CHAPTER XXVII

A SERMON WITH A PUNCH

"We are going to church in town to-night," Mrs. Andrews announced the next day when dinner was over. She and Abner were alone, for Jess and Belle were out for a ramble with the boys.

"That's good," Abner replied, as he filled his pipe. "I'll look after the kids."

"But you're goin', too, Abner."

"Me!"

"Yes, you. If anyone needs to go to church it is you after what you did yesterday. The burden of your many sins must be pretty heavy by this time. I am thoroughly ashamed of you. What in the world possessed you to do such a thing?"

"Brains, gall, an' luck, as I've informed ye before."

"I don't see what they had to do with it. You have the gall all right, and luck helped you out. But you might have used your brains to a far better advantage. You were never like any man I ever knew, and you're getting worse all the time."

"Tildy, I'm not like other men." Abner blew out a match and looked thoughtfully at his wife. "I couldn't be like other men if I tried. The Lord didn't build me that way. I guess He got so tired making so many men alike, who all do an' say the right things, that when He came to me He gave a different twist to my make-up. He was experimentin' on Abner Andrews, of Ash Pint."

"H'm, if He did, then I don't believe He's ever tried it again."

"Mebbe not, Tildy. But He might do worse. Now look here, I'm different from most men, I acknowledge. But in what way? I'll tell ye, if ye don't know. I'm not afraid to speak me mind when necessary, an' fight like the divil aginst a bunch of grafters, an' git more'n even with 'em if I kin. I enjoy a bit of fun now an' then."

"Queer fun you like, it seems to me," his wife retorted.

"Mebbe so. But fun with no punch in it is no fun at all to my way of thinkin'."

"To hurt the feelings of others; that's the kind of fun you like."

"Don't be so sure of that. I have never hurt a fly in fun, remember, an' hope I never shall. But when it comes to Rackshaw, Ikey Dimock, an' a bunch sich as came from Glucom yesterday, then I'm willin' to see 'em squirm under me fun. Them's my religious convictions, though mebbe they don't altogether jibe with wot ye hear at church."

"Indeed they don't," was the emphatic reply. "And that's the reason why you must go to church to-night. There's a new man at St. Felix, and I understand he is a wonder. He is not afraid to speak his mind, and he always talks about present-day affairs. The church is crowded to the doors every Sunday night, so I have heard."

"Say, Tildy, I wonder if they have made up their minds in that church yit who is to say the 'Amen'? They were in a great way about it the last time I was there, nigh three years ago."

"What do you mean, Abner?"

"Oh, don't ye remember? When the parson got through with his prayin' the choir kicked up a terrible fuss as to who was to say 'Amen.' One young woman, with a big feather in her hat, lifted up her voice an' said it all right to my way of thinkin'. But no sir-ree, that didn't suit a feller behind her, so he growled out another 'Amen.' An' jimmy-crickets! no sooner was he done than two more said it, each in a different way. Then they started it all together, an' sich a time as they had over it! It was 'Amen! A-men! A-A-men!!! A-A-A-Amen!!!, an' last of all a big 'Amen' that nearly took the roof off the buildin'. I don't know to this day who won out, but I imagine there was some high talkin' an' hair-pullin' when church was over."

"Why, don't you know that they were singing?" Mrs. Andrews asked. "They were not fighting over it. I thought it was most beautiful, and so did others."

"So I've heard ye say, Tildy. But, my, it sounded funny to me, an' it didn't seem altogether becomin' to scramble sich as they did fer that word in a sacred buildin'. I ain't been back there since."

"And nowhere else," was the retort. "You're worse than a heathen, Abner Andrews, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself. You must go to-night, though, and then perhaps you'll get the habit."

Abner sighed and blew forth several great clouds of smoke.

"My, that's great terbaccer I got from Zeb yesterday," he remarked. "Don't know what I'd a done if I hadn't won that bet."

"I wish you'd stop betting, Abner. Mr. Parker, that new minister at St. Felix, preached a great sermon on the subject recently, so Julia Tomkins told me."

"He did, eh? What did he say?"

"I don't know all, but he laid it down pretty plain that it was a fearful sin, and that money raised that way was dishonest. It was 'tainted,' so he said, and he would have nothing to do with it."

"Is that what he said? Well, that's interestin'. I wonder if he knows that quite a bunch of his flock, Ikey Dimock, Hen Whittles, an' sich like, put tainted money into the plate every Sunday? I bet ye'r life he doesn't turn a cent down. I'd like to see that new parson. Guess I'll go to church. He might hand out something spicy to-night, an' I'd like to see how the 'holy ones' of his flock take it. But who'll look after the kids, Tildy, if I go?"

