The Old Pastor by Interior

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Nov 6, 1884

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 10, No. 42.

The Old Pastor.

By Interior

"YES, things in the church are dull—all at a standstill, so to speak. Parson Miles ought to spur up a little."

John and I were sitting on the front porch Sabbath afternoon. He was looking over the papers, sometimes reading a bit to me, which almost always puts me half asleep, as is natural enough when there's nothing to do to keep one awake. But I always get wide awake when he begins to talk, so when he said that, I said to him:—

"Well, I must say I'm getting tired of the same thing. Now, when I was over to Spencerville, where they've just got a new minister, there was so much going on and everything so lively. There were all the ladies fixing up the parsonage and everybody calling there, and presents, and then the house-warming, dear me!—it all seemed to make so much good feeling—"

"That's it," said John. "There's no feeling at all here. Parson Miles is a good enough man, but he's slow—yes, rather slow. It sometimes comes over me, Maria [and then John spoke lower, though whether it was in fear of being heard by the leaves that whispered in the apple-tree that shades the porch, or by the birds building their nests there, or by old Carlo that lay on the mat, is more than I can say, but there wasn't anything else to hear] that perhaps we need a change, though I wouldn't be the one to start the idea."

"No, indeed," said I, "but still, he's been here a long time."

"Yes, and getting a little old. A younger man, now, would liven things up. We could pay him a better salary, and give him a good setting out. The church is well able to do it."

"There's no fault to be found with Brother Miles, though!" said I, for I couldn't find it in my heart to hear him run down.

"Not a bit. It's only that—well—only that, p'raps—his usefulness here is at an end. What do you say, Maria, to us driving over to hear Parson Tuttle this evening just for a variety? He's more my style—beats and whacks away and wakes folks up."

"What!" said I, "clear over to Radnor!" It was ten miles and more.

"Yes," said he, "I'll hitch up Prancer, and we can make it in an hour."

I saw he was a little restless, and rather liked the idea of a ride after the colt, so I made no objection. As we got near Radnor, there were lots of folks on the way to church.

"Great many out for evening worship," said I. "Our folks don't turn out this well."

"Parson Tuttle's a man that draws," said John. "Keeps up the interest, you see!"

There was quite a crowd in the entry, and, as we were waiting for some one to show us to a seat, we overheard a man say:—

"You'll hear something worth hearing to-night. Mr. [I couldn't get hold of the name, though I tried] is going to preach."

I was afraid John had set his heart on hearing Mr. Tuttle, but, as far as I was concerned, I didn't mind hearing a stranger, 'specially if he was like they said, for they kept right on:—

"He's a strong speaker, yes, strong—that's just the word. We're always glad when we get him on an exchange. Wonder is, a man like him's let stay so long in a country living. None of your hop-and-jump sort—don't waste any force hammering out sparks, but goes at it and drives in the truth square and solid, and then he clinches it—yes, sir, he just clinches it!—that's the very word."

I could see the folks were expecting something a little more than common by the way they looked as they settled into their seats. I was looking about a little, trying to see if anybody I knew was there, for I know a few of the Radnor folks (though, what with running to Eliza Jane's or to Susan's, now they're married, and something or other always ailing with one or the other of the children, and the work at home, it's a wonder I ever keep track of anything else) and didn't look towards the pulpit at all till I heard the minister's voice, and then I almost jumped from my seat as I stared at him. Then I turned and stared at John and he stared at me. It was Parson Miles as sure as you live!

If it hadn't been in church I should have laughed right out to see John's blank look. But I sobered down, and then I couldn't help seeing how those people listened. It was very plain they considered Parson Miles no such small doings. And it set me to noticing him myself a good deal sharper than I'd been doing of late. I tried to look at him and to listen to him as if I'd been somebody else besides myself. I couldn't feel to say he was a very handsome man, but I made up my mind you don't often see a more earnest, scholarly face than his.

Then I noticed the sprinkling of gray in his hair and beard, and somehow the tears would come into my eyes as I began to thinking over the long years he'd been among us. I couldn't think of a time of trouble or of joy when his face hadn't been good to see. I couldn't remember a time of sickness when he hadn't brought strength and comfort, and I could almost hear again how often his voice had seemed to bring down a beam of hope and faith as we stood by an open grave.

When he came to his text, John gave me a little poke, for if you'd believe me, it was the same we'd had in the morning. But I had to confess to myself, I hadn't listened much, for I'd got into a way of thinking Brother Miles' sermons didn't edify me any longer. I thought to myself, though, if I hadn't listened then, I would now. And when I saw the man we'd heard in the entry give a little nod to the other man, once in a while as much as to say, "Didn't I tell you so? That's one of his clinchers!" I actually began to feel a little bit scared, wondering whether some of these Radnor folks mightn't take a notion to give our pastor a call.

I think John, as well as I, was proud to have folks know he was our minister when the handshaking came when meeting was out. And when some one congratulated him, at hearing such preaching all the time, he took it just exactly as if he'd always considered Mr. Miles the greatest preacher going.

We didn't speak a word for more than half the way home, and then John said:—

"I say, Maria, there's such a thing as going further and faring worse."

"Well," said I, "if that's what you mean we've been doing to-night, I think we've been faring just about the same."

"No," said he, "that isn't what I mean." And after a while he said:—

"Maria, how much bigger salary ought we to raise for a preacher?"

"I was right up and down discouraged to hear him go back to that, for I'd been all the time hoping he'd been thinking pretty much as I had. But I didn't say anything, for I've seen it's no use to oppose John when he's worked up over a thing, but to try a quiet word or two afterwards. He went on:—"

"Yes, it ought to be done. Things need stirring up, and I'm going to stir 'em." He jerked the lines so Prancer gave a jump. "The old parsonage wants lots of repairing. I'll talk to the men about it, and then couldn't some of you women folks see about new carpets and papering and things?"

I says yes, although there was a choking in my throat as I thought of doing it for folks I didn't care for, and it came right face to face before me the idea of our pastor going out to seek a home among strangers. I had a longing in my heart to do better by him and his than ever I had done yet, and a feeling that he could do more for us now he was getting older than when he was a young man. But I didn't say anything, and, indeed, John didn't give me any chance, for he kept right on speaking louder and more excited:—

"Yes, Maria, we'll set things humming—I'm blessed if we don't. We won't stop till we have done the thing up right, and then we'll wind up with a rousing house-warming—but it shall be for the old parson, Maria—and we'll let him know before we get through that he's worth ten times more to us than all the young ones that ever lived. Get up, Prancer!"—Interior.