The Washington times., 1913-06-06

lTHE room had all the chilly diScom-
| fort of the farmhouse parlor, un-
used, save on state occasions
funereal gloom which no sunlight
could pierce, a mustiness which savored
almost Of the grave. One by one they
obeyed the stern forefinger of Gideon
Strong and took their seats on COM
fortress chairs and the horsehair sofa.
First came John Magee, factor and
agent to the Earl of Cumberland, a
great man in the district, deacon of the
chapel, slow and ponderous in his move
ments. A man of few words but much
plety. After him, with some hesitation,
as became his lowlier station, came
William Bull, six days in the week his
masters shepherd and faithful servant,
but on the seventh an elder Of the
chapel. a person Of consequence and
dignity.
Then followed Joan and Cicely Strong
together, sister in the flesh, but as far
apart in kin and the spirit as the poles
OF humanity themselves. And, lastly,
Douglas Guest
At the head of his shining mahogany
table, with a huge Bible before him,
on which rested the knuckle of one
clinched hand, stood Gideon Strong,
choirmaster of Feldwick Hall farm. 1t
was az his bidding that these people
had come together; they waited now for
him to speak.
His was no common personality. Neat
in his dress, precise, though local, with
curious mixture Of dialects in his
speech he was feared by every man
in Feldwick, whether he stood over them
laboring or praying among them in the
little chapel, where every Sunday he
took the principal place He was well
set up for all his unusual height and
seventy. years, with a face as hard as
the ancient rocks which jutted from the
Cumberland hillside, eyes as keen and
gray and merciless as though every
scrap of humanity which might ever
have lain behind them long since died
out
Just he reckoned himself, and Just he
may have been, but neither man nor
woman nor child had ever heard a kind
ly word fall from his lips. Children
ran indoors es he passed, women ceased
their gossiping, men skunk away from
friendly talk as though ashamed If
ever at harvest or Christmas time the
spirit Of good fellowship warmed the
hearts Of these country folk and loosen
ed their tongues the grim presence of
Gideon Strong and send them silently
apart. He had been known to pray that
sinners might meet with the punishment
they deserved, both in this world and
hereafter. Such was Gideon Strong.
He cleared his throat and spoke, ad-
dressing the young man who sat on the
corner of the horsehair sofa, where the
shadows of the room were darkest
Nephew Douglas" he said, today
you ha' come to mans estate, and ha'
summoned those here who will have to
do wi your future to hear these few
words. The charge of you left on my
shoulders by your shiftless parents has
been a heavy one, but today I am quit
of II. The deacons of Feldwick chapel
have agreed TO appoint you their pastor,
provided only that they be satisfied WI
your discourse on the coming Sabbath.
See to 1t, lad, that zee preach the Word
as these good men and mysen have
ever heard II. Let there be no new
tangled ideas in thy teachings. for there
in is vanity and trouble. Dost under
stand?"
Il understand" the young man an
swered slowly and without enthusiasm
Learning and godliness are little
akin" said John Magee in his thin
treble. See to II, lad, that thou choos-
est the one which is Of most account"
Aye, aye" echoed the shepherd
thickly. Aye, aye"
Douglas Guest answered nothing. A
sudden light had flashed in his dark
eyes and his lips had parted. But al
most at the same moment Gideon Strong |
stretched out his hand.
Nephew Douglas" he said. Il am
becoming an old man. and today I will
release myself from the burden Of your |
affairs once and for all. This is the
have chosen to wife for thee. Take her !
hand and let thy word be pledged to |
her"
II silence still reigned in that |
gloomy apartment 1t was because |
there Were those present whom sur |
prise had deprived. of speech. The very |
image of her father, Joan looked |
steadily into her cousins face without |
tremor or nervousness. Her features |
were shapely enough, but too large |
and severe for a woman. her wealth !
of black hair was brushed fiat back |
from her forehead in uncompromising
ugliness. Her figure was as straight ,
as a dart, but without lines or curves;
her gown. of homely stuff and i'll
made. completed her unattractiveness
There was neither blush nor tremor,
nor any sign of softening in her cold |
eyes.
Then Douglas, in whom were al
ready sown the seeds of a passionate |
discomfort with the narrowing lines
Of his unlovely life, who on the hill
side and in the sweet night solitudes
had taken Shelley to his heart, had
lived with Keats and had felt his
pulses beat thickly to the passionate !
love music of Tennyson. stood silent ,
and unresponsive. Child of charity he
might be, but the burden of his servi- l
tude was fast growing too heavy for