess " had be- 
 haved as only a well-bred dog knows how to do and 
 delight his master's heart. 
 
 The ride out there — well nothing need be said on 
 that subject, for Dinsmore knew what his opinion of 
 Mary Lowther was, and nothing occurred to make 
 him change it one whit. 
 
 " But, Harry, my boy, you have a fine parish. 
 My gracious! I don't believe many parsons have 
 such hunting and fishing. You're in luck." 
 
208 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 "I never thought of it in that light before Tom, 
 as one of my ministerial privileges; thank you for a 
 new point of view." 
 
 "Then you have a lot of nice people about you. 
 That Farmer Brown is a fine old fellow. He asked 
 me to dinner and I tell you it was a royal good din- 
 ner. Such a turkey and such bread and butter a 
 man don't get except on the soil where they were 
 raised ; and after dinner we had a good smoke, while 
 the Farmer showed me his cattle. And that girl of 
 his is a dandy. She put on a jockey cap and started 
 over the field to show me a cover where there was a 
 covey of quail, and the way she went over that rough 
 ground pretty near winded me. She's a nice girl, 
 with lots of good sense and full of fun. I laughed 
 once at one of her stories until I fell off the fence. 
 She took me over in the afternoon to see that pictu- 
 resque old witch Barbara. Upon my word you're in 
 luck with a mighty interesting parish. I thought 
 you were buried in a hole, but there are people here; 
 no doubt about it." 
 
 " You have made a general exploration and have 
 all the delight of one who is on a voyage of discov- 
 ery, Tom; but it is not altogether news to me," 
 answered Dinsmore, smiling at his friend's enthu- 
 siasm. 
 
 "No! I suppose not, but it was new to me. 
 They're quite stuck on you, Harry. Mrs. Brown 
 regards you as a thorough gentleman, and Miss Fanny 
 is one of your devoted followers. Mrs. Brown said 
 that to see you come forward as you did at her 'So- 
 ciable ' made her feel like a mother to you." 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 209 
 
 "And what did you say to this undeserved praise 
 of your humble servant ?" asked Dinsmore. 
 
 " Well to tell you the truth Harry, I burst out 
 laughing and looked at Miss Fanny. She blushed, 
 and I laughed louder; then Farmer Brown chimed in 
 with a hearty laugh, and then we all laughed to- 
 gether." 
 
 " The usual conclusion that you reach, one way or 
 another," answered Dinsmore. 
 
 "Take me down to Mrs. Livingston's to-night; 
 will you ?" asked Whitlock. 
 
 "I don't know whether I will or not," answered 
 Dinsmore. " You're an uncertain quantity, Tom. 
 But I suppose if I don't take you, that you will go 
 there yourself ; and perhaps I had better go and keep 
 you in hand." 
 
 "You had better go, Harry; or I will ask Miss 
 Lowther to take me there, and we might make mis- 
 chief for you. I feel safe under your wing. I tell 
 you what, I think it's awfully jolly, this role of the 
 pastor's friend; it lets me in for lots of sport on the 
 very best footing, both with the men and the maidens. " 
 
 Dinsmore laughed. Tom's views of the perqui- 
 sites of a pastor's life were certainly original. 
 
 At supper three of the partridges were served, a 
 brace of them had been despatched to Judge Low- 
 ther, with Tom's compliments. 
 
 "Your escort was a mascot Mr. Whitlock," said 
 Mrs. Keene, when she saw the fruit of Tom's day of 
 sport. 
 
 " Or the good luck that you wished me, Mrs. 
 Keene," replied Tom. 
 14 
 
210 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 " Oh, no Mr. Whitlock, spells and charms of every 
 kind are in the hands of the unwed maidens. They 
 are always called on to christen ships and bring good 
 luck of every kind. In the eyes of men we women 
 lose all the power to charm when we have once been 
 under the ban of matrimony." 
 
 " That is not because you have lost the power, but 
 because you have devoted it to one interest; so that 
 your spells are all reserved for advancing his pros- 
 perity. It is a kind of close partnership that excludes 
 every one else." 
 
 " Is it so with men, or is this theory of absorption 
 only applicable to women ?" said Mrs. Keene. 
 
 " I am in no position to answer, Mrs. Keene; as I 
 am not of the guild," answered Tom. 
 
 " A candidate for orders, a neophyte, perhaps. 
 Are you ready for the vigils prescribed for knight- 
 hood ?" 
 
 " That depends on who is to bestow the accolade ?" 
 answered Whitlock. 
 
 "We have already settled that, " answered Mrs. 
 Keene, turning to Dinsmore. 
 
 Dinsmore's reply was a laugh, not merry, almost 
 constrained. 
 
 After supper Whitlock and Dinsmore strolled down 
 to Mrs. Livingston's. The old dame met them 
 cordially and Tom made himself thoroughly at 
 home. 
 
 " Are you come to make quite a stay with us, Mr. 
 Whitlock," said Mrs. Livingston, as she brought in 
 a pitcher of cider and set it down beside a plate of 
 Belle Flower apples, and a dish of roast chestnuts; 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 21 1 
 
 " if so we want you to be sociable and come to sup- 
 per when you can." 
 
 "I haven't a long vacation, Mrs. Livingston; not 
 more than ten days or two weeks; but I am coming 
 here again for my Spring vacation. I think my 
 friend Harry has a fine parish, lots of good hunting, 
 good fishing, and kind people. I don't see what a 
 man could ask more." 
 
 The old dame laughed. "That wa'nt included in 
 the call, I guess. We calculate to give our pastor a 
 donation party and make him and his friends feel at 
 home among us; but we never did include the huntin' 
 and fishin' as part of the salary of this church." 
 
 " I suppose not, Mrs. Livingston ; but Deacon Hil- 
 ton has a trout-pond where his father used to fish 
 until he was paralyzed; and now no one casts a line 
 over it but the parson. Now that shows a true re- 
 gard for the pastor's good." 
 
 "Well fishin' seems more scriptural for a minister 
 than shootin* does. The Apostles were fishermen; 
 and I never mind seein' a minister at it, now. But 
 a gun was always a fearful thing tome; and it don't 
 seem the sort o' thing for a minister to be handlin'." 
 
 "I don't object to your views, Mrs. Livingston, 
 for that leaves the whole field to me. I hope you 
 won't read me out of your books because I persist in 
 my gunning." 
 
 " Oh ! no, I've nothing to say against your gunnin' 
 all you want; but I'd hate to see it in the papers that 
 the pastor o' Clintonville church was brought home 
 dead, havin' shot himself while out gunnin' for 
 birds." 
 
212 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 Tom laughed " The item would not seem so bad 
 if my name was in it," he said. 
 
 " Not ne'er so bad, except to your mother. If 
 you'd a been my boy, I would ha' kept a gun out o' 
 your hands altogether." 
 
 "Well I'll promise not to take your pastor out gun- 
 ning or lead him into any mischief, while I am here. 
 I had very good guides to the field. Miss Lowther 
 drove me out to Farmer Brown's, and Miss Fannie 
 Brown took me over the fields of her father's farm." 
 
 " I hope you'll be careful handlin* your gun and 
 not shoot either of those girls " said the old dame, 
 earnestly; " for there aren't two nicer girls in the 
 country." 
 
 " You may rest easy on that score Mrs. Livingston ; 
 for my gun is never loaded going to or from the field. 
 There is only one thing needed to make this an ideal 
 place for a fortnight's sport, and that is for my friend 
 Mr. Dinsmore to have a snug fireside of his own 
 where he can welcome his friends " and Tom laughed, 
 as he saw the twinkle in the old lady's eye. 
 
 "I've told him as much myself," she said, "but 
 that's one of those things in which advice is thrown 
 away, until there's no need of advice. It would add 
 to his usefulness." 
 
 " He would be much more useful to me " said Tom. 
 "What do you sayto it, Harry", he added, turning 
 to Dinsmore. 
 
 "What I may have to say is but half the question. 
 The answer that I am to get, the person that is to 
 give the answer; these are the important points", 
 answered Dinsmore. 
 
A HILLSIDE PARI SIT. 213 
 
 "He will come to his senses, Mrs. Livingston" 
 said Tom. " I have known him long enough to be 
 sure that he was not cut out for the life of a hermit. 
 He is sound on the doctrine that it is not good for 
 man to be alone." 
 
 " I'm sure the day for hermits is past " said Mrs. 
 Livingston. " If there ever was any use in them, 
 they're not fit for these times. I hope the Lord will 
 guide Mr. Dinsmore for his own good and the good 
 of the parish. Have you met Mrs. Keeneatthe Inn. 
 I suppose you and she, bein' both from the city, would 
 have a good deal to say to one another." 
 
 "Yes, I have met her, Mrs. Livingston, but she 
 is from another part of the city than I. She knows 
 more about society, and I more about a law student's 
 life in the city," answered Tom. 
 
 " She's different from our folks," said the old dame. 
 " It's rather hard to say exactly how; but she is dif- 
 ferent." 
 
 " Yes " said Tom " she is very different. She hardly 
 seems to belong to the same race as Miss Lowther. " 
 
 " Mary's a fine girl " said the old lady warmly. " I 
 love her as well as if she was my own child. I don't 
 believe anybody that knows Mary can help from lovin' 
 her. But Mrs. Keene has a mighty takin' way with 
 her. There's old Mrs. Hollis thinks the world of 
 her, and Judge Lowther is almost makin' a fool of 
 himself, for sech an old man. And Mary thinks 
 more of her than she deserves. She can make a'most 
 any one she chooses fond of her. I suppose you 
 and she are quite friends?" 
 
 "Well, not exactly, Mrs. Livingston. Somehow 
 
214 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 we don't get along as well as we ought to. I am 
 afraid my rough ways do not suit her," answered 
 Tom. 
 
 " I thought, from all I had heard, that she was 
 rather used to rough ways in men. But perhaps 
 she's had enough of it and would prefer something 
 more easy like, now. You can't believe all you hear, 
 nor more'n half o' what you see, or think you see. 
 Do you know how much longer Mrs. Keene expects 
 to stay here." 
 
 " She told me yesterday " said Dinsmore, " that 
 the falling leaves reminded her of how soon she 
 would have to go back to face the world alone." 
 
 " That sounds like her " said Mrs. Livingston ; and 
 Tom laughed aloud; "for she told me, last week, 
 when she took supper with me, that she had a mind 
 never to go back to the city, but always to live here, 
 and try to become interested in charity work ; and 
 she wanted me to teach her to make broth and jelly 
 for sick folks. I told her I'd teach her; but she did 
 not appoint any time for the first lesson. I guess it's 
 hard for her to make up her mind what she does 
 want; or perhaps it's too easy, and she makes it up 
 different, once a week." 
 
 " She has a hard problem before her, Mrs. Living- 
 ston," said Dinsmore; "and I think she deserves 
 pity and counsel and help from every one who can 
 give it to her." 
 