"I've arranged with Mrs. Zeb to look after them," was the reply, "She and Zeb like the boys, and it will be a change for them to have children around the house for an afternoon."

"We'll have to start early, Tildy. Jerry ain't as spry as he used to be. He's not been to town fer a day or two, an' he's pinin' fer the yell of an en-gine."

"Oh, I forgot to tell you, Abner, that Mr. Royden is to take us in his car. We are to go to the hotel for supper. Belle has invited us, and she is determined that we shall all go."

"She has, eh? Well, that's nice of her. I was afraid when ye mentioned supper at the hotel that I'd have to foot the bill. Belle's some gal, she sure is. Yes, I guess I'll go. But, my, I do hate to dress up in all me finery. This style bizness gits on me nerves."

Abner enjoyed himself that evening at the hotel, and when dinner was over he and Royden went into the smoking-room.

"This is sartinly comfort," he remarked as he settled himself back in one of the big chairs. "There's some class to us, eh? Might think we had some soft government job, or were politicians, fer that matter."

"You are happier as you are, Mr. Andrews," Royden replied, as he touched a match to his cigar. "Politicians seem to me to be the men we should least envy."

"Ye don't tell! Why, I thought they had a cinch."

"You're mistaken, then, so far as I have seen. A politician is very uncertain of his position; he has all sorts and conditions of people to meet and keep in good humor, and has to make promises which he knows he can never fulfil. He is subjected to all kinds of criticisms, no matter what he does, for his opponents are watching him with jealous and envious eyes. Politics is a great game when rightly played, but sad to say it has degenerated into mud-throwing and a wild scramble for money and position."

"That's what it is to-day, young man," Abner replied. "There's nuthin' noble about it in this province, let me tell ye that. The politicians I know are like so many hawks flyin' here an' there, seekin' to grab all they kin find. Look at them heelers who are tryin' to git my gravel hill. But I gave 'em somethin' they won't fergit in a hurry."

"You must be always on your guard, Mr. Andrews," Royden warned. "If they can't get you one way they will try other means. They have the pull, you see. Election day is near, and they can't afford to lose much time."

"Let 'em pull all they want to. I guess I kin pull, too, when it comes to that. Say, that's a fine smoke," and Abner looked at the cigar he had just taken from between his teeth. "It's as good as Rackshaw's. De ye smoke this kind often?"

"Very rarely. These are special ones for to-night. We must celebrate a little on an event like this."

The men thus talked and smoked until it was time to go to church. Abner was inclined to remain where he was, but Mrs. Andrews would not listen to him.

"You've come to town to go to church, and going you are," she declared. "I've got you this far, and you shall not go back now."

"But I feel sleepy, Tildy, an' would like to have a nap," Abner pleaded.

"Well, sleep in church, then, providing you don't snore."

"Jist the thing," and Abner rose with alacrity. "I've often said the best part of goin' to church is the fine sleep one kin git durin' the sermon."

When they reached the church they were surprised to find the building almost full, and only with difficulty were they able to obtain a place where they all could sit together. Before the service began every seat was taken, and people were standing in the aisles.

"Guess there must be somethin' hot on to-night, Tildy," Abner whispered. "I never saw sich a crowd at church before. Ye'd think this was a movin'-picture house."

Abner paid little attention to the first part of the service. It was all somewhat unintelligible to him, and he found the prayers and hymns very long. He was interested, however, in observing the people in the church, especially the familiar forms of Isaac Dimock and Henry Whittles, who were sitting well up in front. But this diversion soon lost its charm, and he longed to be back at Ash Point talking with Zeb Burns. He wondered how long it would be before the sermon, and if that did not interest him he could go to sleep. Tildy would keep him from snoring, he had no doubt about that.

Abner watched the clergyman as he went into the pulpit, and he wondered what there was about him which attracted such large congregations. He was somewhat enlightened when the text, "I have played the fool," was announced. He was wide awake now and did not feel one bit sleepy. He wanted to know what the speaker would make out of those words. He had not long to wait, for soon the minister was telling about King Saul, destined for such noble things and yet acting in such a selfish and ridiculous way that he was forced to utter the words, "I have played the fool."

The speaker applied the lesson to present-day affairs, and asked if there were not many people who were playing the fool like that king of old. They were endowed with various talents, and yet they were either making wrong use of them, or wasting them in senseless ways.

"I come now," he at length said, "to the main question up to which my words have been leading. We call ourselves Christian men and women, and we are so self-satisfied that we cannot see how little we are really doing, nor how far we are from Him whom we call Master. There are things in our very community which should make us blush for shame. One of these is the criminal neglect of the destitute children. What has been done for them? An effort was made a short time ago to erect a Home for needy orphans. But what has become of the plans? Nothing. We have played the fool, and in the meantime the destitute ones have been suffering."

