When Ellery came down to breakfast the rain was over,the wind had gone down,and the morning sunshine was pouring in at the dining-room windows.Outside the lilacs were in bud,the bluebirds were singing,and there was a sniff of real spring in the air.The storm was at an end and yet the young minister was conscious of a troublesome feeling that,for him,it was just beginning.
However,he had determined while dressing to make a clean breast of it to his housekeeper--a nominally clean breast,that is.There were some things he would not tell her,some that he would not speak of to anyone,the picture in the doorway for instance.True,it was only a picture and of no moment,but it was pleasant to remember.One of the very few pleasant things connected with the previous evening.
So,as they sat opposite each other at the table,he began his confession.The muffins scorched in the oven and the coffeepot boiled over as he told his story,for Keziah was too much interested to think of trifles.Interested and astounded,for,since Come-Outers had been Come-Outers and the split in the society took place,no Regular minister had crossed the threshold of a seceder's dwelling,much less attended their services and walked home with a member of their congregation.She knew what this amazing procedure was likely to mean,if her parson did not.
Well!she exclaimed when the recital was finished.Well!I--I'm afraid I was too hasty,observed Mr.Ellery thoughtfully.
Perhaps it would have been wiser not to have done it.Perhaps 'twould.Yes,I wouldn't wonder a mite.It will be talked about some,I suppose.Don't you think so?Some,yes.
I'm afraid some of my own people may think it queer.Queer!Say,Mr.Ellery,you remind me of a half-breed Portugee feller--half Portugee and a half Indian--that went to sea with my father,back in the old days.He hardly ever spoke a word,mainly grunted and made signs.One day he and another fo'mast hand went aloft in a calm to do somethin'to the tops'l.The half-breed--they called him Billy Peter and he always called himself that--was out on the end of the yard,with his foot on the rope underneath,Iforget the name of it,when the tarred twine he had for a shoe string caught.Tryin'to get it loose it broke sudden,his shoe pulled off,he lost his balance and fell.He grabbed at the yard,saved himself for a second,fell again,grabbed the next yard,then a rope and so on down,grabbin'and pullin'all the way.First his shoe hit the deck,then his sheath knife,then a piece of rope,and finally himself,landin'right on top of the Irish cook who was goin'aft from the galley with father's dinner.
There was the greatest racket you ever heard,pans fallin',dishes smashin',men yellin',and the cook swearin'.Father run on deck,thinkin'the ship was dismasted.He found the cook and Billy Peter sittin'in the middle of the mess,lookin'at each other.Neither was hurt a mite.The mates and the crew,part of 'em,was standin'starin'at the pair.
'For Heaven sakes!'says father;'what happened?'
The half-breed looked up and rubbed his head.'Ugh!'says he,'Billy Peter bust his shoe string.'
The cook,his name was O'Neill,looked at him disgusted.'Well,begorra!'says he,'Billy Peter,you don't exaggerate none,do ye!It's a good thing BOTH of 'em didn't bust or we'd have foundered.'
You remind me of Billy Peter,Mr.Ellery,you don't exaggerate.Queer?Some folks think your goin'to that meetin'last night QUEER?At this moment one half of Trumet is talkin' about it and runnin'out to tell the other half.I guess I'd better hurry up with this breakfast.We're goin'to have callers.Strange to say,however,this prophecy of early morning visitors did not prove true.Nine o'clock,then ten,and no visitor came to the parsonage.Mrs.Coffin affirmed that she did not understand it.Where was Didama?Where Lavinia Pepper?Had the Trumet Daily Advertiser suspended publication?
At half past ten the gate slammed.Keziah peered from the window.
Humph!she ejaculated.Here comes Elkanah and he's got storm signals set,by the looks.He's comin' after you,Mr.Ellery.Very well,was the calm reply;let him come.What are you goin' to say to him?
Nothing,except that I did what I considered right at the time.Show him into the study,Mrs.Coffin,please.Captain Daniels marched to the dining-room door,his gold-headed cane marking time like a drumbeat.He nodded curtly to Keziah,who answered the knock,and stepped across the threshold.
Hum--ha!he barked.Is the minister--hum--ha!is Mr.Ellery in?Yes,he's in.
Tell him I want to see him.
The housekeeper announced the visitor.
He's as sour as a skimmin'of last week's milk,she whispered.
Don't be afraid of him,though.
Oh,I'm not.Show him in.
All right.Say,Mr.Ellery,it's none of my business,but I wouldn't say anything about your seein'Grace home.That's none of HIS business,either,or anybody else's.The head of the parish committee stalked into the study and the door closed behind him.A rumble of voices in animated conversation succeeded.
Mrs.Coffin went out into the kitchen and resumed her business of making a dried-apple pie.There was a hot fire in the stove and she opened the back door to let in the fresh air.She worked briskly,rolling out the dough,filling the deep dish,and pinking the edges of the upper crust with a fork.She was thinking as she worked,but not of the minister or his visitor.
She put the pie in the oven and set the damper.And,as she knelt by the stove,something struck her lightly on the back of the neck.
She looked up and about her,but there was no one in sight.Then she picked up the object which had struck her.It was a cranberry,withered and softened by the winter frosts.
She looked at the cranberry,then at the open door,and her eyes twinkled.Running quickly to the threshold she peered out.The back yard was,apparently,empty,save for a few hens belonging to near neighbors,and these had stopped scratching for a living and were huddled near the fence.