 "I don't know nothin' about problems, Mr. Dins- 
 more. She's got a plain duty before her, to think 
 nothin' about gettin' married, and give herself to the 
 bringin' up o' that fine boy o' hers. She's tried 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 215 
 
 bein' a wife and wasn't a success at it. Now Jet her 
 try to be a good mother, and she'll find that that's 
 no problem; but a plain duty that Providence has 
 laid out for her." 
 
 "I think she feels that, Mrs. Livingston; and it is 
 on this very point that she seeks counsel and help," 
 said Dinsmore. 
 
 "She didn't ask any counsel from me on that 
 point" said the old Dame, "she wanted to know how 
 she could work among the people here and make 
 herself a useful woman in the community, and feel 
 that her influence was something, and she would be 
 missed when she left us, and would feel that she was 
 not livin' a narrow, self-centred life, and a good bit 
 more that I didn't understand very well. I must 
 own, she talked well, and at the time, I thought she 
 felt what she said." 
 
 " I am sure she does feel her responsibility and her 
 lonely position, very keenly ", answered Dinsmore. 
 
 "Well it's not so much the feelin' as the stickin' 
 to it that makes a woman useful and good for some- 
 thin' in this world. Our feelin's is apt to run away 
 with us; but stickin' to it gives you no chance to 
 run away." 
 
 Tom's only part in this conversation was to ap- 
 plaud Mrs. Livingston with laughter, which Dins- 
 more feared was boisterous enough to offend the old 
 lady; but her hearty invitation to Tom to take sup- 
 per with her showed that no offence was given. 
 
 "The old lady sees through Mrs. Keene's thin dis- 
 guises ", said Tom, on the way home. 
 
 "I think she sees more than there is", answered 
 
216 A HILLSIDE PAKISH. 
 
 Dinsmore. "What object would Mrs. Keene have 
 in laying herself out to beguile a simple-hearted old 
 country woman whom she may never in her life see 
 again ?" 
 
 " Well, for one thing, the instinct that she has for 
 bagging all game small and big. In the second 
 place she has not wholly made up her mind to shake 
 off the rural dust from her dainty shoes. It was sig- 
 nificant, her desire to be an influence in this commu- 
 nity ", said Tom, with a laugh. 
 
 " I know she feels that her life, thus far, is wasted; 
 that she must get out of herself or she will grow 
 morbid or go mad," said Dinsmore. 
 
 " And getting out of herself implies getting into 
 somebody else. Confound her sentimental rot, she 
 is no more morbid than I am. She's on the market 
 for a husband, if she can get one; and if she can't, 
 then to make love to every man she meets, just for 
 the fun of it." 
 
 "What do you make out of her evident desire to 
 make friends with women just as much, or more, than 
 she does with men," asked Dinsmore in a decided 
 tone, as though settling the controversy. 
 
 "Why it's as plain as the nib of your Reverence. 
 She either gains a direct lead to a flirtation, as in the 
 case of Miss Lowther and Mrs. Hollis, or it serves 
 as a general cover to her, as in the case of Mrs. Liv- 
 ingston. There is nothing more important to a 
 woman who is shady in repute, or who is in for gen- 
 eral flirtation, than the friendship of reputable 
 women. It is like charity, it covers a multitude of 
 sins." 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 217 
 
 " How preposterous, Tom. To what flirtation does 
 Mrs. Hollis' friendship lead the way," asked Dins- 
 more. 
 
 " With Miss Amelie " ; and Whitlock roared with 
 laughter; Dinsmore could not help laughing too. 
 
 " Don't be a fool, Tom," he said. 
 
 " All right " said Tom; " I won't. But don't you." 
 
 " I'll try not " said Dinsmore. 
 
 "That's right" said Tom. "Be humble; I al- 
 ways have more hope of a fellow when he is not stuck 
 on himself." 
 
 " You must despair of yourself, sometimes, I should 
 think," said Dinsmore. 
 
 " No, Harry, my pride is on the surface. In the 
 depths of my heart, I am a very humble fellow, es- 
 pecially with women," said Tom. 
 
 "Save the mark! then I don't even know humility 
 when I see it," retorted Dinsmore. 
 
 " You are in the way of getting a lesson in it that 
 will last you a life-time, if you don't look out;" and, 
 with this parting shot, Tom went to his room. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 "MAS your friend Mr. Whitlock already found us 
 
 1 1 too dull, and gone back to his law-books?" 
 was Mrs. Keene's greeting, as Dinsmore came to the 
 table alone. 
 
 "No," answered Dinsmore, "he has gone to Judge 
 Lowther's to supper." 
 
 " In furtherance of his pastime, the pursuit of 
 game?" she replied. "He is an ardent hunter by 
 day and night. He is quite thoroughly impressed 
 with Miss Lowther's charms." 
 
 "Yes?" was Dinsmore's laconic reply. 
 
 "Oh! yes, indeed. There is no subject, not even 
 quail or partridge or his paragon 'Brown Bess' that 
 elicits such a flow of enthusiastic talk as the mention 
 of Miss Lowther's name. Have you not found it so ?". 
 
 "We do not discuss Miss Lowther; we talk more 
 of old times," answered Dinsmore. 
 
 " That is quite as it should be. A man whose 
 heart is becoming enlisted in a woman is shy of talk- 
 ing to other men ; for fear, I suppose, that they will 
 ridicule him. He seeks his confidants among women, 
 sure that his ecstasies will pass current with them. 
 Is that the true explanation of the undoubted fact?" 
 
 " I am sure I cannot tell you, Mrs. Keene. On 
 these matters one ounce of experience is worth a 
 
 2lS 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 219 
 
 pound of theory; and I have not had one minim of 
 experience." 
 
 " Being in a game of chess does not always give 
 the surest insight. The onlooker has sometimes the 
 best chance to see into both sides of the game," per- 
 sisted Mrs. Keene. 
 
 " Then I must disclaim even that vantage point. 
 I did not know that there was any game being played, " 
 answered Dinsmore. 
 
 Miss Amelia, an interested listener up to this 
 point, now joined in the conversation. 
 
 " I am sure no one can blame Mary for having a 
 good time, when she has so few chances; and if a 
 girl wants to make a good match she has certainly 
 got to look outside of Clintonville. " 
 
 " I do not blame, I commend her" said Mrs. Keene, 
 sweetly. " She is a charming girl, and if she made 
 a good match, as you call it, Miss Amelia, a few 
 months in the city would polish her manners and make 
 her a most attractive young married woman, who 
 would not want for attention and admiration from 
 the best sort of men." 
 
 " I wonder what Miss Lowther would say to the 
 attractive programme which you sketch out for her " 
 said Dinsmore, as he rose from the table. As he 
 went to his room he wished that he could see and 
 hear what was going on at Judge Lowther's. 
 
 And this is what he would have seen. As Whit- 
 lock came to the door Mary was bidding good-by to 
 Sally Hill. As he passed into the hall, he overheard 
 Sally say, in a whisper so loud that it seemed to be 
 intended for him. 
 
220 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 " Mary, is that another to be hung on your 
 string?" 
 
 Mary's face flushed as she tried to silence Sally. 
 
 " No, I won't keep still, unless you promise me that 
 you will behave yourself with him. Promise me 
 that you will reform, and to-night will be the begin- 
 ning of the reformation," and Sally looked roguishly 
 toward Tom, and pinched Mary's cheek. 
 
 "I promise," said Mary. What else would check 
 this wayward tongue. Sally kissed her good-by. 
 "I will call to-morrow and hear you confess," she 
 said, as she ran down the steps. 
 
 Mary turned away with a sigh of relief, trusting 
 that Tom had heard nothing. 
 
 "And so you made the promise," were Tom's first 
 words when they were seated in the parlor. Mary's 
 face had not recovered its usual color and it gained 
 a new accession. " Do you always promise as easily 
 as that?" persisted Tom. 
 
 "Yes! when I am asked to promise what I know 
 is best for me," replied Mary, gaining courage as 
 she spoke. 
 
 "Who tells you what is best to promise?" retorted 
 Tom. 
 
 "My own common sense," replied Mary. 
 
 " Do you allow that to be prompted by the person 
 asking the promise," queried Tom, laughing. 
 
 "Yes! when I think they are competent to judge 
 of the situation ", replied Mary. 
 
 " Do you think Miss Sally Hill such a competent 
 person ?" he asked. 
 
 " Under the circumstances, I did not need any 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 221 
 
 prompting from her. I felt the propriety of her re- 
 quest as soon as she made it," answered Mary. 
 
 " May I venture then to ask what was the nature 
 of her request. I ask it not out of idle curiosity, but 
 for my own guidance," said Tom. 
 
 " Certainly you are at liberty to ask what you 
 please, and I am free to answer as I see good," re- 
 plied Mary, laughing. 
 
 " Do you lay that down as a general proposition, 
 or as applying only to this particular case?" asked 
 Tom, with a reckless sort of laugh. 
 
 " It is confined to this particular case; and as you 
 did not immediately embrace my offer; but asked a 
 question instead, you threw away your chance, and 
 the offer is withdrawn." 
 
 " I will embrace any offer that you make Miss 
 Lowther. " 
 
 " Then you must not be so slow, another time. 
 That one is withdrawn. What sort of sport did you 
 have to-day." 
 
 " Not nearly so good as when you drove me out 
 to the hunt. Can't I engage your services for to- 
 morrow; you to have half the result of the day's 
 sport." 
 
 " No I can't go out to-morrow. It is prayer-meet- 
 ing night, and driving in the cold air makes me too 
 sleepy", answered Mary. 
 
 " Now that is what I call a lame excuse. Then 
 can I take you to prayer meeting," said Tom. 
 
 "You would be too sleepy, after a day's hunt, and 
 might fall asleep and tumble off the seat into the 
 aisle and disgrace me," said Mary, laughing. "And 
 
222 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 if you did not, I can't associate you and a prayer- 
 meeting in my mind. You don't seem to belong 
 there." 
 
 " I can assure you, Miss Lowther, that I have been 
 very well brought up, little reason as you may have 
 to suspect it. I have been to prayer-meetings very 
 often. I know how to conduct myself with perfect 
 propriety, to keep awake by artificial means, if na- 
 ture asserts herself too strongly, and to acquit my- 
 self creditably even in singing the hymns. Just try 
 me once," pleaded Tom, as though a prayer-meeting 
 was something from which he could not bear to be 
 excluded. 
 
 Mary laughed and promised to let him go to 
 prayer-meeting with her, upon the pledge of most 
 exemplary behavior on his part, especially in the mat- 
 ter of keeping awake and singing the hymns in a 
 very discreet manner. 
 
 "Do you sing, Mr. Whitlock," she asked, when 
 they had retired to the parlor, after supper, leaving 
 the Judge, in the adjoining room, with his newspaper. 
 
 "Oh! No" said Tom, "I only sing in prayer- 
 meeting." 
 