The speaker paused for a few seconds, and looked around. Everyone was almost breathless, waiting to hear his next word, Abner, too, was keenly alert. He was glad that he had come, for he was greatly interested. Here was a man, so he thought, who knew what he was talking about, and was not afraid to express his views.

"During the last few days," the speaker continued, "this town has been much stirred over the peculiar antics of a man living about five miles from here. He has been doing peculiar things of late, and it is the general opinion that the man is a fool or crazy. I have heard people laughing and talking about him, and wondering what idiotic thing he would do next."

Abner's eyes now were fairly starting out of his head, and he leaned forward so as not to miss the slightest word. "What in the world is the man drivin' at?" he asked himself.

"But while most of you have been joking about that farmer at Ash Point, and considering him a fool," the speaker went on, "I have been studying the other side of the question. I have learned that he bears a good name along the river, and although he is impetuous at times, and is not afraid to speak his mind like a man should, yet he is highly respected and minds his own business when he is let alone. He was arrested a short time ago, and placed in jail. And why? For thrashing a man who wrote a libellous article in The Live Wire about his wife. I would have done the same myself, as would any man, unless he were an arrant coward. You have been calling that man a miscreant and a fool, but let me tell you what he has done. He offered a thousand dollars toward the building of a Home for orphan children. But he has not paid it, some might say. No, certainly not, and for a very good reason. He had sense enough not to put that money into a dump-heap, where it was proposed to build the Home, when there are excellent sites right in this town. His one idea was to do something for helpless children, and not to help a man sell a piece of ground which was absolutely useless for anything else except a dump."

Abner almost emitted a chuckle, as he turned and looked at Henry Whittles, whose face was very red, and who was writhing under the minister's scathing words. Others were looking at him, too, for all knew that he was the man referred to by the clergyman.

"But what has that man you call a fool done?" the speaker asked. "If you do not know, let me tell you. When he found that the people of this town were playing the fool, and doing nothing toward the erection of an Orphan Home, he took into his own house five destitute children, all boys. He and his family are caring for them, and are doing all in their power for those little ones. The children are decently clothed, well fed and happy. And all that from people who have very little of this world's goods, depending entirely upon a poor gravel farm for their living. Let me now ask who have played the fool: that farmer and his family, or the people of this town?"

It was quite evident that his message was stirring the entire congregation, and there was considerable whispering here and there. This was noted by the minister, and he knew that his words were having their desired effect. But he had more to say, and continued:

"You were all much interested this last week in that farmer's peculiar advertisement in the paper, which brought forth such a scathing editorial. A number of people, I believe, went to Ash Point yesterday to have fun at Mr. Andrews' expense. But they came back wiser than they went, having learned a very useful and salutary lesson, which, I trust, they will not soon forget. Now, was that advertisement the work of a fool or of a madman? I believe not. If I understand rightly, Mr. Andrews took that method of testing the people of this town. They would take but little interest in the welfare of helpless children, and would not even go to see how they were getting along. But they would travel miles to see a man perform in a wash-tub and say funny things. That is my conclusion, and I feel that I am right. Mr. Andrews is far from being a fool, even though he follows the method of Diogenes, that famous actor and wit of olden days."

Again he paused and looked quizzically around.

"I see you are getting restless," he resumed, "and I know that some of you have made up your minds never to come to this church again, and if possible to starve me out. You may go ahead and say and do what you like. Starve me if you wish, but I appeal to you in my Master's name not to let His little ones starve or go homeless. Take the burden off the shoulders of that worthy farmer at Ash Point. Provide a place for those children and others like them in this very town. A big building is not necessary just now. A house large enough can surely be secured for them at a reasonable expense, and I have every reason to believe that the Government will give some assistance, and if so the matter should be easily arranged. But there should be no delay. I hope the people of this town will get together at once. We have been playing the fool in the past; let us now see that we do it no longer."

When the sermon was ended, Abner slipped quietly out of the church. He did not wish to meet the people when the service was over. He wanted to be alone that he might think about all that he had heard. He made his way back to the hotel, and sat down in the smoking-room. It was there that Jess found him some time later, smoking and gazing thoughtfully out of the window. There was no one else in the room.

"You didn't go to sleep after all, did you, daddy?" she accosted, while her face beamed with joy.

Abner slowly took the pipe from his mouth, and looked at his daughter. There was a peculiar expression upon his face and a mistiness in his eyes.

"No, Jess, I didn't go to sleep," he drawled. "But I guess them kids at home'll be sleepy if we don't hustle back. An' say, I fergot to tell Zeb to feed Jerry, blamed if I didn't."