FullReads

On this occasion he unlocked the door and entered the little sanctuary. It was cold and dark, but he made no fire, for there was neither stove nor hearth. Lighting two candles,–one for the congregation and one for himself,–he distributed the books among the benches and the chancel, and dusted carefully the little altar, with its faded embroideries and flowers. Then he retired into the shed which served as a vestry-room, and in a few minutes issued forth, clad in his robes of office, and knelt at the chancel rail. There was no bell to summon the congregation, and no congregation to summon; but still he began in his clear voice, “Dearly beloved brethren,” and continued on unwavering through the confession, the absolution, and the psalms, leaving a silence for the corresponding responses, and devoutly beginning the first lesson. In the midst of “Zephaniah” there was a slight noise at the door and a step sounded over the rough floor. The solitary reader did not raise his eyes, and, the lesson over, he bravely lifted up his mild tenor in the chant, “It is a good thing to give thanks unto the Lord, and to sing praises unto Thy name, O Most Highest.” A girl’s voice took up the air; the mild tenor dropped into its own part, and the two continued the service in a duet, spoken and sung, to its close. Then the minister retired, with his candle, to the shed, and, hanging up his surplice, patiently waited, pacing to and fro in the cold. Patiently waited; and for what? For the going away of the only friend he had in Algonquin.

The congregation lingered; its shawl must be refastened; indeed, it must be entirely refolded. Its hat must be retied, and the ribbons carefully smoothed. Still there was no sound from the vestry-room. It collected all the prayer-books, and piled them near the candle, making a separate journey for each little volume. Still no one. At last, with lingering step and backward glance, slowly it departed and carried its disappointed face homeward. Then Peter the Parson issued forth, lifted the careful pile of books with tender hand, and extinguishing the lights, went out bareheaded into the darkness. The vesper service of St. John and St. James was over.

After a hot, unwholesome supper the minister returned to his room and tried to read; but the candle flickered, the cold seemed to blur the book, and he found himself gazing at the words without taking in their sense. Then he began to read aloud, slowly walking up and down, and carrying the candle to light the page; but through all the learned sentences there still crept to the surface the miserable consciousness of bodily cold.”And mental, too, Heaven help me!” he thought.”But I cannot afford a fire at this season, and, indeed, it ought not to be necessary. This delicacy must be subdued; I will go out and walk.” Putting on his cloak and comforter (O deceitful name!) he remembered that he had no hat. Would his slender store of money allow a new one? Unlocking his trunk, he drew out a thin purse hidden away among his few carefully folded clothes,–the poor trunk was but half full,–and counted its contents. The sum was pitifully small, and it must yet last many weeks. But a hat was necessary, whereas a fire was a mere luxury.”I must harden myself,” thought the little parson sternly, as he caught himself shuddering with the cold; “this evil tendency to self-indulgence must and shall be crushed.”

He went down towards the dock where stood the one store of Algonquin–stealing along in the darkness to hide his uncovered condition. Buying a hat, the poorest one there, from the Jew proprietor, he lingered a moment near the stove to warm his chilled hands. Mr. Marx, rendered good-natured by the bold cheat he had perpetrated, affably began a conversation.

“Sorry to see yer still limp bad. But it aint so hard as it would be if yer was a larger man. Yer see there aint much of yer to limp; that’s one comfort. Hope business is good at yer chapel, and that Mrs. Malone gives yer enough to eat; yer don’t look like it, though. The winter has sot in early, and times is hard.” And did the parson know that “Brother Saul has come in from the mine, and is a-holding forth in the school-house this very minit?”