 Now the fact was that Tom had a first-rate bari- 
 tone voice, which he had not cared to cultivate and 
 of which he spoke in a disparaging tone. But there 
 were a few songs, that suited both his voice and dis- 
 position, which he could deliver with a dash that 
 made them very effective. 
 
 " Before I give my consent to your singing in 
 prayer-meeting, I must insist on a rehearsal ", said 
 Mary. 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 223 
 
 "You have no hymn-book here," answered Tom, 
 " and if you had, the surroundings are not solemn 
 enough." 
 
 " Here is the hymn-book " said Mary, putting one 
 on the rack of the piano; "and I will seat myself, 
 with folded hands and eyes cast up to the ceiling." 
 She seated herself accordingly, and Tom sat down to 
 the piano, strummed a few chords, rustled the leaves 
 of the hymn-book and then, with a reckless kind of 
 accompaniment, rattled off, in a rich, full baritone 
 "The Midship-mite." 
 
 "Bravo" cried the Judge, as he came stumbling in 
 from the library, waving the newspaper; "Give us 
 the 'Star Spangled Banner.'" 
 
 " May I sing in prayer-meeting, Miss Lowther?" 
 asked Tom, as humbly as if he were on trial before 
 the music committee of a church for the position of 
 chorister. 
 
 " Not if you go rollicking through the hymns like 
 that ", answered Mary. 
 
 Then Tom turned to the piano and sang softly and 
 sweetly, as if he were full of the spirit of devotion 
 "Nearer my God to Thee;" for he had musical in- 
 stinct, and could give a true rendering of hymn or 
 song. 
 
 " Yes, you can sing in prayer-meeting ", said Mary. 
 
 "Thank you," answered Tom, sedately, as though 
 he had won in a prize competition, and the judge had 
 awarded him the honor. 
 
 "He's a fine fellow, Mary; a fine fellow, I say" 
 said the Judge as they bid Tom good-night. " I must 
 remember that lad. I begrudge Channing such a 
 
224 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 young fellow in his office. He's full of life, he has 
 lots of stuff in him; he can work; there's the mak- 
 ing of a man and a lawyer in that young fellow. 
 He's a good shot. He's a good companion. He's 
 a good fellow;" and the Judge chuckled to himself 
 and rubbed his hands together, and went back to his 
 study, muttering to himself all kinds of pleasant 
 things about Tom Whitlock. 
 
 And Mary said to herself that he was " a nice fel- 
 low, and lots of fun;" and so Tom was getting along 
 famously in the Judge's household. 
 
 "I'm accepted, on probation," was Tom's greet- 
 ing to Dinsmore, as he came into his room, on his 
 return from Judge Lowther's. 
 
 " A rather doubtful sentence, the full meaning of 
 which, I do not catch, off-hand. Accepted as what? 
 On what probation ?" answered Dinsmore. 
 
 " Accepted as cavalier to Miss Mary Lowther and 
 chief psalm-singer to your Reverence. On proba- 
 tion as to my conduct, and sobriety in prayer-meet- 
 ing, especially in the matter of remaining awake 
 while you are preaching, and being discreet in my 
 style of rendering the hymns which you assign to us " 
 answered Tom, flinging himself on the lounge and 
 lighting a cigar. 
 
 "Did the'Widder' seem to miss me at supper," 
 he asked, after he had given a few puffs and watched 
 the rings of smoke as they floated upward. " There's 
 a beauty ", he said, as he watched a very perfect ring 
 float toward the ceiling. " I've got that down pretty 
 fine. I say, was I missed at supper?" 
 
 "You're always missed, Tom. You make a posi- 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 225 
 
 tive mark wherever you go, and your absence makes 
 itself felt." 
 
 "That's not what I mean; was there a dreamy 
 vacancy in the 'Widder's' eyes, a dreary sort of 
 blank in her voice, a distraught manner, as if she was 
 trying to recall a fleeting memory?" 
 
 "No!" answered Dinsmore. " I cannot truthfully 
 say that I noted any of these symptoms. Perhaps 
 she was skilfully concealing her feelings." 
 
 "I've no doubt of it. That's what she generally 
 is doing", replied Tom. "Did she mention my 
 name?" 
 
 "Yes" said Dinsmore, "and asked where you 
 were." 
 
 "And you told her, I presume." 
 
 "Yes! I told her", replied Dinsmore. 
 
 "Well! what did she have to say then. You're 
 as hard to draw as the cork of an old bottle of port," 
 said Tom. 
 
 " What do you care what she said ; when you think 
 all that she says is merely for effect?" queried Dins- 
 more. 
 
 "I like to hear it. She's fun, if she is hollow. I 
 like to hear her lay it on, and pretend to swallow the 
 bait." 
 
 " You credit Mrs. Keene with far more finesse than 
 she has. As you come to know her, you will see that 
 her feelings are more real than pretended, and that 
 she looks on life seriously and wants to know just 
 what she ought to do, in her very trying situation," 
 said Dinsmore, in a positive tone. 
 
 " Let us not renew that well-worn theme ", said 
 15 
 
226 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 Tom, " I like that Miss Lowther better every time I 
 see her. It would not do for me, in the present, and 
 prospective, very limited state of my resources, to 
 see too much of her, unless you can assure me that 
 the Judge is so fond of her, that he would let his 
 affection extend to any one that was fond of her. 
 Take her all in all, on a short acquaintance, I will 
 say that I never met a nicer girl. She is every way 
 nice, good enough looking to be very pretty to a 
 man who was in love with her, jolly and sweet in 
 manner and disposition ; a kind of girl that a man 
 wouldn't tire of. She'd wear well." 
 
 " Miss Lowther would feel much obliged for your 
 good opinion, Tom ", laughed Dinsmore. " But it was 
 always your way to think most of what your opinion 
 of a girl was, rather than what she might think of 
 you." 
 
 "Well! of course I do. That's the order of nature. 
 If I don't like her, then a fig for what she thinks of 
 me. The first consideration is ' Do 1 like her ? ' ; if I 
 do, then, and only then, does it become a matter of 
 interest to inquire 'Does she like me.' That's logic 
 isn't it?" 
 
 " Yes; that's your kind of logic." 
 
 " Well, my kind is the kind that suits my case. 
 But I am not in disfavor with Miss Lowther, I can 
 assure you," said Tom. "You shall see us sit side 
 by side, to-morrow evening, in your prayer-meeting, 
 and hear our voices sweetly blend in psalm and hymn. 
 I'm going to do the whole figure as visiting friend of 
 the parson. You'll find I have done you credit, 
 when I get through. They'll like you none the 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 227 
 
 worse for having such a fellow as me for your friend;" 
 and Tom chuckled to himself. 
 
 "Age does not dim your shining light, Tom. 
 When I feel that I am growing old and dull under 
 my burdens here, I shall send for you to come up 
 and renew our youth," answered Dinsmore. 
 
 " You will not need to send for me. I am your 
 unbidden guest; who will return Spring and Fall for 
 fish and bird ; and incidentally to stir you up. When 
 does the 'Widder ' flit?" 
 
 "I don't know", answered Dinsmore, "she was 
 asking the same question about you, last evening. 
 I suppose she wants to time her leaving so as to have 
 you for a travelling companion." 
 
 " The mischief she does," said Whitlock, sitting up 
 on the lounge. " Is that honest or only some of your 
 chaff?" 
 
 " She asked me about it, at supper," said Dinsmore. 
 
 " Well I hope you told her that railroad travelling 
 made me nervous, and I had to smoke, all the while, 
 to keep myself in decent trim, and that riding inside 
 a coach made me sick, and I had to be on top to get 
 air," said Tom. 
 
 " I told her nothing of the kind. There was no 
 chance to do so, and if there had been, I should not 
 have taken that responsibility. I left it for you to 
 explain your personal peculiarities as a traveller " 
 answered Dinsmore in a dreamy sort of tone, as 
 though the subject was losing interest for him. 
 
 "Well that is the dickens of a situation for me," 
 said Tom. "You seem to think nothing of it; but 
 here am I booked to play cavalier to that woman for 
 
228 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 about six hours on the stage and four more on the 
 cars, and reach the City about ten o'clock at night. 
 See here, you are not to know the day when I leave; 
 do you understand?" 
 
 "That's well enough, but if I mistake not, I will 
 have nothing to do with it. Mrs. Keene will proba- 
 bly get her information directly from you," said Dins- 
 more. 
 
 "Well you have made a mess of it, Harry. To 
 book me as escort to that woman; when you know 
 how we always are at cross purposes, " retorted Tom. 
 
 " I had nothing to do with it. You came here, at 
 this particular juncture; Mrs. Keene was here; she 
 is about to leave, and sees in you an eligible travelling 
 companion, able and willing to look after a lady, as 
 every nice gentleman should be." 
 
 " I hold you responsible for it," answered Tom, as 
 he bid Dinsmore good-night. 
 
 His fears were confirmed when, at breakfast, Mrs. 
 Keene turned to him, with one of her sweetest smiles, 
 and said, " I was afraid that you had left us, Mr. 
 Whitlock. How soon do you go?" 
 
 Dinsmore smiled as Tom caught his eye, and his 
 answer to Mrs. Keene's question was more embar- 
 rassed than the occasion seemed to call for ; " I really 
 am not quite sure, Mrs. Keene. I shall try to choose 
 a sunny day when I can ride on top of the coach. 
 It is pretty cold for an outside passage; but I can't 
 endure the inside of those stuffy old vehicles." 
 
 " I quite agree with you ", said Mrs. Keene. " It 
 is a stupid ride, inside. On the outside, in this glo- 
 rious autumn weather, it is a treat. If the sun is 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 229 
 
 shining and you are well wrapped up, this dry air, 
 even on a cold day, is exhilarating and one does not 
 suffer any harm." 
 
 " Even on a rainy day, I prefer the top of the 
 coach ", said Tom, desperately, as Dinsmore trod on 
 his foot under the table. 
 
 "So do I," answered Mrs. Keene, who, it seemed 
 to Tom, was in an unusually complaisant mood this 
 morning. "Wrap yourself in a water-proof, and 
 then let the cool rain pour on your face. I like the 
 wind and the rain and the sun, if you are only fixed 
 to meet them." 
 
 Plainly on this tack there lay no escape for him; 
 he thought of suggesting that he proposed to walk 
 to Weston; but that was a twenty-five mile trudge; 
 so he let the matter drop, trusting that something 
 would turn up that would let him slip off unnoticed. 
 He let the talk drift to other things and kept dis- 
 creetly quiet. 
 
 "You were very shy and retiring this morning; an 
 unwonted mood for you, Tom," said Dinsmore, as 
 they stood on the balcony, after breakfast. 
 
 " Why didn't you sail in and help me ?" asked Tom. 
 
