The Complete Short Stories of Lucy Maud Montgomery. Lucy Maud Montgomery

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СКАЧАТЬ “What if father heard you?”

      “Father wouldn’t hear me if I shouted it in his ear,” returned

       Eben. “He goes around, these days, like a man in a dream and a

       mighty bad dream at that. Father has always been a good man.

       What’s the matter with him?”

      “I don’t know,” said Mollie, dropping her voice. “Mother is dreadfully worried over him. And everybody is talking, Eb. It just makes me squirm. Flora Jane Fletcher asked me last night why father never testified, and him one of the elders. She said the minister was perplexed about it. I felt my face getting red.”

      “Why didn’t you tell her it was no business of hers?” said Eben angrily. “Old Flora Jane had better mind her own business.”

      “But all the folks are talking about it, Eb. And mother is fretting her heart out over it. Father has never acted like himself since these meetings began. He just goes there night after night, and sits like a mummy, with his head down. And almost everybody else in Avonlea has testified.”

      “Oh, no, there’s lots haven’t,” said Eben. “Matthew Cuthbert never has, nor Uncle Elisha, nor any of the Whites.”

      “But everybody knows they don’t believe in getting up and testifying, so nobody wonders when they don’t. Besides,” Mollie laughed—”Matthew could never get a word out in public, if he did believe in it. He’d be too shy. But,” she added with a sigh, “it isn’t that way with father. He believes in testimony, so people wonder why he doesn’t get up. Why, even old Josiah Sloane gets up every night.”

      “With his whiskers sticking out every which way, and his hair ditto,” interjected the graceless Eben.

      “When the minister calls for testimonials and all the folks look at our pew, I feel ready to sink through the floor for shame,” sighed Mollie. “If father would get up just once!”

      Miriam Bell entered the kitchen. She was ready for the meeting, to which Major Spencer was to take her. She was a tall, pale girl, with a serious face, and dark, thoughtful eyes, totally unlike Mollie. She had “come under conviction” during the meetings, and had stood up for prayer and testimony several times. The evangelist thought her very spiritual. She heard Mollie’s concluding sentence and spoke reprovingly.

      “You shouldn’t criticize your father, Mollie. It isn’t for you to judge him.”

      Eben had hastily slipped out. He was afraid Miriam would begin talking religion to him if he stayed. He had with difficulty escaped from an exhortation by Robert in the cowstable. There was no peace in Avonlea for the unregenerate, he reflected. Robert and Miriam had both “come out,” and Mollie was hovering on the brink.

      “Dad and I are the black sheep of the family,” he said, with a laugh, for which he at once felt guilty. Eben had been brought up with a strict reverence for all religious matters. On the surface he might sometimes laugh at them, but the deeps troubled him whenever he did so.

      Indoors, Miriam touched her younger sister’s shoulder and looked at her affectionately.

      “Won’t you decide tonight, Mollie?” she asked, in a voice tremulous with emotion.

      Mollie crimsoned and turned her face away uncomfortably. She did not know what answer to make, and was glad that a jingle of bells outside saved her the necessity of replying.

      “There’s your beau, Miriam,” she said, as she darted into the sitting room.

      Soon after, Eben brought the family pung and his chubby red mare to the door for Mollie. He had not as yet attained to the dignity of a cutter of his own. That was for his elder brother, Robert, who presently came out in his new fur coat and drove dashingly away with bells and glitter.

      “Thinks he’s the people,” remarked Eben, with a fraternal grin.

      The rich winter twilight was purpling over the white world as they drove down the lane under the overarching wild cherry trees that glittered with gemmy hoar-frost. The snow creaked and crisped under the runners. A shrill wind was keening in the leafless dogwoods. Over the trees the sky was a dome of silver, with a lucent star or two on the slope of the west. Earth-stars gleamed warmly out here and there, where homesteads were tucked snugly away in their orchards or groves of birch.

      “The church will be jammed tonight,” said Eben. “It’s so fine that folks will come from near and far. Guess it’ll be exciting.”

      “If only father would testify!” sighed Mollie, from the bottom of the pung, where she was snuggled amid furs and straw. “Miriam can say what she likes, but I do feels as if we were all disgraced. It sends a creep all over me to hear Mr. Bentley say, ‘Now, isn’t there one more to say a word for Jesus?’ and look right over at father.”

      Eben flicked his mare with his whip, and she broke into a trot. The silence was filled with a faint, fairylike melody from afar down the road where a pungful of young folks from White Sands were singing hymns on their way to meeting.

      “Look here, Mollie,” said Eben awkwardly at last, “are you going to stand up for prayers tonight?”

      “I — I can’t as long as father acts this way,” answered Mollie, in a choked voice. “I — I want to, Eb, and Mirry and Bob want me to, but I can’t. I do hope that the evangelist won’t come and talk to me special tonight. I always feels as if I was being pulled two different ways, when he does.”

      Back in the kitchen at home Mrs. Bell was waiting for her husband to bring the horse to the door. She was a slight, dark-eyed little woman, with thin, vivid-red cheeks. From out of the swathings in which she had wrapped her bonnet, her face gleamed sad and troubled. Now and then she sighed heavily.

      The cat came to her from under the stove, languidly stretching himself, and yawning until all the red cavern of his mouth and throat was revealed. At the moment he had an uncanny resemblance to Elder Joseph Blewett of White Sands — Roaring Joe, the irreverent boys called him — when he grew excited and shouted. Mrs. Bell saw it — and then reproached herself for the sacrilege.

      “But it’s no wonder I’ve wicked thoughts,” she said, wearily. “I’m that worried I ain’t rightly myself. If he would only tell me what the trouble is, maybe I could help him. At any rate, I’d KNOW. It hurts me so to see him going about, day after day, with his head hanging and that look on his face, as if he had something fearful on his conscience — him that never harmed a living soul. And then the way he groans and mutters in his sleep! He has always lived a just, upright life. He hasn’t no right to go on like this, disgracing his family.”

      Mrs. Bell’s angry sob was cut short by the sleigh at the door. Her husband poked in his busy, iron-gray head and said, “Now, mother.” He helped her into the sleigh, tucked the rugs warmly around her, and put a hot brick at her feet. His solicitude hurt her. It was all for her material comfort. It did not matter to him what mental agony she might suffer over his strange attitude. For the first time in their married life Mary Bell felt resentment against her husband.

      They drove along in silence, past the snow-powdered hedges of spruce, and under the arches of the forest roadways. They were late, and a great stillness was over all the land. David Bell never spoke. All his usual cheerful talkativeness had disappeared since the revival meetings had begun in Avonlea. From the first he had gone about СКАЧАТЬ