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An Assisted Providence
by
He did not remember the Saint Bernards until after the early Sunday dinner, and during the after-dinner cigar. He was sitting in the library, before some blazing logs, at peace with all the world. To him, thus, came his mother and announced that the dean and “that man who preached this morning, you know,” were waiting in the other room.
“They seem excited,” said she, “and talk about your munificence. What HAVE you been doing?”
“Appear to make a great deal of fuss over ten dollars,” said Harry, lightly, as he sauntered out of the door.
The dean greeted him with something almost like confusion in his cordiality; he introduced his companion as the Rev. Mr. Gilling.
“Mr. Gilling could not feel easy until he had—-“
“Made sure about there being no mistake,” interrupted Mr. Gilling; “I–the sum was so great——“
A ghastly suspicion shot like a fever-flush over Harry’s mind. Could it be possible? There were the two other bills; could he have given one of them? Given that howling dervish a hundred dollars? The thought was too awful!
“It was really not enough for you to trouble yourself,” he said; “I dare say you are thanking the wrong man.” He felt he must say something.
To his surprise the dean colored, while the other clergyman answered, in all simplicity:
“No, sir, no, sir. I know very well. The only other bill, except dollars, on the plate, the dean here gave, and the warden remembers that you put in two notes–I”–he grew quite pale–“I can’t help thinking you maybe intended to put in only ONE!” His voice broke, he tried to control it. “The sum is so VERY large!” quavered he.
“I have given him BOTH bills, two hundred dollars!” thought Harry. He sat down. He was accustomed to read men’s faces, and plainly as ever he had read, he could read the signs of distress and conflict on the prosaic, dull features before him.
“I INTENDED to put in two bills,” said he. Gilling gave a little gasp–so little, only a quick ear could have caught it; but Harry’s ear is quick. He twisted one leg around the other, a further sign of deliverance of mind.
“Well, sir, well, Mr. Lossing,” he remarked, clearing his throat, “I cannot express to you properly the–the appreciation I have of your–your PRINCELY gift!” (Harry changed a groan into a cough and tried to smile.) “I would like to ask you, however, HOW you would like it to be divided. There are a number of worthy causes: the furnishing of the church, which is in charge of the Ladies’ Aid Society; they are very hard workers, the ladies of our church. And there is the Altar Guild, which has the keeping of the altar in order. They are mostly young girls, and they used to wash my things–I mean the vestments” (blushing)–“but they–they were so young they were not careful, and my wife thought she had best wash the–vestments herself, but she allowed them to laundry the other–ah, things.” There was the same discursiveness in his talk as in his sermon, Harry thought; and the same uneasy restlessness of manner. “Then, we give to–various causes, and–and there is, also, my own salary—-“
“That is what it was intended for,” said Harry. “I hope the two hundred dollars will be of some use to you, and then, indirectly, it will help your church.”
Harry surprised a queer glance from the dean’s brown eyes; there was both humor and a something else that was solemn enough in it. The dean had believed that there was a mistake.
“All of it! To ME!” cried Gilling.
“All of it. To YOU,” Harry replied, dryly. He was conscious of the dean’s gaze upon him. “I had a sudden impulse,” said he, “and I gave it; that is all.”
The tears rose to the clergyman’s eyes; he tried to wink them away, then he tried to brush them away with a quick rub of his fingers, then he sprang up and walked to the window, his back to Harry. Directly he was facing the young man again, and speaking.