 "What help could I give you? What business was 
 it of mine to regulate when, how, or with whom you 
 should travel to the city? I think you would make 
 a pleasant escort for Mrs. Keene, you would get to 
 know one another better and would form a truer es- 
 timate of each other," said Dinsmore. 
 
 "I like that," answered Tom. "I hold you re- 
 sponsible for this. You got me into it; and I'll get 
 even with you for it." 
 
230 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 " That's right ", said Dinsmore; " hit the first head 
 that bobs up, when you are disgruntled. You had 
 better get your gun and work off some of your ven- 
 geance on the partridges. They have more to do 
 with the situation than I have." 
 
 " All right " answered Tom. " I'm going to Pleas- 
 ant Pond, and shall have a shot with Barbara and find 
 out from her whether the fates decree that I have 
 got to travel with the ' Widder ' and her darling boy. 
 In the evening I am to escort Miss Lowther to 
 prayer-meeting under a positive engagement not to 
 nod to your exhortations." 
 
 At prayer-meeting Tom kept his promise, loyally, 
 to behave himself in a way to prove that the trust 
 reposed in him was not misplaced. 
 
 He kept his eyes tightly shut during prayer time; 
 he sang the hymns with a gentle solemnity, and his 
 voice blended so nicely with Mary's that she found 
 it a real pleasure to sing with him; he kept his eyes 
 fastened on Dinsmore's face, from the beginning to 
 the end of his talk, and only uncrossed his legs once, 
 and did not beat a tattoo on the arm of the seat. 
 
 " How did I do ?" he asked Mary, when the bene- 
 diction was pronounced. 
 
 "You did very well indeed?" she answered grave- 
 ly; and Tom was pleased with himself, and with 
 her. 
 
 He waited while Mary went up to give Dinsmore a 
 message from her father about the church plans; and 
 then he and Mary walked down the village green, 
 chatting and laughing merrily. Tom felt the re- 
 bound from prayer-meeting. 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 231 
 
 As Dinsmore followed them, at a short distance, 
 he could overhear their merry talk, and, in the bright 
 moonlight, see their buoyant steps. 
 
 What a lovable fellow Tom was; how quickly he 
 could win his way, even with strangers. He was 
 winning his way to Mary Lowther's heart. 
 
 Mary Lowther had become, in every way a part of 
 the young minister's life; how much so he had not 
 realized, until now that he saw the prize being borne 
 off before his eyes. 
 
 Insensibly her picture was blended, in his mind, 
 with all his future plans. They had worked together 
 so often, and so well, that her help seemed indispen- 
 sable to success in any of his undertakings. 
 
 He had never felt this before as he felt it now. 
 But he began to ask himself, by what right had he 
 quietly appropriated this girl to himself. 
 
 She had certainly never given him that right. She 
 was his friend and helper, and nothing more. 
 
 From this it was but a step to question, was it 
 right? And above all was it right, now, when his 
 friend had felt, and shown, an interest in the girl 
 which he himself had never shown. 
 
 What had he to offer her in comparison with what 
 Tom could offer? He had not Tom's sunny, happy 
 nature, his strong relish for humor, his flow of buoy- 
 ant spirits, that tided him so lightly over the rocks 
 or shoals of life. 
 
 Her life with Tom would be in a larger world, 
 which she was, in every way, fitted to enjoy. 
 
 Her life with him would be a monotonous round, 
 in this little mountain village. 
 
232 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 Above all, she was probably as much interested in 
 Tom as he was in her, for Tom was a fellow that a 
 girl must like, even on a short acquaintance. 
 
 He had put himself in such a position that he 
 must stand aside for his friend, and, if he were loyal 
 at heart, do even more than this, he must speak a 
 good word for him, when Mary or the Judge ques- 
 tioned him as to Tom's antecedents. 
 
 He thought of the many times when Mary's ear- 
 nest talk over matters in which they were mutually 
 interested, might have given him the chance to tell 
 her of his love. 
 
 And then he reproached himself, as he remembered 
 that it was in his work that she had shown an inter- 
 est, not in himself; and what a mean advantage it 
 would have been to interpret her nobler interest into 
 this lower, personal one. 
 
 He walked very slowly down the village green, 
 and listened to their voices as they died away in the 
 distance. 
 
 As he came into the Inn Mrs. Keene sat in the 
 parlor. 
 
 " Your friend Mr. Whitlock is a truant to-night," 
 she said. 
 
 " Oh no," answered Dinsmore, "he was at prayer- 
 meeting." 
 
 " Then he has slipped the leash, since prayer-meet- 
 ing", she suggested. 
 
 "Yes, he has taken Miss Lowther home," he re- 
 plied. 
 
 "After the penance, a sweet indulgence. What a 
 charming pair they make," continued Mrs. Keene; 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 233 
 
 "and they are thoroughly interested in one another. 
 It will be a nice thing for a girl as capable as Mary 
 to have the advantage of city life. She will make a 
 very attractive woman." 
 
 Dinsmore made no answer but to bid Mrs. Keene 
 " Good-night ;" as he turned away she shrugged her 
 shoulders, lifted her eyebrows, and smiled, as she 
 watched Dinsmore leave the room. 
 
 He looked pale, and was more tired than usual 
 after a prayer-meeting. 
 
 When he went to his room, he did not light his 
 lamp; but sat down by the window and looked out 
 on the moonlight. Over and over again he retraced 
 the line of thought that he had followed, on his way 
 down from prayer-meeting; and with each repetition, 
 he became more convinced that it was the right and 
 generous course for him to take. 
 
 Now it remained to be seen whether he could 
 do it in a generous way, and not with such envy as 
 would rob his conduct of graciousness toward his 
 friend. 
 
 But never until now did he realize how thoroughly 
 the thought of Mary Lowther had woven itself into 
 his heart and into his work. 
 
 He felt that he was now to learn the very lesson 
 that he needed. He had been imagining that it was 
 his work that was filling his heart and hopes; the 
 sacred ministry to which he had devoted himself, 
 that was leading him on; but now he is revealed to 
 himself as one who was letting the love of this girl 
 stand for devotion to his sacred mission. 
 
 He heard Tom's step, as he came down the village 
 
234 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 street. It was brisk and cheery, and he was whistling 
 like a lark. 
 
 Dinsmore's first instinct was to lock his door, as 
 though he had gone to bed. 
 
 But it was only for a moment. He lit his lamp 
 and waited for Tom's coming. 
 
 "You look tired, Harry," was Tom's greeting. 
 "You can preach, old boy. I didn't pinch myself 
 once to-night. Do you want to go to bed ?" 
 
 "No! I am not sleepy, Tom; but I am very tired. " 
 
 "I am as fresh as a lark; but I suppose it does 
 make a difference whether you are filling pulpit or 
 pew. It would wear me out to preach. You're a 
 level-headed preacher, Harry. There's no nonsense 
 in your sermons ; they are straight from the shoulder. " 
 
 " Nonsense is not a common quality of sermons, 
 Tom." 
 
 " No, but I have heard as sheer nonsense from a 
 pulpit desk as I ever heard anywhere in my life; 
 perfect rot." 
 
 " I have been more fortunate, Tom. I think I 
 never heard anything quite so bad as you describe. 
 'The worst speak something good. If all want sense 
 God takes a text and preacheth patience ' so says 
 godly George Herbert. You have commended me, 
 I must in fairness say a good word for you as a most 
 excellent hearer, and a great help in the singing." 
 
 "Oh; I can do the square thing by a friend, in 
 almost any circumstances," answered Tom. "Just 
 take me on the right tack, and you'll find me on 
 deck, every time." 
 
 Dinsmore smiled kindly on him. What a good 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 235 
 
 fellow he was, and, where service to a friend was in 
 question, how loyally he rendered it. 
 
 He had looked so demure, almost docile, as he sat 
 in prayer-meeting, like a dog in leash, that Dinsmore 
 would hardly have recognized him in a strange place. 
 
 This was his loyal tribute of friendship; could he 
 be as loyal to Tom? 
 
 "I tell you what it is, Harry, I don't want to do 
 anything rashly, but if I had been as head-over-heels 
 as some people think me, 1 believe I would have 
 been engaged to Miss Lowther, to-night; that is, 
 always supposing she would have followed scripture 
 and said yea, yea. I don't believe she would have 
 said nay, nay; although doubtless she would have 
 cooled my ardor, by postponing matters or remand- 
 ing me to the Judge for sentence. She certainly 
 likes me; don't you think so?" 
 
 "As far as I can judge, she certainly does. Most 
 girls do," answered Dinsmore. 
 
 " Did she ever say anything to you about me, 
 Harry? Does she ever talk about me ? What does 
 she talk about to you, anyway? I can't think 
 what such a jolly girl, so full of fun would say to a 
 minister." 
 
 Dinsmore laughed, more heartily than he had since 
 prayer-meeting. "What do you talk about with me, 
 Tom ? Perhaps other people wonder what such a 
 jolly fellow, full of fun and sport, can find to talk 
 about to a minister." 
 
 "Oh; but that's different. Girls are always sen- 
 timental with ministers, and talk about their feelings, 
 and things just on the edge of love talk." 
 
236 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 "Well, on that point I can satisfy your mind, at 
 once. Miss Lovvther does not talk sentiment nor 
 anything verging in the least on 'love talk' as you 
 call it. On the contrary her talk is about others 
 than herself, and of the most practical kind." 
 
 "Harry, I can't make that girl out. She's as 
 free with me, in one sense, as if I were a girl, or she 
 a man; in another sense, she holds me at more than 
 arm's length. We are jolly comrades, but I would 
 not care to presume on that, one inch; and she can 
 side-track a fellow as easily as turning a switch." 
 
 " You seem to know her pretty well, Tom. On 
 that side, I suspect you know her better than I do." 
 
 "Did she ever talk about me Harry? What do 
 you think my chances would be with such a girl ?" 
 
 " I think your chances would be good with almost 
 any girl, Tom. You are the kind that the girls 
 like." 
 
 " There you're all out, Harry. If you and I were 
 to start in after the same girl (which Heaven forbid!) 
 you'd do me up on the first quarter. It's your pale, 
 big-eyed chap, with a black moustache and wavy 
 hair, that takes the girls; my light hair, blue eyes, 
 and hopeless upper lip are not in it. They'll have 
 their fun with me, but are ready to drop it any time 
 that I say quits, sometimes sooner. If love's in the 
 question they want something sort of tender. Now 
 I could be awfully fond of a girl, and give her my 
 head, if she wanted it; but I couldn't be tender. I'm 
 not made that way," and Tom's face was fairly 
 rueful. 
 
 " That humility of yours which I discredited, does 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 237 
 
 really seem to exist at the bottom of your heart. I 
 think however, that you need not take quite so low 
 a view of your powers to please, Tom." 
 
 "Oh; I can please 'em, every time; but I don't 
 believe they'll fall in love with me." 
 
 "You don't mean to say that it is your deliberate 
 wish to have women, as a rule, fall in love with you ?" 
 and Dinsmore smiled at the thought of Tom pursued 
 by a host of these love-lorn ladies. 
 
 "Goodness alive; no; but I may want some wo- 
 man to fall in love with me, sometime or other. 
 This Miss Lowther seems so different from most 
 girls, so jolly, as if I might suit her, if she only 
 thought so. I do not consider myself in love with 
 the girl. Hang it all! I don't know what has gotten 
 me into this vein. It must have been going to your 
 prayer-meeting that has made me soft. You under- 
 stand, Harry, don't you, that I'm not in love with 
 the girl. I haven't been spooning with her; she 
 isn't that kind and I'm not that kind. I was only 
 suggesting, just as you might, what would be my 
 chances with Miss Lowther, if I concluded to try; 
 no man need be afraid to try, he'd be in luck if he 
 succeeded. But after all, that's the question, would 
 it be well to try? If I go in, I go in to win. Give 
 me a bit of pastoral counsel, Harry; would you ad- 
 vise me to try?" and Tom waited for Dinsmore's 
 answer, as if he really meant to abide by his counsel. 
 
 " If I were in your place, Tom, I should certainly 
 try to win that girl for my wife, if I thought there 
 was any chance for me;" and with this sentence, 
 spoken slowly and deliberately, Dinsmore felt that 
 
238 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 he renounced all thought of Mary Lowther as his 
 helpmeet in the work of his Hillside Parish. 
 
 " I shall follow your good advice, for it accords 
 perfectly with my own views," said Tom, rising to 
 go to bed; "and give me your blessing, in pushing 
 it to a successful issue." 
 
 " Success to you, Tom, you were born under a 
 lucky star; but remember that, entering on such a 
 race, no man has the right to take the hunter's view, 
 that Mrs. Keene accuses our sex of taking. In such 
 a matter the woman is to be thought of first; and 
 her happiness and peace of mind ought to be the first 
 consideration." 
 
 "Mercy, Harry, don't preach to me like that. 
 I'm not going to shoot the girl, if she refuses me; 
 as it is more than likely that she will." 
 
 As Tom left the room with a jovial " Good-night," 
 Dinsmore settled himself to review the situation. 
 
 In this first encounter with the buoyant, happy 
 wooer of Mary Lowther, he had been successful, and 
 Tom had left him without one thought that he had 
 taken away one of his cherished hopes. It pleased 
 him to think he had thus far mastered his selfishness. 
 
 Then came thoughts of what his life would be 
 when he settled down to work alone; when he would 
 have no one nearer than Mrs. Livingston to appre- 
 ciate and share in his plans for his life work. And as 
 he thought, it seemed to him that the burden was 
 heavy and would grow heavier. The thought was 
 like an east wind, gradually spreading the first thin 
 vapor, which will cover the sky with a uniform, 
 leaden gray. 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH 239 
 
 At last wearied with the recurrent thought, he 
 went to bed and fell into a restless sleep and dreamed 
 it all over again, with a vividness that endowed it 
 with reality, even after he was awake. 
 
 During the remainder of Tom's visit, Dinsmore 
 spent his time, chiefly in making visits to the out- 
 lying settlements, and studiously avoided Judge 
 Lowther's house. 
 
 Tom as studiously frequented the premises, and 
 entertained Dinsmore, in the evenings, with the re- 
 cital of the progress he was making in his suit with 
 Mary, to all of which Dinsmore listened with patience, 
 if not with enthusiasm. 
 
 "Yet after all," said Tom on the last day of his 
 vacation, "I don't seem to have made the requisite 
 progress. I haven't the proper sentimental gift. 
 I'm not tender and persuasive; I'm there on a good 
 footing; but somehow I'm only there. I don't know 
 what's the matter; but I'd rather take a mad bull 
 by the horns than propose to that girl." 
 
 Tom was going to drive down, that afternoon, 
 with Farmer Brown, and thus avoid playing cavalier 
 to Mrs. Keene. 
 
 "I've given the 'widder' the slip, any way," he 
 said, gleefully. " And when I am gone, Harry, say 
 a good word for me, will you ?" 
 
 " To Mrs. Keene ?" queried Dinsmore, " I am afraid 
 her ears will not be open to any good word in your 
 behalf." 
 
 "A plague on the 'widder.' She's deaf as an 
 adder to any good word, for any one. But when I 
 am gone (pathetic you see), speak gently of me to 
 
24° A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 Miss Mary. I'm coming back, next Spring, and 
 then, perhaps I will dare to try my fortune. Break 
 up the soil for me; there's a good fellow. I've had 
 an awfully good time, Harry, and I'm glad I came. 
 If any of my clients have a nice farm, with as good 
 shooting and fishing, as nice girls, and as kind people 
 as you have in your parish, I'll think I'm in luck. 
 Good-bye, till next Spring," shouted Tom, as they 
 drove off; and Dinsmore watched him, wondering 
 whether he took away with him the heart of Mary 
 Lowther. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE light came cold and gray through the green 
 blinds of his room as Dinsmore turned un- 
 easily and half opened his eyes, closing them quickly 
 again for he thought that the dawn was just break- 
 ing. But, try as he would, he could not force him- 
 self to go to sleep. After a quarter of an hour's 
 effort he recognized the fact that he was wide awake 
 and could not help matters by lying longer in bed. 
 He listened for the usual sounds of life astir about 
 the Inn, but all was still ; the very air seemed muffled 
 as the gray light stole between the closed blinds. 
 
 When he had fought with wakefulness until resist- 
 ance only proved how wide awake he was, he drew 
 his watch from under his pillow and found that it 
 was nearly eight o'clock. 
 
 He jumped out of bed, threw open his blinds and 
 looked out on the leaden sky from which the snow 
 had been falling all night until now it was nearly 
 knee deep, on the level. The village street lay un- 
 trodden by any step of man or beast, with the spell 
 of the snow upon it. In front of his window stood 
 a load of tan-bark on a wagon where the teamster 
 had left it, late last night, intending to take up his 
 journey in the morning. The snow was nearly up 
 to the hubs of the wagon, and the deep red color of 
 1 6 241 
 
242 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 the bark contrasted strongly with the snow that 
 covered it. As he stood looking at the load, won- 
 dering how the teamster would reach his destination 
 now, Bruno, the big Newfoundland dog belonging 
 to the Inn, came bounding out, barking, dipping his 
 muzzle into the snow and tossing it about. 
 
 What a change the silent, soft-falling flakes had 
 made in the whole landscape. What a complete 
 transformation of the relation of things. In the 
 city the snow means only added dirt and discomfort; 
 in the country it changes at once the whole mode of 
 life. 
 
 It upsets the topography. From the barn, which 
 is only a few steps away in summer, comes the low- 
 ing of the cattle, with a muffled, distant sound, as if 
 they were in the far pasture. Now it has become a 
 journey to reach them; for every step of the way 
 must be shovelled. 
 
 How disconsolate and isolated the chickens are, 
 afraid to leave their night's perch, unless indeed 
 some venturesome Spring cock who has never seen 
 snow, has been rash enough to fly forth and is 
 now perched fearsomely on some fence or tree or 
 shed, where an expedition must be sent to rescue 
 him. 
 
 How it arouses the feeling that there is something 
 to be done for each department of the farm-stead. It 
 is as if the whole place were in a state of siege, and 
 the garrison of each portion must be relieved. 
 
 At first there is a sense of exhilaration in this 
 pressing demand for extra work, but, before long, it 
 dwindles into the drudgery of every day; but, be- 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 243 
 
 fore the novelty is worn off, what prodigies of work 
 the first snow storm calls forth from man and boy on 
 an isolated farm. 
 
 What secrets the snow reveals. The hard earth 
 tells no tales to the country boy, but in the new- 
 fallen snow, he finds the track of rabbit, fox or bear. 
 With what wondering eyes he looks on these and 
 thrills with the thought of how lately the wild crea- 
 tures have passed that way. No one knows this who 
 has not hung breathlessly over such traces of the 
 hidden life about us. 
 
 As the day wears on, the long-suffering oxen are 
 yoked to the big sled, and all hands that can be 
 mustered, start out, armed with shovels, to break 
 the road. Each farm house as they pass, hails them 
 as a rescuing party; they give the news of how the 
 inmates fare at one or another house, and new re- 
 cruits join their ranks. 
 
 At the head of the village, just beyond Judge 
 Lowther's house, there is a heavy cut, where the 
 main road passes over, and in part through, the 
 steep and narrow hill. Here the snow always drifts 
 and fills the cut full. 
 
 Through this it is impossible to break a road and 
 therefore it is always tunnelled, and, for weeks, all 
 travel is through the snow tunnel. The parties from 
 the West settlement and those from the village meet 
 here and tunnel from either end until they reach the 
 centre. 
 
 To be one of this tunnelling party was the ambi- 
 tion of every boy in the West settlement and in the 
 village; what excitement as they hear one another 
 
244 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 in the tunnel and with what a yell the first boy breaks 
 through. 
 
 But as yet there was no sign of all this active 
 combat with the storm's silent forces, and Dinsmore 
 looked out on the untrodden snow that made the 
 village street so still, as though all sound had died. 
 
 He turned away from the gray scene to dress; the 
 room was cold, the water in his pitcher was frozen, 
 the bits of ice floating about in the basin numbed his 
 finger tips, and made his morning bath decidedly 
 uncomfortable. 
 
 At breakfast the long dining room looked dingy 
 and comfortless in the cold, gray light. There was 
 a poor fire and the room was chilly. The only occu- 
 pant of the big table was Miss Amelia. A white, 
 knitted nubia, with a crocheted, blue, shell border, 
 thrown over her head and around her shoulders, and 
 the gray light made her look blue and cold. Mrs. 
 Hollis was in bed, afraid to expose herself to the 
 chill dining-room on such a stormy morning. Mr. 
 Forrester too was taking comfort in a prolonged 
 nap, on this dismal day. 
 
 Tom Whitlock would have made the snow storm 
 a merry scene, but he was gone, until next Spring, 
 and Mrs. Keene had followed two days later; with 
 Miss Amelia alone for company the snow storm was 
 a dreary threnody. 
 
 Mrs. Joyce served the first buckwheat cakes and 
 maple syrup of the season ; but they did not dissipate 
 the dull monotony of the persistent storm. 
 
 Dinsmore went back to his room, it was chill and 
 uncomfortable; do what he would to feed the little 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 245 
 
 stove with the birch wood chunks, he could not make 
 it cheerful. It was Saturday and he worked, all the 
 morning, at his sermon for the next day. 
 
 After dinner he lit a cigar, kindled up the fire 
 anew, took a book and, seating himself before the 
 fire, tried to feel comfortable and jolly. It kept on 
 snowing hard, all day; it seemed as if the heavens 
 were full of snow, and would never weary of drop- 
 ping it softly and steadily over the earth. 
 
 From time to time Dinsmore rose from his seat 
 before the fire and walked to the window. 
 
 It was not hard to be comfortable; with a bright 
 fire, his cigar and the " Noctes Ambrosianse " in his 
 hands, he could easily find creature comfort; but it 
 was not so easy to be jolly. 
 
 The steady onding of the storm weighed on his 
 spirits. 
 
 The day wore on toward evening, and, through 
 the winter twilight, the snow fell persistently, as if 
 it was the destiny of the earth to be buried under 
 the soft, white pall, gentle but resistless as the feet 
 of the avenging gods that are shod with wool. 
 
 Dinsmore closed the shutters, lit his lamp, and 
 tried to think his room cheery, and that the wintry 
 waste was shut out. 
 
 He spent the evening in revising his sermon for 
 to-morrow. 
 
 Sunday morning dawned cold and gray. The 
 snow had ceased falling, but all the roads were 
 blocked, and there would be no one at church out- 
 side the small congregation which the village would 
 muster. 
 
24& A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 Even in the village the paths were only partly 
 shovelled out; in the country they were busy still 
 cutting paths to the stock, the barns and the fodder. 
 
 It promised to be a dreary kind of service. 
 
 The light came through the green blinds of the 
 church, a dull uniform gray; the wet wood hissed in 
 the stoves. Dinsmore took his place in the pulpit. 
 The stamping of feet in the vestibule sounded like a 
 troop of cavalry invading the church; the sexton 
 stood ready with his broom to sweep the snow off of 
 each comer. 
 
 The young people came laughing into church, and 
 gathered around the stoves greeting one another in 
 a louder tone than, on ordinary occasions, was fitting 
 and decorous. The usual restraints were laid aside 
 in face of the snow-storm, which obliterated the 
 ordinary features of every day life. 
 
 Sally Hill was there to play the melodeon; but 
 Abijah Shelton the deacon's son, was absent, from 
 stress of circumstances, and so the big bass viol stood 
 idly against the wall. 
 
 Newman Diggs, whose visits to church were few 
 and far between, was there. On a day like this, 
 he felt called upon to turn out, either on the theory 
 of encouraging the pastor when there were few on 
 hand, or because he felt that he could appropriate a 
 larger share of the sermon to himself. He listened 
 to a sermon always with the thought uppermost of 
 what it would furnish in the way of controversy. At 
 such times, when there was, perchance, not a single 
 person between him and the minister the sermon was 
 a sort of personal challenge to argument; and he 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 247 
 
 could listen and fill his mind with points in contro- 
 versy. 
 
 Mary Lowther came in, her cheeks red with the 
 exertion of walking through the snow, her eyes 
 glowing. As she took her seat she caught Dins- 
 more's eye as he sat in the pulpit, and she smiled at 
 him; almost nodded to him. 
 
 Every one spoke to her as she passed into the 
 church, on every face she left a smile. As she took 
 her seat, the light in the church did not seem so 
 gray and cold, she had brought sunshine with her, 
 the smile on the faces of those to whom she had 
 spoken left a warmth upon them. 
 
 Sally Hill beckoned to Mary to come up and help 
 her with the singing, as she was alone and must 
 play the melodeon. As Mary's sympathetic voice 
 rang through the empty church, it seemed to impart 
 life to the service, and Dinsmore felt more interest 
 in preaching to the small congregation, on this cold 
 snowy day, than he had often felt when the sun 
 shone bright and the church was full. 
 
 It was a pleasant service; but when he went down 
 to dinner in the dingy, chill dining-room of the Inn 
 how cheerless it was. 
 
 He hurried through dinner and went up to his 
 room; it was snowing again and h£ could not go out 
 to any of the school-houses, for an afternoon service. 
 Mr. Forrester came in to say that he would not hold 
 any evening service, on such a stormy night. 
 
 How the hours lingered, as if they too were clogged 
 by the snow. He was restless, and with no means 
 of working off his restlessness. Once he thought of 
 
248 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 going down to take tea with Mrs. Livingston; but, 
 on reflection, concluded that he was not in the mood 
 to talk or to be talked to. 
 
 If he had been called to go out into the night and 
 rescue some one fallen in the snow, that would have 
 suited his mood. He went out and walked up and 
 down the balcony for a couple of hours. Out in the 
 storm it was invigorating; shut up in his narrow 
 quarters it was oppressive. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 DINSMORE woke up on Monday morning and, 
 as he looked out, the same spirit of adventure 
 was upon him, the feeling that possesses those who 
 live in the country, in the presence of a snow storm. 
 
 There was no snow shovelling for him to do, no 
 dumb creatures waiting on him to release them from 
 their isolation. 
 
 He bethought him of old Barbara Fisher and little 
 Bab, and determined to go out to see them. Two 
 weeks ago the child's mother had died, and the 
 father solaced his grief by keeping himself in a per- 
 petual stupor with opium. Bab had gone to live 
 with old Barbara. 
 
 How helpless they would be, the old woman and 
 the little child alone, with the great, white desert all 
 about them. He went to Mrs. Joyce and had her 
 fill him a basket of stores, tea, bread and eggs, and 
 some cookies for the child, and started out on his 
 relief expedition. 
 
 The road to the North Settlement was unbroken, 
 and as he tramped on in the deep snow, he found 
 that it was no Summer stroll; he sank knee-deep, at 
 every step, the perspiration stood in beads on his 
 forehead, his breath came thick and hard, and the 
 light basket of provisions became a heavy load. 
 249 
 
250 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 He had often walked it in thirty minutes; it took 
 him now an hour and a half to reach the point where 
 the road forks to Scooper's Hollow. 
 
 He sat on the fence to rest and looked down on 
 the little hamlet almost hidden under the snow. The 
 stupid inhabitants had not shown energy enough to 
 shovel a single path. Here and there a track, like 
 that of wild animals, showed where one or another 
 had stirred from his lair. 
 
 Dinsmore went down the untrodden road, and 
 made his way toward Barbara's hut, at the far end 
 of the hamlet. 
 
 No footstep had broken the snow there; it lay 
 piled upon the roof and on the window sills until it 
 shutout half the daylight; a drift before the door 
 was nearly waist deep. 
 
 He struggled up to the door, and felt afraid to 
 knock. When a childish treble answered to his 
 knock " Come in," his heart gave a bound that made 
 him appreciate how much the silence around the hut 
 had filled him with the foreboding of death within. 
 
 As he came in from the broad daylight he could 
 scarcely see, at first, in the dim light; but there, in 
 the centre of her charm-string, with her wonder- 
 book open in her lap, sat old Barbara. 
 
 She was bending over her book and, for a moment, 
 did not notice Dinsmore. Then she slowly lifted 
 her head and he saw, at once, that her eye was dull 
 and her voice so husky that it was hardly audible. 
 
 Bab was bending over her with a picture book 
 that she had gotten at their Sunday School. It was 
 called "The Good Shepherd," and contained four or 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 251 
 
 five pictures of the Shepherd finding the lost sheep, 
 leading them to the fold, and carrying the lambs in 
 his arms. This Bab was trying to show to Barbara, 
 in place of the Wonder Book, which had no such 
 story, and no bright pictures. 
 
 But Barbara's eyes were dim and she querulously 
 murmured, " I cannot see the Good Shepherd, child." 
 
 " But there He is, Grannie, right there where my 
 finger is pointing; I will show Him to you." 
 
 " It is no use, child." 
 
 Dinsmore took the Wonder Book from her lap and 
 lifted the old woman up and laid her gently on her 
 couch. 
 
 Her breath came in quick, short pants, and, un- 
 familiar as he was with wickness, he saw that she 
 was stricken mortally. 
 
 He opened the cupboard and found a bottle of 
 spirits and tried to give her some; but she was too 
 feeble to swallow. He built up the fire and covered 
 her over with whatever came to hand. Gradually 
 he succeeded in giving her two or three spoonsful of 
 the spirits, and, under its influence, she revived. 
 
 " Have you come for Bab ?" was her first question. 
 
 " No, I came to see after you both and have 
 brought you some food and tea and sugar in that 
 basket," he replied. 
 
 " I can't eat nor drink. I'm going to die. I was 
 settin' in my charm-string, tryin' to find out what 
 was to become o' Bab, when I was gone, and to see 
 if I could find out what would become o' me, too." 
 
 " Grannie's book hasn't no pictures like mine. I 
 was tryin' to show her where the Shepherd was 
 
252 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 carryin' the lambs. Miss Mary said I was one o' 
 His lambs; but Grannie couldn't see it." 
 
 " Barbara, the Good Shepherd has sent me here 
 to-day, to tell you that I will take Bab, when you 
 are gone, and will see that she is well taught and 
 cared for. I promise you that, Barbara." 
 
 " I believe you," answered the old woman. 
 
 " And now, Barbara, let me talk to you about 
 yourself. I can tell you what the Good Shepherd 
 says about what will become of you when you die." 
 
 "Yes, Grannie, here's the picture. See Him with 
 that lamb. Oh! ain't it cute, the way his little head 
 is lyin' on the Shepherd's shoulder. That's the 
 verse we learned last Sunday. 'He shall carry the 
 lambs in his arms and gadder 'em in his bosom.' 
 See Grannie," and she pushed the picture close to 
 the old woman's face. 
 
 "No, I can't see it Bab. That's for you, child, 
 not for me. I'm no lamb, I'm a tough, old ewe. " 
 Bab turned away discouraged, and looked wistfully 
 at Dinsmore. 
 
 " Barbara the child is right. In the sight of God, 
 we are all as little children. The Lord Jesus, who 
 died to save us, wants you for one of his sheep, and 
 if you will trust his promise and believe him as you 
 believe me, then he says, 'This day shalt thou be 
 with me in Paradise. ' " While Dinsmore was talking, 
 Bab was slowly turning the pages of her book, scan- 
 ning each picture closely. The last picture was one 
 in which the Shepherd was gathering all his flock 
 into the fold. 
 
 "There," she broke in on Dinsmore's talk, and 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 253 
 
 held up the book triumphantly, " There Grannie, is 
 an old sheep, she looks tougher than you do, and 
 the Shepherd is puttin' her into the fold along with 
 the lambs." 
 
 " Does it say so Bab ? Does it say that an old 
 Grannie can be there with the lambs? Does it say 
 that He cares for an old witch-woman ? What does 
 it say Bab? Tell it to me, child." 
 
 " I can't Grannie; we ain't got that far yet," and 
 she looked wistfully at Dinsmore. 
 
 He leaned over and read softly to the child, who 
 repeated the words after him in the clear, confident 
 voice of a child who believes that it is telling an 
 important piece of news. " In my father's house are 
 many mansions. I go to prepare a place for you." 
 
 " Is that what it says, Bab ?" 
 
 "Yes," answered the child proudly, smiling at 
 Dinsmore, "That's what it says; and that's what 
 the Good Shepherd is doin'; he's takin' 'em all in, 
 lambs and old ones, and not leavin' one single one 
 out in the cold;" and she nodded her head gravely, 
 giving emphasis to her accurate description of the 
 picture. 
 
 " I never went to church, and I never had a Bible 
 in my hands, that I know of." 
 
 "No matter, Barbara, about what is past; that is 
 gone; but are you now ready to believe the prom- 
 ise of the Lord Jesus?" 
 
 "Yes, if it's to me. Where's Bab?" 
 
 " Here I am Grannie ; here, " she said, as Barbara's 
 eyes wandered, after resting on her face for a mo^ 
 ment. 
 
254 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 " Bab tell me again about the old sheep. What 
 does he say to them ?" 
 
 Dinsmore repeated it, softly over, and Bab in a 
 loud voice "In my father's house are many man- 
 sions. I go to prepare a place for you." 
 
 As the words died away there was a whispered 
 "Yes," or perhaps it was only a strong sigh; but, 
 with it, the spirit of old Barbara returned to Him 
 who gave it. 
 
 The shadow of death made the old face, all of a 
 sudden, look gray and strange in that little hut, 
 under the light from the leaden sky struggling in 
 through the one small pane, and Bab turned with a 
 scared face to Dinsmore. 
 
 "What's the matter with Grannie?" she asked. 
 
 "The Good Shepherd has taken her," answered 
 Dinsmore. "Where's your hood and coat Bab?" As 
 the child jumped down from his lap to get them he 
 threw the sheet over the dead woman's face. 
 
 He tied the child's hood on and told her to put 
 her arms around his neck, and he would give her a 
 pig-a-back ride to Farmer Brown's. 
 
 " Shall I say good-bye to Grannie?" 
 
 "Yes you can call good-bye to her; but she can't 
 answer you. The Good Shepherd has taken her to 
 his fold." 
 
 "Good-bye! Grannie," shouted Bab, with all her 
 might. " Give my love to the Good Shepherd ;" and 
 she clutched her picture book, as Dinsmore took her 
 on his back. 
 
 It was not a long walk to Farmer Brown's, not 
 more than three quarters of a mile; but, under 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 255 
 
 present circumstances, Dinsmore found it a hard 
 one. It had begun to snow again, all the way it 
 was up hill, and in some places, the drifts were 
 deep. Bab grew to be quite a heavy load, and he 
 panted hard, long before he was at the Farmer's gate. 
 
 Once, as he stood still to get his breath, he felt 
 Bab's arms loosen round his neck, and one little 
 hand patted him softly on the cheek. The tears 
 rose in Dinsmore's eyes. With the exception of this 
 little token of encouragement, no word passed be- 
 tween them. Dinsmore was thinking how he could 
 best fulfil his promise to care for Bab, and Bab was 
 thinking that Dinsmore was the Good Shepherd and 
 she was one of his lambs that he was carrying. " I 
 guess if he ain't the Good Shepherd, he's a good 
 deal like Him." 
 
 Miss Fannie Brown came to the door. "Why Mr. 
 Dinsmore! what brings you here in this storm?" 
 
 " Grannie's gone into the fold ; and I'm goin' with 
 Mr. Dinsmore. Here's Grannie," continued Bab, 
 opening her picture book and pointing with her cold, 
 red, little fingers, so stiff that she could hardly turn 
 the leaves, " there she is, that tough old ewe, in the 
 corner of the fold." 
 
 Fannie burst out laughing; and Dinsmore, though 
 he could not laugh, was forced into a sad smile, at 
 the incongruous description which Bab gave, so ear- 
 nestly and sincerely. 
 
 He explained to Fannie how he came to be there, 
 and how it happened that he had Bab in charge. 
 
 " What a mercy that you went there, Mr. Dins- 
 more; but what a tramp you must have had. They 
 
256 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 have just come in from breaking the road, with two 
 teams of oxen; and father said there were footsteps 
 all the way from the village, and leading to the Hol- 
 low. It wasn't any Scooper he said that could take 
 such a stride as that, in such deep snow; and he 
 didn't believe there was a man among 'em that could 
 have gotten through from the village, any way. 
 They'll be back to dinner in half an hour; and you 
 must stay, and father will drive you back to the 
 village. Bab have you had any breakfast?" 
 
 "Yes mam, three crackers." Dinsmore had for- 
 gotten the cookies for the child. 
 
 " You poor child ; come with me, and mother will 
 give you something to eat." 
 
 " I promised old Barbara that I would take care 
 of Bab," said Dinsmore, when Fannie Brown came 
 back from the kitchen, leaving Bab there with her 
 mother and a comfortable bowl of bread and milk. 
 " I do not know exactly what to do with the child, 
 on the spur of the moment." 
 
 " I would take her to Mary Lowther's, right away. 
 Only two weeks ago, Mary said to me that she 
 wanted to get Bab away from Hard-Scrabble; and, 
 as soon as she was old enough to do anything about 
 the house and learn, she was going to ask old Bar- 
 bara to let her have the child and bring her up. If 
 I were you, I'd take her right to Mary." 
 
 This suggestion accorded so exactly with Dins- 
 more's own views that he was prepared to adopt it, 
 without any hesitation. 
 
 So, after dinner, Farmer Brown took the young 
 pastor and his little charge into the village. Bab 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 257 
 
 nestled close to him and kept her hand in his all the 
 way, and Dinsmore felt loath to part with the child, 
 so soon. 
 
 As he passed Tim Mitchell's he stopped, and sent 
 him to prepare for Barbara's funeral. 
 
 As Mary Lowther sat looking out on the snow, 
 which had kept her a prisoner for three days, except 
 the expedition to church, she saw Farmer Brown's 
 sleigh drive up to the door, and out of it sprang 
 Dinsmore, and picking up Bab in his arms, carried 
 her toward the house. 
 
 Mary ran down to the door to meet them. Her 
 heart beat fast; she had scarcely spoken to Dins- 
 more for two weeks. He had seemed to avoid her, 
 she fancied. 
 
 "Why, what is the matter, Mr. Dinsmore?" she 
 asked, taking the child from his arms. 
 
 Bab's face glowed with intense satisfaction. 
 
 "I have brought the child to you," he said; "be- 
 cause Miss Fannie Brown told me that you wanted 
 her; and I promised old Barbara, on her death bed, 
 that I would take care of the child." 
 
 Mary carried Bab into the house and asked Dins- 
 more to follow; and having given the child in charge 
 to the old nurse who had cared for herself as a baby, 
 she returned to the parlor. 
 
 Dinsmore waited for her, his pulse beat with a 
 tense, sharp stroke, so that he felt it throb in his 
 neck. It was a long time since he had seen her to 
 talk with her alone. He felt uncertain how to ad- 
 dress her, what to say, what tone to use; they stood 
 in a changed relation to one another. 
 17 
 
258 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 And yet, when she came into the room, she was 
 just as she had always been, the same natural, un- 
 constrained, simple manner; the change had not af- 
 fected her. 
 
 "What is it Mr. Dinsmore?" she asked. "How 
 do you come here bringing Bab?" 
 
 He told her the story of his journey out to 
 Scooper's Hollow, and the scene at the death-bed of 
 the old witch-woman. 
 
 " Oh ; you ought not to have gone out there in 
 this storm, Mr. Dinsmore. If you felt that you 
 must go, you should have sent word to us, and let 
 us send you out there in the sleigh." 
 
 " But no sleigh could have gotten through, until the 
 oxen had broken the road; and think what I accom- 
 plished by being with old Barbara when she died." 
 
 "Yes; but you ought not to go out, on these 
 lonely roads, in such a storm," persisted Mary. 
 
 " Now that I am safely back with the child, the 
 question arises how can I fulfil the promise that I 
 made to old Barbara?" 
 
 " I will keep Bab. I have wanted to get the child 
 under my care," answered Mary. 
 
 " That will be a very happy solution of the ques- 
 tion," said Dinsmore; "as long as you live here." 
 
 "Well; we will always live here; that is until we 
 die," replied Mary. "And I think Father would 
 rather die than move away from Clintonville. " 
 
 " Your father may live and die here, and yet that 
 does not determine the question whether you may 
 not find a home far from here," answered Dinsmore, 
 with a ghastly attempt at a smile. 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 259 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know what you mean," replied 
 Mary, thoroughly non-plussed; for this mood was 
 one in which she had never before seen the young 
 pastor. 
 
 " I mean that young ladies fortunes in life are not 
 always regulated by their parents," answered Dins- 
 more, desperately. 
 
 "You look thoroughly tired out, Mr. Dinsmore. 
 Won't you stay here to supper, and go and lie down 
 and rest before supper. You ought not to overtax 
 your strength so." 
 
 "I can't lie down. I am nervous and excited by 
 the scene through which I have passed, and feel 
 more like taking another long tramp." 
 
 "You can't do that. You would make yourself 
 ill. You must not give way to such a feeling which 
 is mere nervousness, and has no reason in it. You 
 owe a duty to yourself and to us, to the church I 
 mean, to take care of your health. You must not 
 go out again," she paused suddenly, and her face 
 flushed; she had grown so earnest that it seemed 
 very much as if she were reading her pastor a lecture. 
 
 " If my work calls on me to go, ought I not to go? 
 Can I let people die without the message of peace 
 that I can bring to them, because I am afraid of my 
 health. I have not held my work before me as I 
 ought to have done. Other things have come be- 
 tween me and my duty. Ought I to hesitate when 
 I am called by the sore need of those around me?" 
 
 Clearly he was not offended by her reproof, and 
 Mary took up her parable again. 
 
 "You ought to answer a call of duty; but you can 
 
260 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 do it in a way to spare your own health and strength. 
 But now you have no call of duty. It is only your 
 own restlessness that makes you try to invent one. 
 Please don't go out again this evening, Mr. Dins- 
 more." 
 
 He had been pacing up and down the room; he 
 seated himself quietly and said, "No; Miss Mary, I 
 will not go." 
 
 How pale and tired he looked; and she was so 
 glad that she had gotten this promise from him. 
 
 "What did you mean by your not holding your 
 work before you as you ought to have done. Father 
 said, the other day, that he never knew a man more 
 enthusiastic over his profession or more devoted to 
 his work than you. I believe that Mr. Whitlock 
 has had something to do with your getting such a 
 notion in your head. I'm glad he has gone home. 
 Two or three times, when I would have had a chance 
 to talk with you and father about the church plans, 
 he was in the way." 
 
 "Yes, Tom had something to do with it," began 
 Dinsmore. 
 
 "Well then, I wish he hadn't come here, and I 
 hope he won't come back, next Spring," interrupted 
 Mary. 
 
 " I don't think he will do any harm, next Spring," 
 said Dinsmore slowly, as though he were measuring 
 every word. " When I saw how much he was with 
 you, and knew how well suited he was to make a 
 woman care for him, and how happy a woman would 
 be with such a noble fellow, I felt that it was to be 
 my fate to see you taken away from me, and that I 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 26 1 
 
 must learn to do my work alone. Then I began to 
 fear, when I saw how this thought robbed my work 
 of its zest, that I was mistaken in thinking that I 
 loved my work for its own sake. Now you know 
 what is in my heart. You know that I love you ; 
 I pray God, not better than my work as His 
 minister." 
 
 He rose and stood before her, his eyes looked 
 deep and dark and his voice quivered, so that every 
 nerve in Mary's body tingled. She was sitting with 
 her hands clasped tightly in her lap and her face bent 
 down. Now she looked up at him; and he seemed 
 like one of those "Sons of God," that wooed the 
 daughters of men. 
 
 " Are you sure ? Can I " she was interrupted 
 
 by the patter of little feet in the hall, and Bab ran 
 into the room and perched herself on the sofa by 
 Mary's side. As Dinsmore took his seat she gave 
 each of them a hand. 
 
 Mary smiled on the child, Dinsmore looked preter- 
 naturally solemn. 
 
 "Say Good-night to Mr. Dinsmore," said Mary. 
 " It is time for little girls to be in bed," and she led 
 the child away. 
 
 Dinsmore paced up and down the room till she 
 returned. It seemed to take a long while to hand 
 the child over to a nurse and tell her to put her to 
 bed. Mary's step in the hall, the rustle of her dress 
 made him draw his breath quickly; and he stood 
 waiting for her as she came in the door. 
 
 " And so you are really mine ?" he said as he took 
 her in his arms and kissed her, over and over again. 
 
262 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 "Stop," she said. "I have not said so; and you 
 give me no chance to say what I want to say so 
 much." 
 
 So he stopped and gave her the chance; but let 
 us not intrude, nor betray confidence by telling what 
 she said. 
 
 Then they rose to go to Judge Lowther's study, 
 Dinsmore with fear and trembling, Mary with easy 
 confidence; but he was Mary's father. 
 
 As they came into the study, she took Dinsmore's 
 hand and they walked up to the Judge, who looked 
 up over his spectacles, startled at their unusual atti- 
 tude, for he never remembered to have seen them 
 walking about the house hand in hand. 
 
 "Well; what is it, Mary?" he said. 
 
 Dinsmore answered him. " I have come to ask 
 your consent to my " 
 
 The Judge interrupted, rising to his feet, "With 
 all my heart," he said; "but bless me; I thought it 
 was the other young man, Mary." 
 
 "You were mistaken, Father," she began. 
 
 " I see I was; never made a worse blunder in my 
 life; but I'm glad I was mistaken." Then he shook 
 Dinsmore warmly by the hand. " Either one would 
 have suited me," he added. " But Mary was entitled 
 to a choice; and I am sure she has made no mistake, 
 this time. You mustn't take her away from me, you 
 know. I can't stand that. We will build you a 
 wing, opposite this study of mine, for a study. This 
 is the way I would suggest," and the Judge sat 
 down, with a sheet of paper, and sketched out a 
 plan for a study on the south side of the house. 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 2O3 
 
 After supper Dinsmore and Mary sat in the parlor, 
 reviewing the past and forecasting the future; and 
 now the love of this girl and the work of his ministry 
 seemed no longer in conflict. 
 
 " Promise me, Mr. Dins " 
 
 " What ?" he interrupted — 
 
 "Promise me, Harry," she said, after a moment's 
 hesitation, " that you will go straight to bed, as soon 
 as you get home. After such a day you ought to 
 rest." 
 
 " After such a day I can rest, whether I sleep or 
 wake; and I shall have plenty to dream about. And 
 so I will go straight to bed." 
 
 As he passed Mother Livingston's he felt like 
 stopping to tell the old Dame that he had followed 
 her wise counsel; but he was under promise, and so 
 he went straight home and to bed. 
 
 On the next day they laid old Barbara to rest, in 
 the graveyard of the North Settlement. 
 
 At the service, held in the school-house, Farmer 
 Brown's family, one or two of the nearest neighbors 
 and Mary Lowther, were the only attendants. A 
 few of the Scoopers lingered around the door and 
 followed the little procession to the grave-yard, to 
 see what they were going to do with old Barbara. 
 
 The storm had ceased and the sun shone brightly, 
 as they stood around the open grave. 
 
 The white snow and the hard, red clay mingled 
 with each other as they fell upon the coffin. The 
 little group of Christian people bowed their heads, 
 as the young pastor recited the benediction for 
 "those who die in the Lord." The gaunt, dirty, ill- 
 
264 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 clad Scoopers stood apart watching the scene with a 
 solemn, stupid curiosity. 
 
 To Dinsmore it was the ingathering of the first 
 fruits of their mission in Scooper's Hollow, the first 
 time that any of them had received Christian burial; 
 and again he was reminded of the words " and a 
 little child shall lead them." 
 
 It was Bab whose voice had led old Barbara, as 
 she was passing out of this world, into the fold of 
 the Good Shepherd. He bowed his head over Bar- 
 bara's grave, and prayed God to give him the heart 
 of a little child. 
 
L'ENVOI. 
 
 AGAIN it was Spring on these hills over which 
 the bleak Winter winds had whistled and 
 where the Winter snows had lain so hard and fast, 
 that it seemed as if they never would thaw out. 
 
 Dinsmore came down the village street, late in 
 the evening, with lagging steps. He had spent a 
 good part of the day on his feet, over in the North 
 Settlement. He came into the village, just as the 
 old coach drove up, and waited for the mail. Now, 
 as twilight was falling, he turned his steps home- 
 ward. 
 
 He saw the glow of the fire from his study win- 
 dows; and as he came up the gravel path, the study 
 door swung open. He went in and flung himself in 
 the easy chair in front of the crackling wood fire; 
 for there was chill enough in the evening air to make 
 a blazing hearth seem cheery. 
 
 " Bab run and get Mr. Dinsmore's slippers for 
 him;" and the little pattering feet flew willingly on 
 the errand. 
 
 " You are tired, Harry, you look pale, and fagged 
 out. You must not work so hard in this enervat- 
 ing Spring weather," and she laid her hand on his 
 shoulder, and leaned over and kissed him on the 
 forehead. 
 
 265 
 
266 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 "That sets me on my feet, Mary," he said as he 
 brightened up, in answer to her smile. " Yes, I am 
 dead tired; but not 'weary. It is the kind of tire 
 that sleep will cure. I have had a good day. I 
 have done lots of tramping and plenty of talking; 
 but it has been to some purpose. Seven of the Hard 
 Scrabble people have promised me to come to a 
 service in the school-house, next Sunday afternoon; 
 five women and two men. I think they feel that 
 we gave old Barbara a burial like one of our own 
 people, and that such decent conduct on our part 
 deserves their approbation. I think we ought to 
 take Bab with us, and let them see that we have 
 neither killed and eaten the child, nor sold her into 
 slavery." 
 
 Mary laughed. " You always had the most un- 
 bounded faith in Bab's missionary powers. You're 
 a funny man, Harry; you stick to a notion so 
 fast." 
 
 " I stuck to the notion of getting Mary Lowther 
 for a wife. Was that funny ?" 
 
 "Yes; that was the funniest of all your doings. 
 But that did not take you very long; and what do 
 you think of that transaction, now that you have 
 had a month in which to test it." 
 
 " I would like to do it over a dozen times." 
 
 "Thank you sir. Once is enough for me." 
 
 "There's a letter from Tom Whitlock," he said, 
 emptying his pockets bn the table. " Light the stu- 
 dent's lamp and read it to me." 
 
 " Perhaps Mr. Whitlock don't intend the contents 
 for my eyes. " 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 267 
 
 " Then he had better not send it to me," answered 
 Dinsmore. 
 
 Mary lit the lamp, and sat down by the table and, 
 glancing at the letter, burst out laughing. She threw 
 it in Dinsmore's lap, the color flushed up in her 
 face. " I think I was right in assuming that, per- 
 haps, it was not meant for my eyes." 
 
 Dinsmore read: 
 
 " My Dear Harry : — And so I am to come to you and see 
 the girl whose charm I first discovered and whose fortunes I 
 intended, if all went well, to link with my own, installed as 
 your wife. You understand, I hope, that a compound fracture of 
 the heart and the purse prevented my coming to see you snatch 
 the prize away from me. Well, if she must go to some one else, 
 I would rather that you should have her than any one I know. 
 You're a decent fellow, Harry, and awfully lucky. Was the 
 ' widder ' there ? To show you that I bear no grudge, I will 
 be with you next week, if you write me that the streams are clear 
 of snow-water. 
 
 " Go out and cast a line yourself, and see if they bite. There's 
 a good fellow. I cannot afford very much of a vacation, and I 
 don't want to waste it where there are no trout. 
 
 " My respects to the Missus and my love to the Judge, or vice 
 versa. 
 
 " Yours as ever, 
 
 Tom." 
 
 " There's no great harm done by letting you see 
 that, I fancy;" and Dinsmore laughed at Mary's 
 blushes. 
 
 So Tom came in due time, had some good fishing, 
 and imparted to Mary, various bits of information, 
 according to his lights. 
 
 • " I assure you, Mrs. Dinsmore, that I was the 
 saving of this truant husband of yours. I opened 
 
268 A HILLSIDE PARISH. 
 
 his eyes to the net that was being spread in his path. 
 You virtually owe him to me; and I ought to be an 
 honored guest in your house." 
 
 " Thank you very much, Mr. Whitlock. I can 
 never do enough to pay off such a debt as that." 
 
 "Oh! now, you don't believe it; but I tell you, 
 the wool was pretty well over his eyes, when I first 
 came up here. Isn't that true, Harry? Didn't I 
 give you some good advice?" 
 
 "Most excellent, from your point of view; and 
 most effective because I didn't need it." 
 
 "Weren't you afraid of that winning widow, Mrs. 
 Dinsmore?" 
 
 " No, Mr. Whitlock, not in the sense that you 
 mean. I was afraid that some of the village gossips 
 would connect Harry's name with her, so as to hurt 
 his influence; but I never, for a moment, thought 
 that she could make him love her." 
 
 " Well, then, you had a great deal more faith in 
 him than I had. I thought him in real danger, and 
 doubted whether he could hold his own." 
 
 " I was sure that I could hold my own," answered 
 Mary. 
 
 Dinsmore laughed heartily. 
 
 " I never thought of your taking that view of the 
 matter," said Whitlock, thoroughly non-plussed, and 
 without any ready answer. 
 
 " Suppose we regard this debate as satisfactorily 
 closed," interposed Dinsmore. " It gives one a curi- 
 ous sensation to hear two people discuss one's 
 affections, as though they had them in clinic for dis- 
 section. Whatever may have been the doubts or 
 
A HILLSIDE PARISH. 269 
 
 dangers of the past, we have settled them, and 
 reached a conclusion highly satisfactory to the par- 
 ties chiefly concerned." 
 
 And so Dinsmore had the last word. 
 
 THE END.